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Yagi Toshinori is like the sun.
Shouta hates when he catches himself thinking like that, because it's so obnoxiously cliché that it feels insincere. Like a line Hizashi would mockingly recite from one of his ridiculous romance mangas back in high school. It’s not something he ever imagined thinking about anyone - let alone the former Symbol of Peace. Media coverage has likened him to countless wonders of the world - most of which always made Shouta roll his eyes. As much as he tried to pretend, All Might was not superhuman. Falling for such a pretence was irresponsible.
So finding himself thinking of Toshinori in a similar way - Shouta hates it. He hates the warmth Toshinori’s cheerful smile ignites in him a little less. And when Toshinori laughs - that quiet, subdued one that makes Shouta’s heart beat a little faster - he thinks that hate might not be the right word anymore. Not when something as simple as laughter is enough to light up his entire body. It’s both infuriating and wonderfully unexpected.
After Kamino, some of that initial bitterness fades away. The world knows the truth about Toshinori - except they don’t. Not really. The world doesn’t know that he’s the lousiest teacher Shouta has ever met. Or that he hates people standing at his left side. That his eyes light up in a much nicer way when he’s not worried about cameras. The world doesn’t know that Yagi Toshinori - for all his many, many flaws - is a better man than All Might ever was.
Shouta thinks a lot about the differences, as they grow closer. Toshinori hands him a cup of coffee, smiles as he offers a quiet greeting, and Shouta thinks about how much All Might’s booming voice grated on his nerves. Toshinori shrinks away when Hizashi decides to document a moment in a photograph, and Shouta wonders how often he wanted to do the same thing when he was smiling for the media. He laughs, and Shouta’s chest warms because Toshinori’s real laugh is a hundred times better than any of All Might’s performances.
So, little by little, Shouta lets himself believe it. Toshinori is like the sun. Shining bright on everyone around him and warming them with his glow. A blazing light that, if you look at it for too long, will surely blind you. Shouta knew it was necessary to shield his eyes from brightness - it was vital with a quirk like his, after all. He never thought it would be necessary to shield his heart.
Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t manage to. He hasn’t planned for this. And by the time he realises he’s been compromised, he’s fallen too deep to drag himself back out.
-
The rain has never bothered him. More often than not, it’s soothing - whether he’s safely inside listening to the downpour or letting it hide the sound of his footsteps as he skulks through the shadows on patrol.
So the gloomy weather forecast doesn’t concern him. Especially when it means he has a logical reason to walk closer to Toshinori as they make their way back to U.A.
Toshinori gives him a bright smile, tilting the umbrella to better cover Shouta from the rain. Shouta resists commenting that his effort is better spent on keeping himself dry. Out of the two of them, he’s the least likely to end up on the verge of death because of a cold. He doesn’t, because that would undoubtedly wipe the smile from Toshinori’s face, and that feels more capable of keeping him warm than anything else.
The smile turns into something more sheepish. But still bright as ever. “I suppose you’re rethinking offering to come with me now?” He punctuates the words with an awkward chuckle, fingers twitching like he’s struggling to suppress his usual restless energy.
Shouta grunts. “It’s no worse than whatever mischief the problem children will be getting up to in my absence.” Which is true. Most days, anything is preferable to trying to wrangle twenty unpredictable teenagers. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate the quiet moment alone with Toshinori.
“Ah, don’t be so cold,” Toshinori says even as his smile softens. “If they were that much trouble, you’d have expelled them long ago.”
“If I expel them all, I’ll be out of a job.”
Toshinori laughs. That one that’s an echo of All Might’s, yet nothing alike. Loud not because he’s projecting a front but because he’s genuinely happy. Shouta ducks his head, relishing silently in the way his chest warms.
“Right,” Toshinori says surreptitiously. “That’s the main reason.”
“It’s the only reason,” Shouta deadpans. Toshinori laughs again, this time the soft, subdued laughter that Shouta lo- appreciates most. He finds himself smiling back, small and fond.
Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice the threat until the last moment. Or maybe it’s the deafening sound of rain on the pavement, obscuring the sound of running feet until their attacker is right behind them. Maybe it’s just dumb luck.
Whatever it is, it leaves Shouta a split second to react.
A split second to manoeuvre Toshinori behind him, activate Erasure, and take the knife originally aimed at Toshinori’s back.
Burning pain erupts just below his ribcage. Shouta grabs the attacker’s wrist, twisting to dislodge his grip on the knife handle before driving a knee into their stomach. With a wheeze, they stumble backwards, knife clattering to the ground. Shouta kicks it out of reach.
He spots Toshinori from the corner of his eye, a horrified look on his face as he takes stock of the situation. He appears unharmed. Reassured, Shouta returns his focus to the problem at hand.
The attacker - a middle-aged man with scruffy brown hair - glares up at him through narrowed eyes. “Out of the way,” he spits. “I’m only here for All Might. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”
The pain in his chest gives way to fury. Shouta doesn’t justify him with a response. He darts forward, calling upon his capture weapon. The man lurches forward. Shouta snares his leg with a strand of fabric, yanking his feet out from under him. He falls with a cry of surprise.
Shouta moves to pin him down. “Call the police,” he shouts over his shoulder. He hears Toshinori yell an acknowledgement before a fist connects with his side. It lands just below the knife wound. His vision whites out - no longer than a moment, but it’s enough. A kick follows and the remaining breath escapes from Shouta’s body with a wheezing cough.
Using the newfound leverage, the man shoves him aside, stumbling to his feet as Shouta catches himself on the slippery ground. He lunges for the knife. Toshinori, hovering nearby, moves to do the same. Shouta’s heart rate spikes.
Once again he’s moving before he can process it. Clumsily, he lurches up and forward, throwing his arms around the attacker’s waist and using the momentum to bring them both crashing to the ground. The impact hits harder this time. Shouta tastes blood at his lips. He’s slow to recover.
A rough hand grabs his shoulder, jerking him onto his back. Shouta blinks through the rain hitting his face, just able to make out a raised fist. And then-
There’s a smacking sound. The man slumps, collapsing to Shouta’s right. Toshinori discards the now-closed umbrella, dropping to Shouta’s side.
“He’s out?” Shouta asks. The last thing they need is another surprise attack.
Toshinori glances at the unmoving form. “Yeah. For now.”
Shouta reaches up, tugging the capture weapon clumsily off his shoulders. “Restrain him, in case he wakes up.”
Toshinori looks ready to protest. Thankfully, he falls silent. Taking the offered scarf with an absurd amount of care, he moves to tie back his hands. Shouta remains on the ground, uncomfortably aware of the blood soaking through his jumpsuit.
After a few moments, Toshinori is back beside him. He’s taken his coat off, the idiot, pressing it to the injury site. Shouta sucks in a ragged breath. His vision blurs. Through the haze, he catches the last few words explaining their location - Toshinori must’ve gotten through to the authorities - and then a pleading, “Hurry.”
Shouta breathes a sigh of relief. The pain in his chest spikes. At least the immediate threat is dealt with.
“You-” Toshinori stutters for words. “What were you thinking ?”
Shouta huffs something that’s not quite a laugh. “I wasn’t.”
Toshinori shakes his head in disbelief. “The police are on their way. Ambulance, too.”
Shouta nods in dazed acknowledgement. “Good to know.”
“Shouta,” Toshinori says, jaw set anxiously, “this is bad.”
With a groan, Shouta mutters, “You’re telling me?” The numbness spreading through his body is enough to draw that conclusion. The adrenaline is wearing off quickly. It doesn’t feel as awful as the sight of Toshinori trembling. As the wetness on his cheeks that Shouta knows isn’t the rain. “What happened to smiling through the fear, huh?”
Toshinori laughs, wet and choked. "You're not going to fall for that."
Shame, thinks that little voice Shouta’s usually so good at suppressing. Toshinori’s smile is much nicer to look at, these days.
“What?” Toshinori splutters.
It takes Shouta much too long to realise he’s spoken that aloud. His condition is going downhill even faster than he’d thought. It must be, if he’s lost that much impulse control. “Don’t worry,” he says in lieu of an answer.
“It’s hard not to,” Toshinori remarks, voice grim. “You’re bleeding a lot , Shouta.”
“Mm. The bastard got a good hit. Should’ve reacted faster.”
“Why did you do that? If you hadn’t...” Toshinori’s voice trails off. “He was aiming for me .”
“Exactly,” Shouta breathes, the word accompanied by pain spreading persistently across his chest. It’s duller now. Not a good sign. “Couldn’t risk it. I’d.... rather me than you.”
Toshinori’s breath hitches. Shouta blinks his eyes open (when had he closed them?) to find his face twisted with anguish. The tears on his cheeks are undeniable now.
“You... why ?” The tremor in his voice is palpable. Shouta’s heart aches to reach out and reassure him. His arms are numb - impossible to move.
All he can manage is a murmur. “World wouldn’t feel as bright without you.” It’s nonsense. But somehow it makes sense in Shouta’s foggy mind. Hopefully Toshinori understands, too. “We... still need you, y’know.”
Toshinori’s voice is choked by tears. “We still need you, too. Please... stay alive.”
Shouta makes a faint sound of acknowledgement. The foggy feeling has evolved into blurry vision, growing hazier with each blink of his eyes. The pain in his chest - once burning - feels so distant that he could almost forget he’s bleeding out. He might have managed to, if it weren’t for Toshinori’s horrified expression.
Shouta had expected to die in a back alley somewhere in the city, alone and defeated. It wasn’t an uncommon fate for underground heroes, so used to working alone. This isn’t a bad way to go, he thinks as his consciousness slips from his reach. Not alone. And - with Toshinori’s hand pressed to his cheek, the sound of his name the last thing he hears - surprisingly peaceful.
-
(He wakes to morning light, bright enough to burn even behind closed eyelids.
“You look like hell,” he says to Toshinori, hunched in a chair at his bedside with enough shadows over his face to rival the usual ones.
“Better me than you,” Toshinori says, smile bittersweet and wonderfully warm. Shouta’s not quite coherent enough yet to process the connection. It doesn’t matter. Seeing Toshinori smile again is enough.
He reaches out with an unsteady arm. Toshinori meets him halfway. He takes Shouta’s hand, squeezing gently. Through the lingering heaviness, Shouta’s body lights up. The spark travels from his fingertips to the resounding ache in his chest.
Toshinori starts to say more, the familiar crease of guilt tinging his expression. Shouta tugs him closer, silencing whatever words were building on his tongue. Clumsily, his fingers roam Toshinori’s wrist, in search of his pulse. “Don’t apologise,” he says, breathless. “Just... be here with me.”
Steadying his trembling hand, Toshinori manoeuvres so that Shouta can feel the beat of his heart, strong as ever. “Whatever you need,” he murmurs.
A thumb brushes over his own wrist, gentle and reverent. The last of Shouta’s tension melts away.)