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Keigo wakes with a start, blinking rapidly as he tries to discern what’s pulled him from his sleep. He doesn’t remember having a nightmare, though he knows that doesn’t mean he hasn’t had one, only that if he has, he’s forgotten. There’s no bright sunlight streaming through the bedroom window, the world outside still bathed in darkness, so it can’t be his body clock that’s roused him.
That leaves only one thing.
He twists in bed, the sheets tangling around his legs slightly as he moves, only stopping once he knows he’s facing his boyfriend’s side of the bed. The only sound in the room is their twin inhales and exhales, but once he picks his phone up and hits a random button to turn the screen on, it bathes Izuku in white light and tells Keigo exactly why he’s awake.
Eyebrows furrowed, lower lip shaking, cheeks visibly damp, the sight of Izuku’s face while he’s trapped in his own nightmares of the past, breaks Keigo’s heart. No one, not a single hero or citizen, came out of the war unscathed, but Izuku’s scars run a little deeper than most people’s. Even now, five years down the line from the conflict that changed the country’s outlook on heroics, he’s still reliving the most traumatic moments of the time period in his sleep.
Sometimes, Keigo dreams of the Gunga Mountain Villa assault. Of flames searing and scorching him, peeling skin from muscle and turning his feathers to dust. Of a man he truly believed could be saved, if only he’d let Keigo do it.
It’s not as often as it used to be, but it still happens. Keigo doubts the ghosts of his past and the regrets that cling to him like the smoke of Dabi’s flames will ever truly fade away, but if his trauma follows him like a shadow, Izuku’s are still practically a second skin to the man — although, only when he’s asleep.
When Izuku’s awake, he has life to distract him. He has his work as a professional hero, his friendships with his former UA classmates, his mother, promotional work and his relationship with Keigo to occupy his mind, but at night, there’s space freed up in his brain for the past to creep back in and taunt Izuku with images of lives lost, souls he couldn’t save, injuries that agonised him even as he pushed to fight harder.
Keigo does the only thing he can do when Izuku’s demons are particularly active; he pulls his boyfriend in so that Izuku’s head is pillowed on his chest, wraps one arm around his waist tight enough that Izuku’s subconscious recognises that he’s being held, and cups the back of Izuku’s head with his other hand so that he can drag his fingers soothingly through Izuku’s green curls, scratching lightly at the scalp beneath every few strokes.
Izuku doesn’t wake up, but he doesn’t descend any further into his nightmare, either. Sometimes, when Keigo’s too tired to be woken up by his strange sixth sense for Izuku’s emotional pain, Izuku will progress into whimpering, wailing, even screaming, but when Keigo wakes up and holds him, something about it stops Izuku’s mind from diving over the ledge and into the darkest parts of his past.
It’s not enough, but it’s enough.
“I’ve got you, Zu,” he murmurs against Izuku’s temple. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”
When Izuku’s nightmares don’t break under the force of Keigo’s affection, he tends to stay awake. It’s a force of habit at this point, not going back to sleep and instead keeping watch over Izuku until the dawn light filters into their room and Izuku wakes up, freed from his own mind.
Tonight is no different in that regard. Keigo doesn’t even feel the need to return to sleep, no heaviness in his eyelids or struggle to stay conscious. He’s happy to just lie next to Izuku and hold him as he sleeps, letting his mind wander.
Consciousness flitting from topic to topic, Keigo is content with the comfort of the mattress beneath him, the covers above him, and his boyfriend around him. Izuku’s limbs have wandered a little, one leg hooked around Keigo’s calf while he clutches at Keigo’s chest with his arms so tightly that Keigo has to shift to maintain healthy breathing.
What groceries need picking up? Who’s turn is it to vacuum the apartment next? Are they still on for dinner with Bakugou and Kirishima next week, and if so, is it their turn to pick the restaurant or the other couple’s?
Keigo’s mind whirls around the questions, dislodging answers steadily as the light outside their apartment starts to become a murky grey instead of the inky blackness of the middle of the night.
Rice crackers, pocky, udon noodles and apples. Maybe carrots, too. He’ll have to check the vegetable drawer.
Beside him, Izuku nuzzles closer to his chest and accidentally smears his tears on Keigo’s bare skin. Keigo reaches for his face and cups his cheek, wiping the saltwater trails away with his thumb.
It’s definitely Izuku’s turn; Keigo remembers doing it the previous week because he knocked the cabinet holding Izuku’s hero merch and almost broke a vintage All Might statue in the process. It’s hard to forget the kind of scolding he got for that near-miss, so this week it’s absolutely Izuku’s go with the vacuum.
Izuku’s skin is like velvet to the touch, soft and smooth. The freckles littered across it are the colour of Keigo’s morning coffee and not for the first time, he absently traces a fingertip from dot to dot, making nonsense patterns between them.
Dinner is still on, but they’re having it on a Thursday instead of the usual Friday because of a last-minute change to Kirishima’s schedule. It’s his and Izuku’s turn to choose, which makes Keigo anxious because Bakugou will take any chance he can get his hands on to try and make Keigo look bad in front of Izuku. Keigo knows he means well, that he’s just a protective best friend who worries that Keigo will hurt Izuku even after seeing both of them happy together for two, almost three, years. He’ll have to look up good spicy restaurants once Izuku wakes up and their day starts.
“I love you, Zu,” Keigo whispers into the blooming dawn light. “I love you so fucking much, it’s ridiculous.”
Izuku doesn’t answer, obviously. He’s asleep, that furrow between his eyebrows still firmly in place, but if Keigo concentrates hard enough, he can hear Izuku saying it back to him the way he always does when he’s awake; with a happy, awed lilt to his voice as if he can’t believe he gets to say the words out loud.
It makes Keigo’s heart soar, higher and faster than he’s ever managed to fly even when his wings were in peak condition, and he’s just as awed by their relationship as Izuku is. Izuku is so incredibly special, one in a hundred million, and somehow Keigo is the one who’s allowed to spoon him, kiss him, and hold him close in the bed they share in the apartment they chose together.
“You’re my world,” he tells his boyfriend, “and I’ll always do everything I can to see you smile. When you wake up, I’ll make you whatever you want for breakfast.” He kisses Izuku’s temple. “Anything you want, just to see you smile.”
Izuku murmurs, wordless and drowsy, and Keigo smiles. That means he’s close to waking up, brain crawling towards consciousness. There are no more silent tears streaming down his cheeks, either, which is only ever a good thing. While Keigo’s boyfriend might be a little trigger-happy with his tears, Keigo only ever wants to see them for good reasons, not because Izuku’s heart hurts.
Daybreak is creeping through the window, and orange and purple streaks of light are visible through the gap between the curtains. Izuku will be awake soon. He's always been well-attuned to the sunrise, circadian rhythm matched with the sun's own.
Shifting a little, Keigo strokes the back of Izuku's neck with his fingers and knits his leg between Izuku's, enjoying the warmth that radiates from his boyfriend.
"I can't wait to see you," he says. Izuku's right beside him, curled into Keigo's body instinctively, even in his sleep, but Izuku's personality is locked away by sleep, everything that makes him, him, hidden behind closed lids.
The moment Izuku rejoins him in wakefulness is Keigo's favourite moment of any given day. Those long lashes flicker before they open, revealing bright green eyes that are hazy with remnants of sleep. Recognition is immediate when he sees Keigo, some of the tiredness blinked away just from the sight of him.
"Good morning, love," Izuku whispers, voice a little scratchy with disuse. Keigo presses a long, soft kiss on his forehead.
"Morning, Sweetness. How did you sleep?"
Sometimes Izuku remembers his nightmares and will have a worse day for it, mood and spirits dragged down by it. He tries to hide it, to continue as normal, but his eyes are always a little duller, his shoulders a little less squared, his smile not quite as blinding. On these days, Keigo prefers to stick as close to his boyfriend as he can to remind him that the past is the past and that he is loved.
Izuku's cute button nose wrinkles in distaste. "Not the best," he admits, eyes dimming a little. Enough to tell Keigo it's a 'remembering day'. "What about you, hm? You're awake early again."
Not once has Keigo admitted to his habits surrounding Izuku and his nightmares. He knows it would only make his boyfriend worry, and probably make him feel guilty, too. Izuku's good at that, assuming guilt that he doesn't need to, and Keigo's not looking to help him maintain the habit.
"We didn’t close the curtains properly," he excuses smoothly. “Sunrise is bright.” Too sleepy to scrutinise Keigo's expression or tone, Izuku accepts this with a nod before opening his mouth in a yawn.
"Alright," he says, stretching without moving away from Keigo. His thighs clench around Keigo’s leg and he arches his back impressively, chest pressing against Keigo’s. The feeling of smooth, warm skin against his bare chest makes Keigo hum in contentment. Izuku groans quietly as his stretch reaches its limits and his muscles quiver briefly before he slumps in relaxation, readily curling back around Keigo like a clingy koala bear on a tree branch.
On a normal day, he’d be dragging himself out of bed already, heading to work out before eating a nutritious, protein-laden breakfast, but it’s not a normal day. Today is a rare day off work for both of them, and on their sparsely taken personal days, Izuku enjoys being lazy and staying in bed as much as a teenager with their first hangover would.
“What do you feel like for breakfast today?” Keigo asks, nuzzling his face into the crook of Izuku’s neck. He smells of eucalyptus body wash with hints of his citrusy deodorant and a barely-there trace of salty sweat. It’s a combination Keigo is intimately familiar with yet never grows tired of.
Years ago, when Izuku was just his friend, Keigo remembers them somehow gravitating together as sources of comfort for one another after the war. During that time, Izuku would hug him and Keigo would inhale his fresh, clean, combination scent and then he’d feel safe. While the brand of deodorant has changed a couple of times since then, Izuku always uses something with lime or lemon in, so the base elements remain unchanged, much to Keigo’s delight.
“Ooh, let me think,” Izuku mumbles, snuggling closer to Keigo like he can’t stand a single millimetre of space between the two of them. There’s a hardness against Keigo’s hip that he’s ignoring as best he can, wanting to focus on cheering Izuku up. If his boyfriend happens to initiate something, Keigo certainly won’t say no, but for now, he’s content leaving the ball in Izuku’s court regarding whether that hardness should be put to use or not.
“Sweet, or savoury?” Keigo presses, hoping to help narrow Izuku’s choices down to make things easier for him. When he sees Izuku’s eyes light up a little, he knows he’s figured out what he wants. And if it’s something from a family-owned bakery across the country, Keigo will fly there and get it for him.
“Crepes?” Izuku asks hopefully. He’s not quite his usual self still, but his excitement over his choice of breakfast has at least brought some of the joy back to his expression, and it makes Keigo happy to see.
Luckily, crepes are one of the few things Keigo knows how to make. He’s not the best cook in the world, having not been given any training in anything domestic by his HPSC handlers when he was growing up, and once he debuted as Hawks he didn’t have time to figure out how to cook, he was so busy trying to rise through the ranks and fulfil his ‘purpose’. Delivery services were quite possibly his closest friend until the war happened and he was freed from his gilded HPSC cage.
He’s been steadily growing his kitchen skills since then, and he’s not exactly a natural at it, but crepes?
Crepes he can do.
“Sounds great, Sweetness,” he says. “With strawberries and chocolate sauce?”
Izuku’s eyes brighten further and Keigo swears that he feels more like a hero for causing it than he ever has for anything he’s done as Hawks. “Strawberries and chocolate sauce,” he agrees in a pleased chirp. While Izuku knows Keigo loves him, there’s always going to be a part of him trained to believe he’s unimportant because of his childhood, so even small things like Keigo remembering his favourite crepe filling are wondrous to him.
It’s sweet, if a little sad, too. Keigo wishes Izuku didn’t think so little of himself, but he knows there’s nothing he can do except continue to prove that even the smallest things about Izuku are important to him. That he treasures Izuku beyond human comprehension.
With this in mind, he takes Izuku’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting his head back a little before ducking down and kissing him. It’s innocent, just the press of lips on lips, slow like dripping honey and just as sweet. Keigo pours all his love, all his adoration and devotion into it, wanting nothing more than to show Izuku how cherished he is.
After a moment, Izuku takes the initiative to deepen it, parting his lips and licking at the seam of Keigo’s until he opens his mouth and lets Izuku’s tongue slide inside. Kiss after kiss, Keigo strokes Izuku’s tongue with his own, sighing with happiness when Izuku tangles one hand in Keigo’s hair and cups his cheek with the other.
“I love you,” Izuku murmurs against Keigo’s kiss-swollen lips, voice just as awe-filled as the first time they said the words, as reverent as they have been for every repetition of them since.
“I love you more.”
Izuku hums, hitching one of his legs up so it’s resting just below Keigo’s hip bone. “Not possible,” he argues happily. Keigo begs to differ, and he says as much, but instead of reiterating his point, Izuku brings his lips back to Keigo’s and expresses his disagreement that way, kissing like he’s got something to prove.
Keigo kisses back with just as much fervour, refusing to back down, and that’s how they stay, arguing through the press of their lips until the sun has risen completely and their mouths are almost numb with sensation.
“Order up for table one,” Keigo jokes as he finishes drizzling chocolate sauce over the folded crepe. Little fragments of strawberry stick out the top of the cone, and if Keigo says so himself, he’s made a hell of a pretty breakfast for his Sweetness.
Izuku snorts fondly from where he’s perched on a stool at their kitchen island. “Thank you, chef,” he drawls. His eyes are still a little haunted, but it’s in the background at least, not dogging him quite as bad as it sometimes can. Keigo hopes it’s at least partially all his coddling that’s keeping it at bay.
He places the plate in front of Izuku, then moves to put his own crepe together; with strawberries and banana as the filling. If he really feels like indulging, sometimes he’ll melt white chocolate and put some of that on top, but he’s not in the mood for that much sugar today.
When he settles onto his own kitchen stool, Izuku’s already eaten half of his breakfast, Keigo notes with pride. Something about being able to provide for his boyfriend, giving him the care and attention he needs and deserves, makes his heart swell with satisfied happiness. And not for the first time, he wonders if perhaps he has some latent bird instincts as part of his quirk that prompt him to be a natural caregiver. He knows Izuku would be more than happy to investigate if Keigo asked him to, but he somewhat likes the mystery of not knowing.
Besides, while hero work can validly be considered caregiving, the only time Keigo gets anything from feeding or caring for someone personally is with Izuku, so maybe it’s less of a Hawk Thing and more of an Izuku Thing.
“So, any activities in mind for our day off, Sweetness?” Keigo asks between bites. Izuku tilts his head side-to-side in thought as he chews and swallows the last of his breakfast.
“Well,” he says, “I don’t think I want to go out.”
Keigo nods; this is unsurprising to him. Izuku doesn’t often have the energy to socialise with anyone on his bad days, be it strangers or friends, preferring to create a bubble around just the two of them and soak up all the love Keigo’s more than happy to shower him with.
“Fine by me, I wasn’t really in the mood to, anyway.”
Narrowing his eyes like he’s trying to weigh if Keigo’s telling the truth or just humouring him, Izuku nods slowly, seeming to accept that Keigo’s genuinely not bothered by the idea of staying home. “Right. So I was thinking we could have a lazy day. You know, not bother getting dressed, watch some movies, order KFC in for dinner.”
“We’re already nailing the no getting dressed part,” Keigo says in amusement, gesturing between them. All they bothered to put on before padding out of the bedroom in search of food was underwear, the apartment plenty warm enough for so much bare skin — that, and Keigo thinks the view would be worth it even if he was chilly.
Izuku’s thighs are ridiculous and the way his tight underwear wraps around them and highlights the musculature is the eighth wonder of the world, at least in Keigo’s opinion.
The fact that on one of his bad days, Izuku’s still thinking of putting Keigo first and suggests his favourite food for dinner, is the ninth.
“That we are,” Izuku agrees after a sip of orange juice. “So that sounds okay to you?”
Keigo leans across the island and kisses Izuku’s cheek softly, leaving a smear of strawberry juice behind that he cheekily cleans off with his tongue, bringing peals of laughter from his boyfriend that sound a little more genuine and bright than his typical ‘bad day’ laughs tend to.
“That sounds perfect to me, Sweetness.”
Izuku’s answering smile is everything.
No, Keigo thinks to himself as his boyfriend gets carried away theorising which films they should watch.
Izuku is everything.