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"Izuku." Oh, there's a warning in that tone. Izuku has done something wrong, clearly, and he has a sneaking suspicion that he knows exactly what it is.
But he doesn't want to have that conversation, not one bit; it doesn't take Izuku so much as a blink to decide that he is very much determined to dodge this if he can. Because he knows that Shouta cares about him, he has no doubt about that fact at this point, but he also knows that, just because he is cared about, that won't magically fix all of the bad things he has learnt about himself and his worth. So instead he just tilts further back in his seat, blinking wide-eyed up at his partner,
"Yes, Shouta?" he murmurs, reaching up to trace fingertips along Shouta's jaw, the just-there stubble and soft skin beneath. His partner leans into the touch, eyes slipping shut.
"You're trying to distract me." Shouta's tone is low, rumbling, but far too soft to be annoyed.
"Is it working?"
"A bit." And there's the tiniest hint of annoyance, barely there at all. Yet he can only grin at the taller man.
"I'm glad to hear it," Izuku says with just a little bit of a purr, letting his palm slide up to cup Shouta's cheek properly, thumb catching sweetly at the corner of his jaw.
Shouta scowls, then, yet he doesn't move his face away from Izuku's hand. No, if anything he just leans even further into it.
For several long breaths they remain like that, a tableau of peace, contentment a thing of embers settling into their bones, but finally Shouta draws away slightly, just enough to brush a kiss to Izuku's palm, before he moves away entirely. Or rather, he walks around the sofa to instead come and sit next to Izuku, at enough of an angle that he can look him in the eye, dark and serious.
"You can't ignore me, Izuku."
"I'm not ignoring you!" he exclaims, very genuinely wanting to ensure that Shouta isn't feeling neglected or that Izuku doesn't value his opinion. Because he does.
He would just also rather flirt or snark with his partner than have this conversation right now. Or ever, for that fact.
"No, I'm listening very carefully," he assures, instead, teasing, reaching out to grab Shouta's hands in his own.
"Then prove it," Shouta returns, one eyebrow raising, fingers settling along the side of Izuku's wrist, tracing the faint protrusion of the bone.
"Make me," Izuku snarls, half genuine, half sarcastic.
He can't regret it when Shouta leans in close, all broad shoulders and looming height, shaking a hand loose to instead brace a forearm against Izuku's shoulder, pinning him relatively lightly back against the sofa. Certainly lighter than he can do, even in a spar. It's still heavy though.
"Don't tempt me, Izuku. Do not fucking tempt me." The shorter man smirks, letting his eyes go half-lidded, pushing just a little against Shouta's arm,
"I mean-"
"No." Shouta's scowl is a dark, gorgeous thing. It has Izuku's breath catching in his throat, heart double-thumping, the most delightful shudder down his spine. Oh, his Shouta.
"My gran's home," Shouta continues, seemingly unaware of how ridiculously enamoured Izuku is.
"Keiko-baa loves me." It's true, and about the only words other than 'I love you' that Izuku can even fathom in this moment.
"Sometimes I think she loves you more than she does me," Shouta huffs, and both of them relax all at once, then, shoulders going loose, sagging into each other slightly.
"I meant it though, Izuku. You need to stop." Oh. Well, that got serious again far sooner than Izuku would have really liked. That's a pretty major shame, considering he was hoping to avoid Shouta addressing this. (Look, Izuku never pretended that he learnt how to be completely sensible about his own health and wellbeing. It's still not his priority. It quite likely never will be. Not even when he knows that the people who love him are worried about him.)
Not even when Shouta is frown-scowling at him, those lines between his eyebrows and the edge of his jaw going tight.
Izuku settles his hands carefully on Shouta's arms, fingers flexing, holding on for as much his own stability as for Shouta's comfort.
"I- Do we have to do this, Shouta?"
"Izuku," he huffs, but there's melancholy to that, a bittersweet understanding. It saps away far too much of Izuku's determination to avoid the topic.
He murmurs a low apology, at that, because he doesn't want to upset his partner, and he knows that they should be having this conversation. He knows it like the ache in his hands and shoulders and ribs, the exhaustion simmering deep in his marrow, the itchiness of blood splashed over the back of his eyelids, an awful remembrance.
(The last few weeks... They've been rough, to say the least, three raids and a failed rescue and the anniversary of his Mum's birthday all at once, more than enough that he has been pushing himself too far, too hard. So, okay, Izuku hasn't been looking after himself particularly well.
But he never wanted to worry his partner. He never wanted his own hurts to bleed over to Shouta.)
Shouta doesn't tell him that it's okay, because they both know that it isn't, but he twists their arms around until he can brace hands around Izuku's wrists, forever gentle, no less kind than the first day they met and he pulled Izuku up from the ground, now pressing palms to Izuku's pulse point, a reassurance for them both.
They breathe together for a long few moments, then. It eases some of Izuku's shudder-deep anxieties.
"It's been a really shit few weeks." It's too simple a sentence, really, but in other ways it's perfect. A start, at least. Enough to have Shouta dipping his head slightly, a simple acknowledgement.
"Mm."
"That man, Shou, he-" Izuku grapples with himself then, with the guilt and the words and the loathing, the truth digging its millstone-rough surface around his neck,
"-he didn't deserve me as a hero. He should've lived. He shouldn't have died."
For a breathless moment, neither of them say anything, and all Izuku can focus on is the twitch of Shouta's fingers, how they shift over the edge of one of Izuku's bandages, how even subconsciously Shouta is seeking out his heartbeat.
"Izuku, no." It shatters that tiny moment of almost-peace, jolting Izuku back into his grief,
"He just-"
"Izuku, Anata, you can't do that to yourself. You can't." Izuku drags his eyes up, staring up at the molten-aching gaze of his partner, even whilst words are tumbling off of his own lips, the fall of deadwood down a mossy hill,
"Shouta, there's no way that if another hero, if you or Trapler or one of our friends, was there instead then he wouldn't have di-"
"No. Just no."
Izuku sags back slightly, then, lip between his teeth and only staying in place because of Shouta's hands on his wrists.
His partner takes the chance to continue talking at this point, meeting Izuku's gaze with a steady, sombre light to his dark eyes, moonlit clouds,
"Logically, a different hero could have been there. A different mugger could have been there, or they might have had a different Quirk, or the victim might have reacted differently, or you might not have already been injured, or no hero could have been there at all. That man might have died alone." Shouta's voice stays flat on the surface, but there are ripples beneath it, all conviction-understanding-grief,
"Everything might have gone correctly, and he still could have had a heart attack on the way home." Izuku flinches, at those words, but his heartrate is slowing all the same, a wave of calm.
Shouta is actually right. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised, Shouta is rather good at that, but still. Having it said aloud helps in a way that his own half-incoherent thoughts just couldn't.
"You tried, Anata. Sometimes our best just isn't enough, but you did so much. You were there for him."
Oh, and that's the tipping point. Izuku can't help the tears that burn down his cheeks, the way his chest goes too tight, how he crumples into himself, into Shouta, clinging desperately to his partner, because he can't be alone right now. He can't be without his island. Least of all today, in this terrible moment, when he so achingly needs the words and touch and warmth.
"Izuku, breathe, just keep on breathing for me, Izuku. I need you to stay with me." He is breathing, albeit not particularly well still, but he's listening to Shouta, is leaning into him shamelessly and unflinchingly.
They remain like that for a while, admittedly. It's a comfort they both sorely need, after this last few weeks, because whilst that poor civilian's death has weighed heaviest on Izuku, it is far from the only thing that has happened, that has affected them both, and Shouta has had to wait in hospital once for him, and waited for too-late phone calls from Izuku more times than that, on top of his own patrols and life.
Being able to relieve some of that pressure, to finally break down that wall keeping it all away from them (in between them, in some ways, in ways they both tried not to allow yet couldn't entirely avoid either-), is a relief, no matter how much Izuku had been dreading it.
(He still doesn't like to burden Shouta with his heavier moments, with his breakdowns and ugliness and failures, because Shouta might- Shouta cares about him, but that doesn't mean that he should have to put up with everything wrong with Izuku. Even, what, six years into knowing each other, Izuku still finds it hard to believe, some days, just how much Shouta is willing to face for him.
What started as snarling at random Quirkists on the street, or inviting Izuku into his family home when he had nowhere else to go, has only grown since then. It is something that Izuku wanders at, treasures, wishes to never lose, yet cannot always let himself revel in either.
He could never be more grateful for everything that Shouta is, the good and the bad and the his.)
For all of that relief, there is still a sharp edge to it, lingering grief and remembered tension. An awareness that no matter how well they address such things, how hard they try to talk them through, to acknowledge and process and share the burden, it doesn't magically fix the world.
Izuku gives in to it by nudging their knees together. Apparently, that's enough of a prompt for the taller man to flop further into the sofa, shifting their legs closer together, fingers tangling between them both.
"I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about this earlier. I know it's been difficult," Shouta mutters. The edge of bitterness hurts Izuku to hear.
"Shou, I wouldn't have listened, I wasn't ready to. And you can't be responsible for every one of my emotions."
"Perhaps so," the taller man snorts, weary. They're both exhausted, in general and emotionally, to say the least.
Izuku reaches up, traces just-trembling fingertips over the sweep of a cheekbone, slipping briefly into the dark hairline, settling at the corner of a stubbled jaw, oh-so delicately brushing against the tip of cheek-rested eyelashes.
Oh, but how he adores his Shouta. His beloved island.
But he doesn't know how to articulate that, not directly at least, so he simply leans forward to press a kiss to Shouta's other cheek.
"Thank you, Shouta. For being so patient, and everything else." There's an aching, adoring pause, Shouta tilting close, the turn of his mouth discontent despite how warm his eyes are, how gentle his hands,
"I was just worried."
"But you didn't have to do anything, still, so thank you."
(Izuku doesn't know it, but the tenderness of this moment, the relief still rushing through Shouta, has the man breathless, staring at this beautiful, hurt person that he so loves, his Anata who has been struggling for a fortnight already, yet is still so understanding of Shouta himself, is so considerate of Shouta's own self and circumstances. It's so much.
How did Shouta get so lucky as to have Izuku for a partner?)
Izuku isn't entirely surprised by the way that Shouta shrugs then, clearly a little uncomfortable, as always, with any praise or gratitude,
"You've had a shit few weeks. I wasn't going to just not support you."
"And I appreciate it." Izuku doesn't miss how Shouta pulls a bit of a face at that, already rushing to continue,
"Just accept the compliment!"
Now Shouta is all-out scowling, nose wrinkling to match,
"You've literally done something similar for me multiple times."
"Because you're my partner and I want you to be okay." Izuku says it as though it's the most obvious thing ever in the world, because to him it is, and it has Shouta's hand flexing around his.
"Tell me about it," Shouta deadpans, and Izuku gets the message, loud and clear: Shouta has the exact same reasonings.
Which, well, Izuku could have reasonably guessed, but having it said, in such a Shouta way, still means the world.
The taller man reaches up too, a warm palm settling at the side of Izuku's neck, careful to stay low enough not to register as a danger, an utterly grounding affection.
"You're an idiot sometimes, Izuku, but you're my idiot."
"Deal," he grins, unable to help the genuine glee that the possessive has frissoning through him. He will never not be overjoyed at knowing that he belongs, right here, at Shouta's side.
Shouta just smiles, that tiny, barely-there thing that Izuku perhaps loves most of all of his partner's expressions. His thumb shifts, slightly, rough skin and gentle warmth, along the line of Izuku's neck, a delicate affection.
"Hey, Shouta, want to spar tomorrow?" Izuku finally offers, eyebrows shifting in that way that he knows always amuses Shouta. It's not Izuku's fault he can't raise only one eyebrow at a time. Equally, he's entirely willing to make good use of it. Shouta deserves some amusement.
It works well enough, Izuku thinks, given how some of the light in those dark eyes burn brighter, and he's glad for that. It makes his own heart swell three sizes.
"If you're planning to take tonight off," Shouta bargains, head tilting in that way that makes sharp shadows drag across his features in the most beautiful way. For a split second, every thought in Izuku's head evaporates.
"Only if you'll keep me company instead," he says, tilting his head too, so that his curls shift, letting his eyelashes sink low, shadowed and sweet.
That has a smirk on Shouta's face, dark, leering, as he leans in closer, hand slipping around to the back of Izuku's neck, fingertips threading into the short-shorn curls. Izuku shamelessly lists back into his touch. His partner's smirk only grows,
"Neko-Hero Three?"
"If we play cards with Keiko-baa after dinner."
"That was a given," Shouta snorts.
Izuku leans forwards enough to thunk their foreheads together, oh-so gently, before they both draw away entirely, shoulders far lighter than they were not even a full hour ago.
Not everything is fixed. Izuku still aches, in his heart and in his injuries, but some of the agony has abated. He can breathe with his entire lungs again. (A life has still been lost, an entire human being just gone, but Izuku can at least promise himself to never forget that shade of brown eyes, or the three moles along the man's jaw, that even the dead will not be entirely lost-) And he knows that, no matter what, Shouta is with him.
His island will never stray from his side, Izuku has no doubt, always a safe haven, a comfort, home, beyond anything else that he can fathom being blessed with. He couldn't be more grateful for it.
So for now he will brush a kiss to Shouta's cheek, will pull the taller man off of the sofa with him no matter the twinges to his own scrapes and sprains, conveying his adoration in every glance, with every touch of his fingers and nudge of his shoulder as they head to the kitchen, ready to start on dinner before Keiko-baa comes downstairs. Izuku is okay, like this.
Tomorrow will dawn a brighter day, with Shouta's hand in his.