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Toshinori barely heard them come home through the muffled roar of his own agony. This was something he should’ve been used to by now, but every time the old pain flared, he still felt like he couldn’t breathe.
The hollow where his stomach should’ve been hurt. His joints hurt. His head hurt—
“—love, tell us where it hurts.”
Toshinori blinked hard, trying to clear the blur from his eyes, and something hot rolled down his cheeks in the aftermath.
“When did—”
“Just now,” Shouta replied before Toshinori could finish, setting a bottle of water on the nightstand before unwrapping his scarf.
“Why didn’t you call?”
Toshinori looked away sheepishly, withering beneath Hizashi’s stern glare.
“You lecture Shou about this, so you can’t turn around and do it yourself, y’know?” Hizashi scolded, and Shouta huffed a small laugh from where he’d migrated to the en-suite.
Toshinori deflated, trying to uncurl and defend himself, but the pain chose that moment to spike. He grunted and curled back up again, tighter than before. A cool hand pressed lightly into his shoulder, tracing soothing circles through the fabric and into his skin.
“Just breathe through it,” Hizashi mumbled, low and soft. “You remember your exercises.”
He did, but it was easier said than done to follow through on them when everything ached this badly. A soft, wounded sound tumbled from his lips before he could stop it, and Toshinori wanted to scold himself for such vulnerability—
But he didn’t do that anymore. Or, at least, he was trying not to. If he did, Shouta and Hizashi would get on at him about it anyway. His whole body shuddered and trembled, sinking deeper into the memory foam.
“Did you take your breakthrough meds?” Shouta asked as he padded back in, now in sweats and a t-shirt.
Toshinori grimaced.
“…An hour ago.”
“And?”
“And they’re not helping much.”
Shouta and Hizashi shared a look then, worry written all over their faces. Toshinori hated to worry them; it was why he hadn’t wanted to bother them on their patrol. It was the first time in a long time they’d been able to go out together, after all, what with Shouta’s own disability.
They moved as a unit, and Toshinori barely even realised for a moment. Another blanket was layered over him and switched on with a click, heat bleeding through almost instantly. Toshinori sighed in relief as the warmth eased some of the pain.
“You don’t have to—” he started, grimacing at how helpless he was, how little he could do to help them with any of this, but Shouta held a hand up.
And the man didn’t even need to say anything; Toshinori fell silent as the pair slid into bed on either side of him, careful not to jostle him.
For a few quiet breaths, all Toshinori could do was listen to the rustle of sheets and the steady, familiar sound of their breathing as they settled. Hizashi’s hand stayed on his shoulder, thumb stroking those slow, patient arcs.
On his other side, Shouta shifted just enough to press his forearm alongside Toshinori’s, a solid line of warmth and grounding without painful pressure.
“Okay,” Shouta murmured, voice rough with exhaustion from the day. “Talk to us. Is it sharp, or… more like a deep ache?”
Toshinori swallowed, trying to gather himself. “It’s… both.” He hated how brittle his voice sounded, the way it caught on the inhale.
Hizashi made a soft, unhappy sound. “Hey,” he said, gentle but firm. “You’re doing great. Breathe in for four. Hold. Out for six.”
Toshinori obeyed, counting in his head. The heat from the blanket seeped deeper, loosening even the tightest knots in his limbs. It didn’t eliminate the pain, not really, not entirely, but it gave him something to hold onto instead of falling through.
Shouta’s fingers found Toshinori’s wrist. “Your heart’s racing,” he observed quietly.
“I’m sorry,” Toshinori breathed, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
Both of them stilled.
Shouta’s grip tightened by the smallest degree. “Don’t,” he rumbled, and there was steel in it, softened only by the fact he didn’t raise his voice. “Not for needing us.”
Hizashi leaned in from the other side until his forehead brushed Toshinori’s temple. “You’re not a burden,” he whispered, as if reading the man’s thoughts. “You’re a person we love. Let us do what we do best.”
Toshinori shut his eyes, letting the words sink in. Another wave rolled through him, tears gathering beneath his lashes, but this time he didn’t curl away. He stayed, breathing, anchored by Shouta’s steady presence and Hizashi’s touch, and when the spike eased he realised he was still here.
He hadn’t disappeared beneath it.
“Good,” Hizashi praised softly, reaching up to cup Toshinori’s face. “That’s it. One at a time.”
There. For the first time all evening, the pain eased. He wasn’t quite ready to admit it—he probably never would be—but sometimes things really were better handled with the people who cared.