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Izuru did not need to sleep, but they often chose to at the request of their partners. However, it was always incredibly easy to wake them. So easy, in fact, that all it took on this night in particular was the faint scent of blood. At first, they thought they might have imagined it, but it didn't fade as they fully woke. They frowned, sitting up cautiously to avoid disturbing their more heavily sleeping lovers, and two things occurred to them at the same time. The first was that Nagito was not with them, and the second was the date. They had let their guard down as night had fallen, thinking that for once, perhaps they had made it through this day without incident, but they stood corrected. It was not yet midnight.
They carefully extracted themselves from Makoto's arms and stood up, silently leaving the bedroom and entering the extra room across the hall. What they saw did not surprise them. Nagito was curled up on the bed, trembling, ripping feathers out of his grey-black wings by the fistful. He had clearly been doing this for a while, as his wings now had a few bleeding bald patches, and there were loose feathers everywhere. He did not look up as Izuru entered the room, but Izuru knew he was still aware of their presence.
"Darling..." Their voice was soft as they crossed the room to Nagito, and gently rested their hands over his to disrupt his angry plucking. It was only then that Nagito acknowledged them, just barely raising his head. Tears were streaming down his face.
"I'm sorry," Nagito whimpered, slowly letting go of his feathers at the insistence of Izuru's touch. "I'm sorry, I-"
"You have nothing to apologize for, my dearest," Izuru told them gently, lifting one of his hands to press a soft kiss to the back of it. "You tried your best. If anything, it is my own fault for allowing myself to sleep. I should have remained awake for you. I know how hard this day is for you." The memory came back to them so clearly, of that night, over a century ago, when they had found Nagito laying in a smoking crater, his formerly pristine white wings now blackened and smoking. He looked almost as fragile now as he had then, and Izuru let go of Nagito's hand to pick him up in the same way they had on that night. They held him close, turning around and sitting down on the bed with him on their lap.
Nagito responded only by clinging to Izuru and sobbing into their chest. Instinctively, as they had been doing for as long as this had been their reality, Izuru began running their fingers through Nagito's hair in an attempt to comfort them. They didn't say anything, instead simply allowing Nagito to cry for a few minutes. They knew better than to interrupt.
When Nagito's sobs had slowed and he'd caught his breath a little, he looked up at Izuru. "I-I don't know why it still upsets me so much," he mumbled tearfully. "I mean, i-it's my own fault anyway..."
"Technically it is mine," Izuru said, as if they had not been having this exact conversation for longer than most humans had been alive.
More memories fought their way to the front of Izuru's mind, memories they often ignored and frequently wished they could simply forget.
Izuru's earliest memories were blurry and faded, but there was one thing that had remained a constant among them; Nagito. Weather he had merely been a soft feeling of warmth, or a faint glow, or on the rare occasion when he bent the rules to show himself, Izuru had always recognized him, though he hadn't had a comprehensible name back then. They had known him as a friend. A familiar presence that may or may not have been imagined. As they had grown older, Nagito had appeared less and less, but Izuru was always vaguely aware of him, in the form of a feeling of comfort after narrowly avoiding some unpleasant circumstance.
But some things could not be prevented. After the deaths of their parents, Izuru had begun once more noticing the signs that he had formerly thought imagined, and eventually Nagito had shown himself once more. He was the most beautiful thing Izuru had seen. A softly glowing man similar in age to them, with beautiful white wings. It had been hard to take their eyes off of him. While Nagito could never stay for too long, he did his best to be a companion to them.
Until they had gotten sick.
At the time, the illness did not have a name, and in the modern time Izuru had never cared to try to find out what it was. They recalled hellish nights of fevers and delusions, splitting headaches, each day growing weaker and weaker... they could not think about that time without a chill running down their back.
Fate being what it was, Nagito had not been allowed to intervene. He had tried, he had tried so desperately, but his healing magic was restricted by the very same deity that had seen fit to so cruelly end Izuru's life. Try as they might, Izuru had never forgiven themself for the decision Nagito had made.
It was difficult to remember. The illness had fragmented and further blurred those memories, but they very clearly remembered when Nagito had returned, and not alone. They remembered the bite, the agony, and the feeling of his heart stopping. He remembered the transformation, the way his body had felt like it was on fire from within, the *hunger*. The desperate hunger. They didn't know when Nagito had disappeared, but he remembered being grateful the angel had not seen their first hunt.
At first they believed it had worked. Izuru was well and Nagito had not healed him. However, they didn't truly realize the consequences until two days later, when Nagito had reappeared as a shooting star, crashing to the earth.
"It's not..." Nagito's voice drew Izuru out of their memories. A lifetime in seconds. How funny the mind could be. "You didn't get sick on purpose..."
"And you were only trying to do what you felt was right," Izuru told him. "I will forever believe you did not deserve to be punished, even if it did bring you to me more permanently."
"I don't regret it," Nagito said quickly, fear in his eyes, "I don't. I promise you, I don't."
"I did not think you did," Izuru soothed. "It is alright, my love."
Nagito was quiet for a moment, before shifting slightly in Izuru's arms. "...my wings hurt."
Izuru nodded dutifully and stood, setting Nagito gently on the bed so he was laying on his stomach. They left only for a moment, returning with a first aid kit. Without a word, they gently patched up the featherless and bleeding patches of Nagito's wings. When they had finished, they sat down beside Nagito, and began massaging around where his wings connected to his back. This was a weakness of Nagito's, and at this moment it felt appropriate to exploit it. After decades of experience, Izuru knew exactly where to press, and exactly how, to reduce Nagito to a relaxed and sleepy state. Once this was achieved, they shifted their focus to playing with Nagito's hair until they were fully asleep.
Peace is not easy to come by for immortals, but it crossed Izuru's mind that what they had now was perhaps as close as they would ever get.