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Hitoshi is trying to sleep, his dorm room dark and dim and dull, because he knows he needs to at least rest even if he doesn't actually get to fall asleep, because he's exhausted and they're starting a new module in their main Psychology class tomorrow and-
A sudden glint of something glittery and silver across the room has him sitting up, all too aware that it might be a hallucination because it wouldn't be the first time he's had one of those but no, this doesn't look like anything he's had before. It looks like... a person? Or, no, an angel or something, judging by the white-silver feathers that catch the barest fractals of light.
"You're a weird sleep paralysis demon." And the angel-boy-thing shifts, curls of some shade gleaming a soft silver along their edges, a contrast to the too-vivid green of the eyes. They're cat-like in how they shine out of the dark, their colour beyond anything Hitoshi has ever seen before. Anything mortal.
"You're not paralysed though? Or asleep? And I'm literally the opposite of a demon, so there's some theological issues there beyond just the title and I'm not really offended but to be honest I don't think I should let you call me a demon when it's technically against my very nature and-"
"Woah, wait, what-" This is all far beyond Hitoshi. He's tired and confused and this hallucination of an angel has just rambled as though they were a real person and he just wants to sleep.
"You can, if you want. Do you want some help with it? I'm here for a reason after all, and I'd be more than happy to help if I can because you're my charge now and you seem really tired and exasperated and I-"
"You know what? Sure. Do your worst, paralysis angel guy." Then all Hitoshi knows is blissful, blessed darkness.
He wakes up three minutes before his alarm, feeling perfectly rested and without gritty eyes, stiff limbs or that regular marching band in his skull. Huh. This rarely happens. To the point where he can actually find a smile on his lips as he slowly rolls out of bed, sets bare feet on the worn grey rug on the floor, and stands up without a single groan, twinge or regret. Until, of course, halfway to his bathroom, he remembers his sleep not-so-paralysis angel. Green eyes, pale wings, green-silver curls. Even in the dim lighting, he'd been... cute. Very much so.
Oh no. Hitoshi just might have a crush on his hallucinated angel. Can he really never do anything right? Or normally, even?
Coming out of his bathroom, teeth brushed and hair mussed so that it sticks up a little less haphazardly, Hitoshi doesn't have time to contemplate that his bag has already been filled and organised for the day despite him never doing it last night, nor does he consider that the sandwich left in the fridge with his name on has pretty clearly not been made by either of his kitchen-disaster flatmates, nor do either of them have a pretty scrawl in golden-glinting green ink, using his first name. He's far too busy trying to get to class soon enough to get a decent seat.
He will contemplate it come lunch time though, this time not mentally shrugging and carrying on with his day upon noticing the note on the sandwich. He'll stare even harder, eyebrows furrowing upon flipping over the ivory tag to find further script:
There's no name. No signature. So, after a long minute of simply eyeing the note and the bagged-up sandwich, Hitoshi shrugs philosophically and decides he might as well eat it. Worst ways he gets poisoned and his dads will scold him for it. Well, Eri crying would be awful, but still. It can't be too bad, most likely.
As it turns out, the sandwich is utterly delicious. Despite technically just being some meat and cheese in bread, it's one of the best things Hitoshi has eaten in a long while, probably since he last got a package from his family that included some of Pops' and Eri's cookies, and he lets himself enjoy it rather than wolfing it down in half a second like he usually would. Having something that has been made for him, with a note and all... it's a bit creepy in some ways, sure, but there's also a part of it that's achingly sweet and considerate. Hitoshi... he hasn't got many friends. Having someone so blatantly soft on him, making his favourite sandwich no less, is a warmth he hadn't realised he was craving.
And if it was from a cute hallucination? Well, thinking too much about it hurts his brain so he doesn't bother. He's got another class to get to anyway.
It's not that night when he meets his not-demon again, nor the next. Oh, he finds little evidences of the something's presence everywhere, the odd meal or packed bag or inexplicable warmth, several random feathers that he may or may not tuck into a delicate little box that usually houses his most sentimental knick-knacks, yet he never sees the not-demon again. But that weekend, when he actually gets to bed at a decent time and falls asleep within the hour, he wakes up to a soft glow washing over his face, a heated touch brushing over his forehead, and he bolts upright, more than alarmed.
"Ah! Sorry, sorry, I thought you were more deeply asleep, I'm so sorry, I'm not going to hurt you or anything, I'm the angel from the other day! Did you like the sandwiches, because you seemed to but I-? Wait, is that a weird question? Sorry, I'm not very good at mortal interactions- Oh no, wait, is it rude to call you mortal? I'm so sorry-"
"Stop saying sorry and I'll forgive you," Hitoshi grumbles, only half-meaning it because somehow that rambling was kind of very adorable, but the apparently-angel nods frantically and oh shit. His hair is all green-black curls, silver-edged, and they bounce with the movement and they look so soft and they probably smell really sweet and Hitoshi wants to run his hands through them very, very badly.
Instead of embarrassing himself like that, he tries to get out of bed and falls flat on his face.
His companion is immediately knelt beside him, running careful hands over his shoulders and down his spine and briefly tapping at his elbows and knees and temple, Hitoshi silently dead inside and barely registering the oh-so gentle touches, but then he's being scooped up into strong arms and cradled against a warm, firm chest and he might just combust right here and now thank you very much.
Then he looks up, sees the tiniest of concerned frowns amongst entire constellations of literally golden freckles, the little starbursts catching the low light of the room and almost reflecting, and maybe, just maybe, he squeaks a bit, cheeks and ears flaring red, the sound deepening out into a done-with-the-world groan, and then those green eyes look down at him and it's all too much.
"What are you?" His own brain supplies him with plenty of potential answers, ranging from impossible to stunning to perfect, but he bites his lip and waits for an answer, even as he's delicately deposited back into his own bed, sat up against his pillows, an unfamiliar blanket tucked over his legs, a soft grey fuzzy thing that somehow exudes the perfect amount of heat, and he begins to blink drowsily, quite unable to help it.
"I'm Izuku, your guardian angel." Then Hitoshi is asleep, drifting on clouds of white-green feathers, surrounded by the scent of vanilla and ozone.
There is a pattern of sorts, and it develops over the next two months or so. And to put it simply, that pattern is Izuku looking after him. It's the little things mostly, having food or stationary ready for him, or a warm hand hovering over his eyes until they feel heavy and drowsy, slipping shut to pleasant, calm dreams. It's a soft voice murmuring a good morning or good night. Intimacy of an odd sort, where he talks to Izuku even when the angel isn't visibly there, because there's a warmth to the room whenever he's at least half present, an extra green edge to any sun or starlight streaming into the room, and Hitoshi can't help but revel in it.
He hadn't realised how very lonely he'd been, in many ways. Sure, he video-called his dads and Eri all the time, and he had a few acquaintances in his course and flat, but nobody to spend much time with. And he's an introvert, don't get him wrong, but the right people can overcome that so easily, can be a rare recharge despite everything, and Hitoshi finds that in his angel.
And Izuku really is his angel. It had taken a good while to really convince Hitoshi that the greenette wasn't simply an illusion or something, but after so long and so much of simple daily life, ups and downs and in-betweens, he believes Izuku. Believes in him. Oh, if his ever-logical Dad could see him now.
Hitoshi stumbles into his dorm room, chest hitching and fingers slipping against the door knob. He knows he's trembling, that the air in his lungs is scraping like sandpaper, but he isn't quite sure how to deal with it. He's had panic attacks before, but only two since moving into his accommodation - only two since leaving home - and he just doesn't know how to deal with it alone like he used to as a little kid, when there was nobody who cared, who wanted to help. Hence him losing his bag somewhere near the door and crashing onto his bed, curling up tight on top of his weighted blanket. It doesn't help the iron bands around his ribs, but it's self-soothing all the same and-
"Hitoshi?" The voice startles him. Enough so that he jolts in place, curling up even tighter, and yet again misses a breath.
"I'm going to touch you now. I won't hurt you, I promise. You're perfectly safe, I'm here. Please don't freak out because then I might have to use a little Ineffability on you and that wouldn't be ideal particularly as you'd be best off being able to come through this properly upon your own strength and-" As he rambles, the angel reaches out with gentle hands to soothe along Hitoshi's spine in slow, steady circles that actually manage to help calm him down. It's like his Pops is there, the continuous babble of low chatter, not intrusive but grounding, to match with an affectionate touch that reminds him of his Dad and, all together, it's enough.
So, thought by thought, breath by breath, Hitoshi collects himself, latching onto the kindness laden upon him with an iron grip, and finally sags in place, more coherent than not, and welcomes the now-stationery hand still on his back, the warmth of another person, human or not, beside him. And then there's a low question, hesitant but not stuttering, and part of him doesn't want to answer. The rest of him is screaming and sobbing to just get it out, to unload his heart-heaviness on someone else. Particularly someone he trusts so much already. Izuku is his angel after all.
"It- It's dumb, but they called me- They called me this thing and her voice reminded me of my Mum's and it- it- it always used to be directed at r-random men b-but this was at me and it's stupid because I'm not a scared little kid anymore but I-" And that's enough because the angel clearly knows what Hitoshi is talking about already, his hand growing heavier but no less reassuring against the insomniac's spine.
"Hush, Hitoshi, hush. It's alright. They were cruel and foolish, but you are beautiful as you are, regardless of any mortal words. Your family knows it, I know it. You, simply, must learn it, and that takes time and patience and safety to do." Izuku's reassurances do help a little, but the human is far more distracted by the increasing light in the room.
Because Izuku is glowing. Brightly.
Not only that, but several of his freckles are growing and bulging, forming into eyes within half-moments, all silver-gold-green-white, and there is anger in their gaze, a protective fury as potent as the sun itself.
"Izuku, you-"
"Angels aren't only guardians you know. We're warriors." There's a threat in those words, laden there as naturally as stone amongst soil, weighted and warning, but Hitoshi knows it's wrong. Somehow, it grates against him. So he settles a shaking hand on his angel's arm, carefully not pressing on any of the dozens of too-vivid eyes that have formed, feels the supernatural heat simmering under the skin, and holds him.
"No. Not- not like this." There are unspoken words there, 'I need you here' and 'Don't leave me' and 'You're more than this', and maybe they don't break the trembling air between them, but Izuku clearly hears them because his eyes close, all of them, and he sags back for a moment, leaning away from Hitoshi but never breaking the hold on his arm.
Elsewhere in the room, golden-green fires that the insomniac never even noticed die down, notable in their absence, leaving papers and walls and furniture unmarred, not a single scorch or wisp of smoke, but Hitoshi hardly registers it, still staring at his angel. Waiting.
And eventually Izuku's skin smooths out once more, golden freckles pulsing a few times before settling back into reflective rather than glowing, and Hitoshi can't help but sigh in relief, curling forwards and around until his head is pillowed upon a warm lap, on the inexplicably soft denim of a pair of pale grey jeans, Izuku's thighs thick and firm, with that right amount of give that Hitoshi feels cradled. So very safe.
This time when he drifts near to dreams, it's to a low hum. There's no recognisable song but maybe it's that lullaby his Pops sings or his dads' wedding song or maybe Eri's favourite cartoon, or maybe them all together and harmonious, and Hitoshi can't help the exhausted smile that tugs at his lips when, between that and the careful fingers curling in amongst his hair, threading and soothing and never-quite braiding, he can simply exist there, half-asleep. Being comforted like this is more restful than he could put into words and he's never felt more secure and cherished than right here, right now, the sense of his family around him, Izuku holding him close.
His guardian angel is protecting him after all.