Work Text:
The light in the room was dim and you and Shoto were resting on the bed, catching your breath in a blissful afterglow.
You were lazily stretching your legs. He was laying on his stomach, eyes closed and a blissful smile, one leg tangled up in the sheets. You drank in the vision, this intimate side of the number 2 Pro-Hero only you got to see.
You scoot closer to him, your chest on his side, and drape an arm on his back eliciting a low hum from him. You absentmindedly caress his back when your mind wanders on his scattered moles, small and dark against his pale skin. You gently press your index and middle finger above his shoulder blade and start descending slowly in zigzag motions.
Shoto turns his head, his dark gray eye looking over his shoulder to you.
“What are you doing, love?”, he asks in a sleepy voice.
“I’m creating a constellation”, you simply state, fingertips now barely pressing above the skin, following a pattern only your eyes can decipher.
“What?”.
“Your moles, they’re like stars. I’m finding a pattern in this beautiful sky”.
He gets quiet, not knowing how to answer that. He focuses on the sensation of your fingers against his back, slow and steady, almost soothing. He wonders what shape you’re tracing, what you're seeing.
“Do you know the old saying about how moles mark the places where lovers have kissed you in your past lives?”.
He turns around at your question, bicoloured eyes studying you.
“I did not know of such a myth”, he admits.
“Well, you must’ve been lucky”, you jokingly say, booping his nose.
You see his eyes darken for a second but he stays silent. You learned to read his body language by now, so you gently press your forehead against his.
“Want to tell me what that pretty little head of yours is thinking?”.
“Pretty”, he repeats, almost weighing the word on his tongue. “People call me that, but am I really? I got a few marks on my back, the one on my chest from my fight with Touya for using Phosphor and…”, his hand trails on his left eye for a second.
Your heart sinks. You remember how a few days ago he came home from an interview telling you how the makeup artist asked if she could cover his scar before press started. You tried to make him elaborate on the episode, but he seemed upset so after a while you stopped pushing it. You didn't know it still stung him so.
You cup his face and let let the tip of your thumb gently brush over the textured flesh around his turquoise eye.
He still remembers the first time you touched his scar, asking him if you could, if it still hurt. It didn’t physically. But with each caress from you he could feel some of the residual emotional pain melt away.
You’re not sure what to say but you know all you can do is love him and hope it won’t always hurt so bad.
"Scars are just stories on our skin, Shoto. They remind us what we’ve been through, how we got were we are. But they’re not always bad”, you take his wrist and point to the small fading dot on it. He got it last week in an attempt to cook you dinner.
“This was clumsy and came from love.”
You then point to your thigh, to the four long still red stripes your cat Mochi gave you when you sneezed on the couch and scared him off. “This was an accident but it still hurt. But it also reminds me of how quickly you came, disinfected it and then showered me in kisses to make me feel better. Still love”.
He brushes Mochi’s scratches, a tiny smile graces his lips but his eyes are still far away.
“If you want me to answer then yes, you are pretty. More than that, handsome. But that’s just a small part of you, you’re so much more thank mere looks”.
You sigh, trace small circles with your thumb on his cheek. “I wish you could see yourself as I do. I don’t even know if you realize how kind you are, how deep your softness runs".
You swallow the knot forming in your throat. "All the suffering you experienced, you use that to help people because you understand pain and want to prevent it”.
His eyes are getting glassy and he squeezes them shut, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in the crook of your neck.
You move one hand on his nape, rising up to his head, fingers interlacing in his white and red locks.
“I know it sometimes feels a mess and it’s too much and it’s hard. But please, don’t hide it from me. I want to see you, all of you. The light, the dark, the scars and the stars”.
You feel small drops on your neck. Then a muffled and broken voice whispers: “I don’t deserve you”.
You pull him even closer, kissing his temples. “Not true. You deserve to have everything you want out of this life. I’m just glad I’m something that you want”.
He does, with every cell of his being. Sometimes Shoto wonders why you also chose him of all people, how you actively chose to be in love with him and kept choosing him everyday. But then, when he’s curled up with you in bed like he is now, just breathing together, your safe and soothing presence… he wants nothing more that to live in this space forever.
He raises his head. You kiss the trails of tears on his cheeks. His lips hover over yours for a second, then he meets them in a trembling kiss. You feel him fall apart to then reach so deep inside you almost to pull himself back together. It’s bittersweet, both an apology and a thank you.
He pulls back a little, greeted by your soft smile and your eyes' corners dotted with small glistening beads. He kisses them away, pulls you in closer so that your head is tucked under his chin, blankets wrapped around the two of you. You rub his back in slow circles, he strokes your hair.
You start to drift off not before hearing his voice, now steadier, though it comes out in such a whisper that you're not sure if he's talking to you or himself.
“If I am to carry marks in my next life, I’m so glad it’s you”