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Teachers are assigned to dorm buildings. At least two teachers per dorm ward for safety.
When Toshinori can't sleep he wanders the building halls. He tells himself it's a patrol even though he's powerless to stop any villain that could attack. He can call for help. That's all the use he can be. Toshinori is a proud man, but he'll do anything for his students. But some nights Toshinori has nightmares about calling for help and no one answering. Nightmares where the League of Villains attacks but there's no teacher or pro hero to come help. Toshinori watches, frozen and useless, as his students die and somewhere in the distance All For One laughs.
Most of the time one student in particular dies. Toshinori wakes up panting, drenched in sweat and disoriented with panic. Scrambling to get up and go to his student before he realizes it was just a dream. Just a dream but his chest still hurts terribly. Not from his scar, but from his heart squeezing in fear and sorrow. He knows he's weak. He knows he's useless and can't save anyone. Toshinori knows his fears. It's not fair for them to come to him when he's asleep and vulnerable. His mind is so cruel to torture him with such realistic images.
Toshinori can't go back to sleep on those nights. Even when his heartbeat calms, his mind still buzzes anxiously, restless and cruel. So he goes on his "patrols" to calm his mind and pretend to be useful. But every time on those nights he always ends up standing in front of that student's door. He finds it so easily he doesn't need a light anymore.
He shouldn't be at Izuku's door. But he can't help the urge that takes him. The illogical need to know that his successor is okay. Toshinori doesn't knock. He never does. He just stands there, lost and thinking.
He thinks about the scrawny little kid crying on the beach and the almost year they spent training and growing from that. Toshinori went from seeing Izuku everyday to only a few short times a week. Toshinori got to see Izuku grow every day. But Now Izuku seems to grow on his own without Toshinori there. It leaves Toshinori feeling strange and lonely. What he should be feeling is some empty nest symptom; some paternal pride mixed with some emptiness but mostly acceptance as he watches Izuku grow on his own.
But Toshinori doesn't feel that way. Instead he feels longing and neglected. As Izuku seems to move away Toshinori feels the urge to follow. He shouldn't. It's the wrong thing to do, he knows this, but it feels right to be close. It soothes the ache. Seeing Izuku brings a kind of comfort that Toshinori knows is dangerous but he seeks it anyway. He looks for it in the dark after nightmares, standing in front of Izuku's door for several minutes thinking on so many nights. Aching for what he knows is wrong, and wanting the time back together that they no longer have.
He startles slightly when Izuku calls, “All Might?” From down the hall. Toshinori’s too tired to jolt in surprise and the boy calls his name too softly for it to be a sudden shock.
He must have come from the bathroom, Tosninori thinks absently. Students aren’t allowed out of their rooms after a certain time of night otherwise.
“Is everything okay?” Izuku's voice is soft, a low volume to respect his classmates sleeping around them. The boy is so considerate even as he looks at Toshinori with so much concern.
Toshinori doesn’t know what to say to that kind, worried face
“I…”
I can't sleep.
I'm afraid.
I miss you.
The words are too vulnerable and he has no practice in vocalizing them. Tosinori’s been alone for most of his life. He hadn’t spent a lot of time with one person in years. Not until Izuku. He’d grown so used to the boy’s presence in the months they had together that now he feels bereft and neglected without him. And all the guilt and shame he feels does nothing to quash or smother it.
Toshinori doesn't know what to say. He has no acceptable excuse to be standing in front of Izuku’s door like a sad, old dog.
He doesn’t say anything but it seems to be enough for Izuku to close the distance. Toshinori's face tells enough. The shadows in the man's face are deeper and more empty. The man looks so tired and even more lost, looking wilted in his baggy shirt and dark sweatpants.
Izuku’s chest aches. Heart clenching in compassion. He’s seen that lonely, lost look in the mirror many times before. It’s a quiet cry for help. And he can’t resist the need to comfort his hero. There’s no hesitation when he takes Toshinori’s hand and gently pulls him inside his room.
It's the first time they've held hands. It's such a milestone, a big first in a relationship. But Izuku reaches for him like he's done it many times. Like it's natural to offer comfort to Toshinori.
Izuku’s hand is small, feeling almost fragile even though Toshinori know’s otherwise. It feels warm and anchoring. Toshinori holds onto it reflexively, engulfing it in his larger hand as he follows Izuku in.
Izuku’s dorm room is just a bedroom. Small and somewhat cramped. The lights are off, but there’s some illumination from the lamps outside to help Izuku guide Toshinori to his bed. Toshinori doesn’t resist, but feels some hesitation. The lost numbness he feels ebbs away enough for him to feel doubt about both of them fitting on such a small bed. But Izuku is confident, pulling aside the blankets and softly coaxing his mentor to lay down.
Toshinori doesn’t want to let go of Izuku’s hand. Afraid to lose this first, precious connection. More afraid he won’t have that touch again. Tosnihori feels foolish and childish to stubbornly hold on, but Izuku is patient and lets him. He guides the older man onto his bed, letting Toshinori get comfortable. It’s awkward with Toshinori taking up most of the bed. But Izuku gets him mostly under the covers while still holding the man’s hand. He doesn’t mind the effort and feels warm affection that Toshinori wants his touch.
They haven’t touched in months. No encouraging pats on the back or tender touches to the arm. The ones that they’re supposed to pretend are platonic, but they both know better. Izuku misses them as much as Toshinori does. There’s plenty to make up for and they have all night.
Toshinori feels comfortable despite the small space. Laying curled on his side with his feet hanging off the bed. He's half covered by the sheet, the other half a blanket. But he’s cozy, tucked in and surrounded by Izuku’s scent and the boy’s hand in his. It's oddly familiar and unfamiliar; Something he knows he should remember but doesn’t. Something that should have been present in his childhood but wasn’t.
Toshinori tries not to think about it. Thankfully Izuku is with him, sliding in beside him and curling close around him. Toshinorie feels small and secure tucked between the wall and Izuku’s body.
There’s a small sense of nervousness buzzing in his chest reminding him that he’s far too old to be tucked in like a child. That he shouldn’t be seeking comfort from his student. But Izuku gives it so readily as if he’s done this before. As if he’s thought a lot about comforting Toshinori from nightmares and anxieties.
Toshinori’s eyes search Izuku’s. The boy thinks about him so much and Toshinori does in kind. Hesitatingly, fearfully. But just as much.
“It’s okay,” Izuku’s voice is just above a whisper. His fingers brush gently and rhythmically at Toshinori’s hair. An attempt to calm him to sleep, “I’m here.”
The words softly stir inside Toshinori’s chest, like a breeze jostling a flower. He recalls their conversation before the sports festival where he had told Izuku to take up his catchphrase and loudly declare, “I am here!” It was meant to be a bold proclamation for the world to hear and to know that Izuku is a hero.
But here Izuku says it softly to him. Instead of a blaring announcement, it’s a personal promise. Something Izuku pushes gently into Toshinori’s hands like a gift. It’s an intimate reasurace and he doesn't know what to say in response to such a gift. Or if he could allow himself to. Izuku is doing exactly as Toshinori hoped he would: saving and inspiring people, giving hope and reassurance. He’s already saved and inspired Toshinori so much and given him more hope than he thought possible.
But he feels so undeserving of Izuku’s reassurance after losing One For All so unexpectedly and suddenly. After having so little time for training now. And Izuku is still so young, he doesn’t need to be responsible for an old broken man like…
A humming interrupts Toshinori’s depressing spiral. Izuku hasn’t stopped stroking his hero’s hair as he hums a soft lilting melody. The kind of impromptu song a parent sings their child to sleep with. Something Izuku faintly recalls hearing from his parents as a child. He keeps his voice soft even though his tone wavers out of pitch, he continues to pet Toshinori’s hair and sooth him.
Toshinori’s nose and eyes prickle. He can’t remember the last time someone sang him a lullaby. He can’t remember the last time someone held his hand or just held him. He blinks away the sudden tears and abruptly abandons his reservations. He snuggles into Izuku, desperate for comfort, breathing in the scent of his dear student as he holds his hand. Izuku smells faintly herbal and a little floral from his body wash. The scent gives a feeling of safety. Toshinori feels cocooned by the boy’s body and scent. The hand stroking his hair and the soft hum in his ears draws sleep around Toshinori like a fog; cool and welcoming and blissfully blank.
Toshinori hasn’t had a home in so long, but Izuku feels like one. He holds onto the feeling of home and Izuku as he finally, peacefully drifts off to sleep.
END