Work Text:
It’s the one night this week they’ve all somehow managed to get off and they have plans. Big plans.
An outing, if you will. And Izuku loves an outing.
They’ve all descended on his apartment in preparation, bringing a cooler bag filled with handmade snacks, a mountain of blankets and pillows, and all the fixings for s’mores to be made with a certain someone’s quirk, respectively.
The dark sky park is where they’re headed tonight, a carefully planned outing spearheaded by Eijirou offhandedly mentioning how he wanted to see the Milky Way a few weeks ago.
It wasn’t anything more than a split second thought said aloud, verbalized in the carefree way Eijirou talks about all the things he wants to do and see and experience.
The only difference is this time the three of them immediately fell into researching, planning, and preparing to make it happen for him. Fulfilling Eijirou’s quiet, throwaway desire with a tenacity that’s so familiar it warms him down to his bones.
Izuku took it upon himself to find the best spot, the best time, the best star chart to compare to the sky itself while Shouto organized their time off requests behind the scenes. They both knew Kacchan would square away their food situation and that he would drive them there and back well before he loudly proclaimed he would.
The little, quiet knowings like that are what buoy Izuku, what float him along on the neverending tide of being who he is. What buttress him against feeling so often as though he needs to prop the world on his shoulders and go it alone.
He doesn’t have to do it alone—now or ever again—and it’s a surety he grabs with both hands.
It’s late by the time they start getting ready to leave. In general and for two of their little group in particular, but the dark sky park warrants it. Known homebodies, the only things they leave the house for after dusk are occasional night patrols and conbini runs.
But the only way to see the stars the way Eijirou—and now the three of them, too—wants to is by lying beneath them while they’re visible.
Izuku has finished his designated task of making sure their water bottles are full and packed in Kacchan’s special heavy duty, multi-pocketed backpack. Now he’s free to sit at the kitchen island and observe.
He watches his people orbit around each other, packing and prepping and kissing in the gaps, and feels his heart stutter in sheer delight.
Looking at them is one of his favorite things.
Cataloging and surveying, taking careful note of the way they like to be interacted with, cared for, spoken to. The way it morphs and changes depending on who’s interacting. He pays attention to the most minute differences, the tiny actions of care that they fold into the most mundane things.
These three people who have chosen him and he’s chosen in return.
Hands on lower backs, a shoulder squeeze here and a brush of knuckles there, ice pushing needed items into reach just as hands stretch out to grab for them. They’ve worked with and around each other for years, planning a small trip like this is nothing in the grand scheme of things.
But the comfort, the worn in softness of it, like a favorite shirt sent through the wash time and time again, is so obvious. So tangible, expanding and rushing across every corner of their lives. A current that runs through everything they do.
He’s overcome with how he loves the way they love each other, the way they love him.
It makes Izuku tear up, the way Eijirou hooks his chin over Kacchan’s shoulder to peer at what he’s doing, how Shouto packs the bag filled with pillows and favorite blankets in the order of who’s most likely to grab for them first—Eijirou initially, Izuku himself shortly after, then he and Kacchan are a toss up, one Izuku will have to wait to see see how it plays out.
How they mobilized their little four man army to show Eijirou the stars.
He adores the way they check in on each other and in on him. Quick glances, eye contact that speaks more than words sometimes do, tiny smiles and fingers brushing against palms. Making sure jackets are zipped all the way, layers are on, and phones and wallets are in pockets.
Gestures of love stacked on top of each other, in tiny, barely there ways.
He can feel tears pooling in his eyes, threatening to spill over as he thinks of the love they’ve spent time and energy purposefully cultivating. Ducking his head, he swipes at his face, because he knows they’ll stop what they’re doing if they catch him getting weepy and they absolutely can’t be late.
Eijirou and Shouto are debating the finer points of s’more making in the background, excitement making Eijirou’s voice climb scales while Shouto’s deeper voice stays steady around it. Kacchan gruffly adds something, the timber of his voice weaving around their conversation, whatever he says likely inflammatory by the way Eijirou squawks and Shouto huffs.
After the s’mores fiasco, Kacchan deems them “prepared enough” and starts herding them downstairs toward the car like errant sheep. He squeezes the back of Izuku’s neck and the comfort echoes out from the point of contact like a beacon.
Eijirou rides shotgun because he likes it best, Kacchan’s hand on his knee and the other on the wheel, but not before he reaches back and squeezes Shouto’s thigh, a there and gone again motion that Izuku only recognizes because he tracks its occurrence each time, his north star.
Their night starts later than usual, but he’s excited to lie under the night sky, the four of them.
They’re so good for each other, he thinks, struck silly with happiness. They’re all so good for each other.
Good to each other.
He’s sure the stars will think so too.