Work Text:
Wake up.
Wake up.
Wake up.
There was beeping.
It was a constant, rhythmic sound that was like a heartbeat. It probably was a heartbeat. Whose was it? His own? Thumping out a slightly irregular tune, in the form of toneless beeps and boops. The song of his body, normally so quiet but now loud and definite.
There was light.
He could see it from behind his closed eyes, it was bright. Was it warm? Was it cold? He didn't know yet. Wouldn't know until he opened his eyes to see it. Did he want to? What if it was too bright and he only shut them again.
His body was heavy.
He was sure he was laying down, he didn't think he could stand with the weight of his limbs; the lead of his bones and the iron of his muscles and the cannon ball that was his head. There was a weight to him that even with his great strength, he didn't think he would ever be able to lift again.
The bright light behind his closed eyes dimmed and he sunk deep into the soft cushioning at his back. Deeper and deeper, until the light was all gone and the heaviness cradled him closed, hugging him tight and pulling him back into slumber.
Wake up.
Wake up.
Wake up.
It was beeping still.
The sound was still going on and on, like the ticking of a clock. Only louder and somehow sharper. The sound was constant, a steady beep... beep... beepbeep... beep... The tone never changed even if the beat of the sound did every so often. It was definitely a heartbeat. Was it his? Was it someone elses? Was he hearing the sound of anothers beating life?
No.
It was his. It was his life beating into the darkness.
Darkness. It was dark. Though perhaps, not as dark as it had been. No, there was definitely a light. The bright light from before was there. Was it before? Or was it now? Always? He could always ask someone. If there was someone there to ask. He wasn't ready to look at the bright light yet, but he wanted to ask how long it had been there, bright and shining through his eye lids. Where even was he?
Questions sat on the tip of his tongue. A tongue that felt too thick for his mouth. It felt both numb and fuzzy and there was an odd taste resting on it. Something metallic and... gross. He felt gross. All over he was gross. There was a heavy, unlikable feeling to his body and the longer he lay there, listening to the beeps and feeling the heaviness, the more he didn't like it.
Wake up.
Wake up.
Wake up.
He didn't think he could move. Not yet. His eyes weren't willing to open, the lids feeling like rocks pressing down. The bright light was still shining and something in him wanted to look at it. Wanted to see how bright it was, wanted to see where the beeps of his heart were coming from, but he couldn't open his eyes yet.
Maybe he would start with his toes.
Did he still have toes? Yes. He did. He still had toes. And legs. Hips. A chest. Arms and hands. Fingers. They were all heavy, his bones still lead, his muscles like iron. Maybe his toes were too much. His toes and his tongue were heavy, heavy, heavy.
Wake up!
Wake up!
Wake up!
He wiggled his toes. First the big one on his left foot, then the big one on his right foot, then the rest of them. He wiggled his toes first, then his feet. A dull throb shot up through his legs, not so much pain as it was an ache from being so still. The moving of a limb long gone numb.
He moved his fingers then. Beginning with his thumbs and then one finger at a time. There was a fire arching along the inside of his skin and crawling up his arm. It hurt. But somehow that was better than the heavy weight of lead and iron.
Breathing in deep through his nose, he smelled nothing; nothing but a familiar cleanliness. A smell he'd smelled before, but could never put a name to it. With effort, he pulled his tongue away from the roof of his mouth and swallowed thickly. There were questions resting in his throat, with no room behind his teeth yet.
He could hear it. The steady beeps that let him know he was still alive. The sound of his own heart in the darkness of his closed eyes.
He wiggled his toes again, glad to feel them move.
The bright light was still there. Had it ever gone away? Or was this still the same minute, hour or day as when he first noticed it? Where was it coming from? What was it?
Bright light... Steady heartbeat... Familiar smell...
He knew where he was.
Izuku blinked.
The light was bright and it was hard to see. Everything was a blurry swipe of grey. He blinked again and again for good measure. With each blink, the light above became clearer. There was a grey ceiling and many bright lights, not just one. The grey wasn't dark or light, it just was and for some reason that worried him. Had all the colour gone out of the world? Was there nothing left?
No, that was silly.
He chided himself. It was grey because a lot of hospital ceilings were grey. And that was where he was. In a hospital. Again. He'd landed himself in a hospital. Again. Doing what though? His brain felt as though it had gone through a cheese grater and he couldn't remember what he'd been doing.
Izuku blinked at the ceiling and listened to the beeps, trying to think of what he'd done to put himself in the hospital, but he just couldn't recall. What was the last thing he remembered? Hmm...
He remembered walking down the street.
He could see his hands moving and talking with his mouth in his minds eye. He was talking to someone. Someone... Someone.
He remembered being in the office. At the agency. He remembered drinking a can of coffee and typing, typing, typing. What had he been typing? A report probably. A report about what?
He remembered driving to the office. No, not driving, he remembered the passenger seat. There'd been a sweet smell tickling his nose. He'd laughed.
He remembered... He remembered... He just couldn't remember. What had he been doing? His life blinked at him in pieces and snatches. Small flickers of a story where the most important parts were missing.
Smiles, laughter, yelling, crying, battles.
All of it was blending together and he closed his eyes chasing after the memories. Where he'd been, what he'd been doing, where he'd been going, he just couldn't remember. He'd have to ask someone.
Maybe he'd ask Shouto.
Shouto!
Izuku's eyes flew back open and the beeps in the room went faster! His hands trembled by his sides, fingers pressing down in the sheets of the hospital bed, curling into them tightly. Like water rushing into a chasm, his life came pouring back into the yawning gap that had been his memory. Filling him up from the inside out with the story of who he was and how he came to be.
And Shouto.
There was always Shouto.
He grabbed onto the image of Shouto smiling at him. Sitting on the bed and smiling at him like he was the greatest thing in the world. Smiling at him and reaching out for him and he held onto it, holding it and listening as the monitor beeps slowed down. Tears spilled from the corners of his eyes as he blinked at the ceiling, mouth open, breath coming shakily.
Where was Shouto? Where was his mom? Where was -
Nerd!
Hey, 'Zuku!
Izuku couldn't breathe, the air was locked in his throat tight with all his unasked questions. A quiet, choked whine escaped him. His hands trembled and the grey ceiling with the bright light blurred in his wet vision. His whole body felt both numb and tense at once and he closed his eyes, tears falling into his hair and onto the pillow.
Another shaking whine came from him and he coughed softly, trying to swallow down a throat that was too clogged with unasked questions and emotions and with a tongue that was too big for his mouth. What was he doing laying here? Where were they? Where was everyone? He had to go to them! He had to go help them!
Help them?
What had happened?
He just couldn't remember.
Feeling miserable, Izuku squeezed his hand into a painful fist and thumped it gently at his side. The physical pain of the movement cutting through his emotions and giving him something real to focus on. Gradually the beeping went back to normal and his breathing evened out. Someone would have to tell him what had happened.
It had only been a few minutes since he'd peeled open his eyes. Yet, somehow in those few minutes, he'd lived through a lifetime and experienced an ocean of emotions. He could feel the wet tracks the tears had made on the side of his face and he blinked slowly up at the ceiling. The bright was starting to feel less bright and more normal now.
Had it ever really been bright?
He wasn't sure.
What had he been doing?
What was the last thing he could remember?
He remembered drinking coffee at the table.
Whose table?
He remembered waking up in bed.
Whose bed?
The details were all fuzzy, he couldn't recall anything specific that would've put him in the hospital. Izuku sighed and frowned at the ceiling. The heart monitor beeped nearby and he lay there, listening to it for a few minutes. Gradually becoming aware of other sounds. People moving in the hallway outside the room, distant voices and wheels rolling on a hard floor.
He was definitely in a hospital.
Experimentally, Izuku opened his mouth and tried to lick his dry, chapped lips. His tongue still felt too big to be real and his mouth was stiff. He tapped his fingers on the bed and then, drawing in a breath he turned his head a bit to the left. There was the monitor, sitting at his bed side like a solemn guardian. Standing tall beside it was an IV drip another silent watcher.
He watched the drip of the clear liquid for a moment, mesmerized by it in a strange way. It was something that moved slowly, and steadily, something to look at it and realize that things really were still going on. That the world hadn't stopped.
His eyes eventually drifted from the IV drip and over the rest of the left side of the room. There were a few cabinets, another bed and a window. It was dark outside. He couldn't make out any details because of the light in the room.
He looked towards the window and found himself wondering what time it was. How long had he been out of it? An hour? Two? Three?
What had even happened?
The answer to that wasn't forth coming any time soon and it was beyond frustrating. He felt like he should be able to reach out and grab it and know with certainty why he was there.
There came a sigh from behind him, like someone moving in sleep and Izuku blinked. Was there someone else there with him?
First he looked back at the ceiling and then to the right and he was surprised the heart monitor didn't just explode.
Tears pricked at his eyes again and his breath caught in his throat once more, clutching onto the names he wanted to say, holding onto his heart tightly.
They were here.
His friends. His best friends. His partners. His boyfriends. His lovers. They were here.
Shouto was the weight on his legs. The man laying hunched over from a chair, onto the bed in a way that couldn't be doing anything good for his back. His face was turned towards him, there were strands of hair on it that moved with each soft puff of air he exhaled. His arms above his head. One hand Izuku could now feel on his knee, fingers curled gently around it in the quiet of the room. The other resting on his shin.
Eijirou was holding his hand. He could feel it now, the warmth of his palm against his finger tips. He sat in a too uncomfortable, plastic chair, legs spread a bit, one hand hanging between them, chin resting on his chest as he snoozed. Like Shouto, he looked unhurt, handsome and so, so manly.
Kaachan.
Kaachan was in the third chair, guarding the door. No one could come in or leave without his knowing. His arms were crossed over his chest, his legs stretched out on the floor, feet crossed at the ankles. Like Eijiro, his chin rested on his chest, his body moving softly with his breathing.
How long had they been here?
How late was it?
They each looked exhausted.
Izuku let his eyes wander over each of them, not caring that his tears were soaking his hair and his pillow. He couldn't speak yet, couldn't really find the strength to move, but he was so happy to see them. Words couldn't explain what he felt inside, this wonderful feeling of warmth and love and care. To see them there was nothing short of amazing.
How many hours had they been sitting in those hard, uncomfortable chairs, waiting for him to wake up?
Izuku smiled.
Outside it was dark and out in the hallway it was noisy. But here, here in this one little corner of the world, it was safe.
He didn't know what had happened, how he'd gotten there, what he'd done. He didn't know where he went after leaving the office, or what report he'd been writing. He didn't know any of those things and part of him wondered if he'd ever remember. But it was okay, because the three men who knew him and cared for him best were here. They were here with him and they were unhurt and whole.
The world was still turning and he wasn't alone in it.
love you. I love you. I love you. And I will keep loving you. I love you with my breath, with my smiles and all my tears. I love you.
Todoroki Shouto was his first boyfriend. Maybe not his first love, but he was the first person to return that feeling. To take his heart and everything he was into his hands and to cradle it with tender care and affection. He was the first to touch, to kiss and to whisper sweet, meaningless nothings. He was the one Izuku stole away to secret corners and dark hiding places with back in school, just to sneak a kiss, a touch, a breath. Neither of them had known what they were doing, but none of that had mattered.
All that had mattered, was this.
Their feelings were complicated and filled with the confusion of life and growing up and becoming hero's, but that they felt strongly for each other had never been in doubt. Shouto had come to him, with his arms wide open needing love and comfort and Izuku had given it. He had given it and continued to give it everyday.
Even now, looking at him hunched over the bed and breathing steadily, Izuku could feel himself love the man even more. More than he did yesterday. More than he did last week. Last month. Last year. He fell in love with him all over again every day. Shouto was beautiful, strong and smart. But he was more than that, he was... He was something undefinable. He was wonderful in every way.
He'd been a boy who declared war on him and coldly said no one was there to make friends. He'd grown into a man that would give his life a thousand times to protect those he held dear to his heart and Izuku couldn't be more proud of him and this person he'd become.
On the outside he was a powerful hero who commanded respect and there was none that Izuku respected more. But he'd seen the inside. All the soft, tender bits that few others knew was there. He saw his study hard and worry about tests back in school. He saw him pour over books and notes with one hand while eating mochi with the other.
He saw him curled around a pillow in the morning, his perfect hair laying about his head in a mess and he saw him stagger around like some kind of zombie. He saw him throw up after getting drunk the first time. He saw him stub his toe while moving furniture and swear about it. He saw him paying close attention to his sister in the kitchen, learning how to cook.
He saw the Shouto that carefully poked straws into tiny bottles of pink milk, picked up kittens and watched romantic comedies.
He'd held the Shouto that cried over the death of a friend, the loss of a comrade and the absence of a mentor.
He'd touched the Shouto the was stripped down bare and giving him everything he had to give.
Shoto was his first boyfriend and if he could call Shouto his until the end of his days, then he would be right where he wanted to be.
Izuku smiled at him, his eyes wet. Shouto's fingers twitched on his knee, the blanket dulling the feeling slightly, but it was there. His boyfriend was sleeping and protecting him all at once. His heart felt as though it would burst.
There is no pretending I love you. You are my heart, my blood, my pulse. I will love you until my last breath and then I will still love you from the stars.
Kirishima Eijirou had been a surprise.
The best surprise. There was no gift, no party or special occasion that could ever top the manliness that was his buff, red-headed boyfriend. Eijirou slept, his chin touching his chest, his hair brushing against his jaw. He hardened and softened as he sat there, the action as natural as breathing, moving with the steady rise and fall of his body.
Of all the people that Izuku had ever imagined being with, Eijirou was never someone he'd seen himself with romantically. Yet now, he couldn't imagine ever being without him. He was strong, solid and reassuring and he was this vibrant ray of light that Izuku had never realized he'd so desperately craved. He could touch him. He could kiss him. He could hold him. He could do things to the man that would make him weep with pleasure.
Eijirou had been a surprise, but one that Izuku had welcomed into his life. Red and green, two opposing colours, but they wrapped around one another so well, it was intoxicating. For every rough edge Eijirou had, he showed a gentle side. He was all smiles and laughter and energy and everything that got Izuku love drunk.
He was his partner in every sense of the word. When they went out on patrol, when they fought villains. He was someone he could depend on to have his back and be there with him regardless of the mess they were about to get into. Eijirou was so many wonderful things and Izuku wanted to whisper each one against his skin.
Eijirou's hand hardened and Izuku looked down at it and moved his thumb just slightly. Lightly stroking the edge of his hand with a gently touch. The hand went soft and he smiled, green eyes tracing Eijirou's outline. Izuku knew he was lucky to have him and he would thank his stars each night and day for letting him have him.
I choose you. And I'll choose you, over and over and over. Without pause, without a doubt, with every breath I take, I will choose you.
Kaachan.
Bakugou Katsuki.
Jerk.
Asshole.
He was a man of many names, each more impolite than the one before it. But to Izuku, he was Kaachan. From the beginning, in the middle and to the end. Their lives were entwined around one another from day one.
Kaachan was his first friend, his first hero and his first love.
And will always be.
He sat in the hard, uncomfortable looking plastic chair as though it were a throne of gold. It was made awesome just because he was the one sitting in it. He had his arms crossed over his body, but his legs were stretched out in front of him. Feet resting in front of the door. No one could open it without his knowing. Though he was a few feet away, he was protecting; defending. Being his hero.
No one would get in this room without his say so.
He'd loved Kaachan before he even knew what love was. He followed him around hoping that one day, the blond boy would pick him. Like he picked him every day. There was no one cooler, stronger or more amazing than Kaachan. Even as a child, he was brave, bold and dashing in a way that only he could be.
He grew into an angry teenager with an ego the size of All Might and still...Still Izuku wanted Kaachan to look at him and pick him too. He's not sure when that hope faded away. Faded, but never really left. Kaachan had grown the most out of all of them. He'd left behind that angry teenager and had become man.
He was rough, brash and very crude and Izuku wouldn't have him any other way. He wouldn't be his Kaachan otherwise. His Kaachan. His. Kaachan had finally looked at him and picked him too. He could touch him, he could kiss him, he could hold him.
Kaachan might yell, squirm and call him NERD, but he wouldn't push him away, not anymore. He was explosive and passionate in everything he did. But there was nothing he didn't do with his all. He was their backbone. He got things done in ways no one else could and while he was terrible at interviews, he was a great hero. One of the best.
The best.
He was his.
They were his friends, his boyfriends, his partners, his lovers. They were a team and they were here.
They were here.
And he never wanted to stop making memories with them.
He loved them, endlessly.
Izuku closed his eyes and felt another sobbing whine escape him, but this time...
This time the hand on his knee twitched, the hand on his own squeezed a little tighter and -
“Deku!”