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It’s when everyone is occupied with an early dinner that Izuku pads upstairs to Shouto’s room and knocks softly on the door.
“Shouto-kun?” he calls gently. “Are you in there?” There’s no response. Izuku worries his lip. “I’m going to come in. Is that okay?” He listens for a moment, but only to silence. Slowly, he cracks the door open. Shouto doesn’t tell him to stop, doesn’t shove the door closed, so Izuku lets himself in.
The lights are off, but the curtains are open. Here, closer to a window, Izuku can feel the dewey chill of the rain outside, a constant thrum in the background as it drums away at the walls. Bluish light bathes the room, softens everything it touches – it’s clean, and cozy, and strips Izuku bare. Suddenly, as his eyes find Shouto, he feels very fragile.
The gentle light smooths down Shouto’s edges, quiets everything about him that's bright and bold and intimidating. He looks small and lonely, laying on the floor, no futon to cushion the tatami. He’s still quiet, head tilted to watch water droplets chase each other down the window.
He hovers in the doorway for a second, two, three. There’s quiet noise from downstairs, the clink of dishes and muffled chatter, the only sign there’s anyone there but the two of them. Everything’s a quiet hum in the background. Shouto’s breath is slow and steady, and Izuku watches the rise and fall of his chest, decorated by faint shadows of water on the window.
Shouto breaks his own gentle rhythm, a subtle hitch in his breath before he lets out a soft sigh, eyes fluttering. He still doesn’t move.
Izuku shuts the door behind him, pads his way over to where Shouto is and takes a seat next to him. He should ask him what’s wrong, should ask him what happened, should gather him up in his arms and cradle him until Shouto forgets everything but the memory of being held gentle and precious and cherished.
He doesn’t.
Izuku had met Shouto’s eyes for a moment, a split second as he walked in, and– he thinks he understands.
There’s a fullness, in them. His eyes are dry but they are full to the brim, Shouto is full to the brim, and Izuku thinks if he holds him, lets him shatter, he might drown in it.
Instead, he lies down next to Shouto and rides it out with him.
Shouto doesn’t react to him initially, doesn’t shift at all, maybe doesn’t notice that he’s there. Izuku tries not to hold his breath. He matches the rise and fall of Shouto’s chest, continues even when Shouto’s rhythm shutters and sighs. He doesn’t stop doing it, but he always returns to Izuku’s pace, easier each time. The noise of it, up close, seems heavier. Izuku can almost see the burden on Shouto’s shoulders, feel the pressure on his chest. Izuku's next breath comes slower, or maybe it’s the endless patter on the walls, the blue-gray color of fresh rain spilling across the floor, the feeling that the room and the rain and the stillness are the only things left, that makes time seem slower, sluggish.
Izuku watches Shouto watch rain dance across the window. He’s on Shouto’s ice side – purposefully facing the door, Izuku thinks – and it looks delicate. Shouto looks delicate, silvery white lashes on clear gray eyes on unblemished pale skin. He looks like he belongs here, blending seamlessly into pale blue. He's a mirror of himself all those months ago, melting Sero out of his ice. Surrounded by a cheering crowd and under the bright sun, Shouto had been fiery and determined and, hidden underneath that, sad. Now, alone and quiet and in more dark than light, everything else has been stripped away, and it’s hard to see him as anything but.
Izuku hears the faint noise before he sees it - the gentle sound of Shouto's nails dragging over and into his skin, a repetitive motion that could almost be self-soothing petting, if not for the fading streaks of red they leave in their wake. It’s almost unconscious, the tic, the urge, and it’s equally unconscious when Izuku wraps his own hand around one of Shouto’s.
Shouto startles, turns to face him, and it’s the first time Shouto has properly looked at him. He searches Izuku's face, noses almost touching. He looks washed out, vibrancy hidden under sheets of cloudy gray. His gaze peers through layers of fog, but Izuku finds and holds it.
He must see whatever he's looking for, relaxing his hand into Izuku's hold. Izuku cradles it in his own, pulls it closer to be engulfed by both of Izuku's hands, resting on his stomach. Shouto's fingers only twitch, and Izuku soothes them with a gentle pressure. Shouto deserves gentleness, a soft care, even if his hand is the only place Izuku can reach right now.
Faded red marks are the brightest thing in the room. Shouto's forearms are decorated with them, newly exposed under Izuku's hold. Shouto looks at them, expressionless. Another twitch of his fingers. Izuku can feel his want, his need. He wishes the rain had washed this away with the rest of Shouto.
Izuku breathes the first sounds of– something, a comfort, maybe, reassurance. Shouto moves before he can finish.
He lays his head on Izuku's shoulder. They're already on the ground, but Shouto tilts his head, shifting closer and nestling into the space between Izuku's head and neck. His hair tickles Izuku's chin. His body still faces up, eyes drifting along the ceiling, staring at the sounds of rain hitting the roof. His hand is still cradled in both of Izuku's. He's only closer now, quietly and deliberately placing himself up against Izuku.
The pressure on his shoulder is feather-light, ignorable, if Izuku had wanted. Izuku pushes himself closer, leans into Shouto, until each of his breaths flutters a strand of his hair. Izuku feels Shouto's warmth acutely in the midst of cool, wet emptiness, can only hope Shouto feels the pressure of him just as warm.
Time only passes, then. Izuku holds Shouto's hand and matches his breathing and presses his head ever-closer. It only grows darker, colder, emptier – Shouto rides it out quietly and Izuku holds on to him. The rain thrums away all the while, a constant even as Shouto's features are swallowed up by the night.
---
It's quiet, when Izuku opens his eyes. There's a sudden absence of the endless drum on the walls, giving way to an eerie silence. Light streaks the dark sky just barely, sunrise sure to follow. It's still dark inside.
Shouto, just below him, exhales softly. "Izuku."
Their hands are still tangled together. Shouto's exactly where he was before, tense and still, but on Izuku's shoulder nevertheless. Izuku squeezes his hand. "Shouto-kun." It's reverent, quietly awed. Shouto has always been strong. Here he is again, on the other side of it.
They don't speak, for a while, watching sunlight slowly fill the sky just before sunrise. Izuku can feel Shouto thinking.
"I almost." Shouto says, pauses, stops. "I needed."
Izuku knows.
"It's okay, Shouto," Izuku drops his head onto Shouto's. "It's all okay. Always."
A beat.
"Thank you, Izuku."
And then the room is golden, spilling along the floor and walls, painting every corner with sunlight, filling the room until there's no memory of the melancholy gray the night before.
It pours over Shouto almost all at once, bathing him in it, and he glows brilliant and beautiful and alive, and Izuku loves him, loves him in gray and gold, loves him warm and cold and dark and light, loves him so much he thinks he may end up drowning in it.
Shouto sits up, watches the sun rise. Izuku follows, watches Shouto breathe. And holds on to the feeling as Shouto, cloaked in morning light, smiles small and quiet at him, standing up off the floor and offering him a hand. Shouto looks more whole, lighter, unburdened. His eyes are bright, smiling down at Izuku. Izuku takes his hand.