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When Shouta returned from his patrol that night, he expected to see his husband tucked up in bed, sleeping soundly. Their schedules didn't exactly line up in the evenings — then again, Shouta's never did. This time was different. As Shouta slid through the window of their apartment, he paused. No lump in the bed, sheets strewn across the mattress.
He turned his attention to the bathroom, seeing light flood through the small crack beneath the door. Hesitantly, Shouta moved toward it and pressed an ear to the wood. He had no doubt that it was Toshinori, but it was strange that the man was up so late. Honestly? He was probably just using the bathroom, but something unsure churned in Shouta's gut.
Shouta hesitated for a moment longer before gently knocking against the wood, listening to the sound of shuffling inside come to a sudden stop. Slowly, footsteps padded softly to the door and it creaked open.
“Shouta?” Toshinori's head popped out behind the door, and Shouta inhaled sharply. The man's cheeks were streaked with tears, eyes bearing dark bags beneath them — evidence of a lack of sleep.
“Toshi? Are you okay?”
Toshinori seemed like he was about to brush it off, familiar smile pulling at gaunt cheeks. Yet, his shoulders abruptly slumped like a puppet with cut strings. Toshinori sighed heavily, an exhausted, worn out sound that made Shouta's chest ache.
In an instant he pulled his husband closer, stroking his back with hands gentler than they'd been all night. The dangerous streets outside needed rough fists and a guarded expression — here, in their own slice of the world, Shouta could allow his guard to drop. He could let himself be gentle and attentive, because he was with his partner, and they were safe.
“What is it? Talk to me,” Shouta mumbled, voice muffled slightly against straw-like tufts of blonde hair.
The man shuddered against him, long fingers winding in the folds of Shouta's shirt as he relaxed into him. Toshinori didn't speak for a long moment then, audibly trying to calm the way air left his lungs in throaty gasps — like he was forcing himself not to cry again. It wasn't often that Shouta ever saw Toshinori cry, his husband was far too used to pushing down those kinds of feelings, reserving them for moments where nobody could see him.
The fact that now was one of those rare times that the former symbol of peace found himself unable to bottle his feelings any longer meant it was bad. Bad in a way that hurt more than any physical pain Toshinori had been through.
“Why are you with me?”
Of all the things to come out of Toshinori's mouth, that was the least expected. Shouta froze, brows drawing together as his lips pressed into a frown. Why— He blinked, realisation washing over him. Moving away from his husband, Shouta held the man at arms length and met his watery gaze.
“Is this about the scars, Toshi?”
Shouta watched as a flicker of shame cross his husband's tired face, confirming the suspicion. It wasn't the first time Toshinori had spiralled into self-doubt about his appearance. The massive scar that twisted across his abdomen had become a source of deep insecurity, one that occasionally surfaced in late-night moments of vulnerability.
Without a word, Shouta gently took Toshinori's trembling hand into his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Carefully, he led his husband across their darkened bedroom toward their bed, the mattress still rumpled from Toshinori's earlier restlessness. The dim light from the bathroom casts long shadows across the room, highlighting the vulnerable slope of his husband's shoulders.
Shouta guided him to sit down and settled beside him, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles. “Do you remember what I said? The night after our wedding?”
Toshinori's expression changed for only a second, his features softening as the grimace transformed into a gentle smile. “Of course.”
Shouta hummed softly, shifting closer to rest a hand against his husband's cheek. “I said that I didn't fall in love with your body or your title. I fell in love with the man who refuses to give up, who always puts others first, who apologises too much and never takes enough credit.” His thumb brushed away a lingering tear. “Those things haven't changed, Toshi. They never will.”
His husband melted against him, turning into Shouta's arms and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Shouta said nothing as Toshinori's shoulders began to shake, as his breath caught with fresh tears. It wasn't that Shouta wanted to ignore his husband's pain, but that he understood the discomfort Toshinori felt at being seen in these moments.
Even now, years into their marriage, the former Symbol of Peace struggled to let his walls down completely, to show anything he perceived as weakness. That didn't insult Shouta, though. He understood all too well. He could be the same way sometimes, as hard as he tried not to be.
It was difficult for people like them to change behaviours so deeply ingrained in their character.
“I'm sorry—” Toshinori's voice cracked, the words barely audible against Shouta's collarbone before Shouta gently shushed him.
“No apologies. Not for this. Never for this.”
Exhaustion washed over Shouta as he held his husband, feeling the warm, heavy weight of him against his chest as he fell silent. He rested his cheek against Toshinori's head, allowing his eyes to close for just a moment.
“I love you,” Toshinori mumbled eventually, his voice a fragile whisper, the simple words carrying the weight of everything he couldn't quite put into words. Shouta's fingers threaded through blonde hair, his touch gentle as he pressed his lips to his husband's temple.
“I love you too, Toshi. Every part of you. You will always be enough for me.”