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It takes Toshinori ages to fall asleep on his own. Falling asleep has always been difficult for the retired hero. He’s full of a restless, endless kind of energy he could never quite completely sate even after a long day of hero work, and the older he got, the more complications he had with his health and his running thoughts. Shouta made things easier, somehow. Reassuring and soothing in his own astute, stubborn, pragmatic kind of way.
So, on nights when Shouta works, falling asleep takes ages. And it is both unsurprising, and incredibly frustrating when Toshinori startles awake, after what feels like only a few minutes of sleep. He lies still for a moment, cataloguing the differences in the room and what could have woken him, realizing belatedly it is probably thanks to the wet, heavy form suddenly pressing against his back.
“Shouta?”
The form groans an affirmative.
He chuckles, relieved by the easy answer to his concern, and glances over his shoulder. In the dark he can’t make out any more than the general lump that is Shouta, hanging half off the bed next to him. His capture weapon lies almost entirely unwound in a pile next to him.
“Why are you all wet? I didn’t think it was supposed to rain tonight.”
“Didn’t rain,” Shouta grunts.
“What? Then why are you all wet?”
Shouta doesn’t answer and Toshinori sits up, ignoring the whined protest as Shouta slumps further onto the bed. Leaning over, he turns on a bedside lamp. The light is dim, but it still stings his eyes as it comes on; even Shouta flinches at the change–despite being face-down in the mattress.
At first there’s nothing startling about the image of the dark-haired hero lying sprawled in such a way, or rather there’s nothing unfamiliar about it, but then he sees the color pooling under him.
Toshinori reaches for him. “Is that blood?”
“Not mine.” Shouta grunts again, words muffled by the blankets.
Toshinori tosses the blankets off himself, all but leaping from the bed.
Shouta says something else, but Toshinori can hardly make out the sound, let alone piece together the words between his exhausted slurring and the buffer of fabric under him.
Grabbing him under the arms, Toshinori hauls him off the bed.
That wakes him, and Shouta squirms in his hold. “What are you doing?”
“You’re getting in the shower, right now.”
Shouta sags against him, not making any move to get away, but certainly not making the trek to the bathroom any easier. “I just want to sleep.”
Toshinori ignores his whining, kicking open the bathroom door and pushing on the light switch with his elbow. Shouta flinches again at the harsher light, but still doesn’t fight Toshinori’s hold, letting him manhandle him into the walk-in shower. Toshinori hits the lever to turn the water on. Shouta sways unsteadily under the spray, but he doesn’t immediately fall over, so Toshinori considers it a win.
“Take off your jumpsuit,” He orders. “Just leave it in the shower for now. I’ll be back in a moment.”
He strips the soiled sheets off the bed, tossing them into the corner to be dealt with later. In the morning he’ll regret it, but for now he has more pressing concerns. What’s one more blood stain anyways?
He hangs Shouta’s capture weapon as best he can on its hook on the wall – made for easy, emergency access – but it needs to be washed before he can let the filthy thing anywhere near Shouta’s face again. He pulls a clean fitted sheet onto the mattress and grabs a few spare blankets from the closet before he returns to the bathroom. Shouta’s only managed to get his jumpsuit half-off, but at least he tried, which is more than Toshinori can get from him some nights.
The water falling off him runs red and brown.
Stripping off his own light-weight sleep clothes, Toshinori joins him in the shower. Carefully, he helps peel the jumpsuit the rest of the way off, kicking it to the corner of the shower. Shouta sags against him as he reaches for shampoo, but Toshinori can already feel him becoming more alert under the spray.
“How does this even happen?” He asks, though not expecting much of an answer as he pours a generous amount of soap onto Shouta’s head.
“Explosion and regeneration quirk duo.”
He grimaces, working the soap into Shouta’s hair. The lather turns a dark, rusty color under his hands. “That sounds… well, dreadful, honestly.”
Shouta snorts against his shoulder. “No kidding.”
Toshinori pushes him further under the spray, tilting his head to catch the most of it, and waits until the water finally runs clear before he pulls Shouta back and pours more shampoo into his hands. He washes his hair once more, just to be safe.
Toshnori lathers up a washcloth with body wash and nudges it into Shouta’s hand. “Wash yourself off.”
Shouta only grunts in reply, but he takes the washcloth.
Toshinori grabs conditioner, pouring a generous amount onto the ends of Shouta’s thick hair.
He lets silence settle over them as he combs his fingers through Shouta’s hair, wincing in sympathy as he hits a particularly nasty snag. Shouta, however, seems unbothered. The quiet breaks only once for Shouta to ask for more body wash.
He can tell Shouta’s more awake by the time Toshinori finally deems him clean enough by the way dark eyes follow him around the bathroom as he slings a towel around his own waist before dropping one over Shouta’s head and wrapping a second one around him, but Shouta still lets Toshinori fuss over him, and guide him to sit on the edge of the bathtub.
“Stay there, I'm getting the first aid kit.”
“I'm fine.”
“Shut up.”
Shouta huffs a quiet laugh, somewhere between fond and exasperated, and shuts up.
First aid kit in tow, Toshinori crouches before Shouta, looking him over for the most pressing injuries, and ignoring the pointed look he gets for the way his knees pop as they bend. There's a scrape on Shouta’s cheek, and similar, small cuts scattered over his arms. The worst of it seems to be the already-darkening purple bruise curling around his ribs and over his shoulder, and a jagged cut on his leg.
Toshinori starts with his leg, settling onto the floor with a damp cloth to clean the wound, Shouta’s foot propped in his lap.
“This should really have stitches,” he mutters, even as he grabs a handful of butterfly closures from the kit.
“It’s fine.”
Toshinori rolls his eyes rather than arguing. He finishes wrapping Shouta’s calf in gauze, and looks up with an overly sweet smile. Shouta kicks at him with his uninjured leg.
“I can’t believe you made me get in the shower at three in the morning,” he mutters, as Toshinori moves from his leg to his cheek.
One hand cradling Shouta’s chin, he spreads antibiotic ointment over the cut and places a bandage over it. “You could have saved us both the trouble if you had at least tried to clean up first. Or slept on the couch.”
“You would have wondered where I was,” Shouta sighs, and it sounds like a complaint, even as he nudges Toshinori’s leg, so he knows it’s not. “And the last thing Eri needs to wake up to is me covered in guts on the couch.”
Toshinori makes a face. “Oh, only I get that privilege?”
“You can handle it, better than a six-year-old, anyways.”
Toshinori huffs but doesn’t protest. Getting to his feet, he settles between Shouta’s legs to towel off his hair. Shouta reaches out to grab his hip. It’s not a particularly strong touch, but it’s grounding, cementing the two of them in this moment together. The silence is warm and comfortable; and Toshinori can't help but think, even as his eyes sting from being woken suddenly from an already short sleep, and his pulse is only just now back to normal from his initial shock and horror of seeing Shouta return home exhausted and bloodied, that this is what happiness-at least his happiness-feels like; being able to savor this simple moment in time with someone he loves.
“Let’s get married.”
Toshinori chokes on a cough, biting his tongue in the process. He stumbles back, hiding his face in the crook of his arm, just to be safe. The last thing they need is for Shouta to be covered in yet another person’s blood for the night.
Shouta, meanwhile, hasn’t moved at all, his arm still out-stretched, as if Toshinori hadn’t stepped away, though the towel has fallen from his head. He matches Toshinori’s wide-eyed look with one of his own, as if he is just as surprised by the words that have come from his mouth.
“What?” Toshinori asks when he’s sure it’s safe for him to speak, hesitantly lowering his arm.
Shouta’s shoulders hunch and he ducks his head, but there’s no scarf to hide in like there is when he’s dressed. Toshinori can see the ends of his hair start to lift as he glances around the bathroom, as if looking for an answer, or somewhere to hide, a familiar compliment to the faint flush to his cheeks. “I mean… do you want to get married?...Eventually?”
“To you?”
Shouta arches a brow, his surprised expression transforming into something a little more familiar as his hair settles back around his shoulders. “I’m sorry, did you have someone else in mind?”
Toshinori sputters, finally crossing the distance between them once again. “Of course not! I just… didn’t,” his hand goes to cradle Shouta’s jaw again, and Shouta’s hand settles back on his hip but his grip is tighter now, as if he truly had anything to worry about with Toshinori’s slip or him slipping away. “Did you mean it?”
“I did,” Shouta admits. “I didn’t think it would come out today, or like that. But I’ve thought about it before.”
Toshinori feels like his world is spinning. “Really?”
“I love you, Toshinori. And maybe neither of us planned this, but we've made a life together. We’re raising a child together,” he shakes his head. “Hell, we’re raising multiple children. Why shouldn't we?”
Toshinori doesn't have the words, doesn't know if he'll ever have the words to properly express his awe, how he never expected to have even a fraction of this life they’ve made together, let alone get married, or have a family, but he surges forward, holding Shouta's face between his hands to kiss him senseless. They teeter precariously on the edge of the tub, but Shouta reacts just in time to save them from a painful tumble into the porcelain, throwing his arms around Toshinori's shoulders and pushing his weight against him. Toshinori takes it in stride, stepping back to accommodate and pulling Shouta off the tub. They stumble for a few feet before they bump and settle against the sink. It’s as good a place as any to catch their breath.
Shouta pushes Toshinori’s bangs behind his ears. “So, I’m assuming I can take that as a yes?”
Toshinori can’t help himself as he laughs, pressing another quick kiss to Shouta’s lips, and then the tip of his nose and the top of his head, for good measure. “Of course, my love,” he whispers into still-damp hair, savoring the scent of their shared shampoo, of the feeling of Shouta in his arms and his strong hands against his back.
They stumble back to bed, hands straying against naked bodies, but exhaustion hovers over them, lulling their sudden excitement to something soft and gentle. They both drift off to sleep within minutes of climbing into bed. They’ve both been falling asleep easier and sleeping better since getting together, not just Toshinori, and only in this moment does that suddenly seem like a bad thing.
In the morning, when sunlight pools in through the window, the curtains left open from Shouta’s late night entrance, Toshinori is the first to wake. The warm rays brush against his face in a gentle caress. Shouta lies beside him, bathed in the light but seemingly unaware of its warm touch or the way he glows under it.
He doesn’t look particularly comfortable, on his back with one arm shoved under the pillow and another stretched out between them, but comfort has never seemed to be Shouta’s biggest concern. Toshinori follows the sunbeams dancing across his lover (his fiancé now?) – trailing over a relaxed, calloused palm and up the pale expanse of his arm. He presses a soft kiss to the crook of his elbow, fingers brushing gently over the edges of the scar left by Shigaraki.
When he looks up, Shouta is watching him through hooded eyes.
“What are you doing?”
Toshinori continues on, pressing a kiss to his bicep, and another to his shoulder before he noses against his chin. “Good morning, love.”
“You have morning breath,” Shouta complains, nose wrinkling in displeasure.
Toshinori snorts, ignoring the complaint as he leans over for a kiss. “Yours is worse. At least I brushed my teeth last night.”
“Then you definitely shouldn’t be kissing me,” Shouta replies, even as he tilts his chin up to meet Toshinori.
Toshinori gives him nothing more than a quick peck before he starts to pull away. Shouta’s hand comes out from under his pillow before he can get much distance, pulling him back down for a proper kiss. Toshinori’s smug smile interrupts things a few times, but Shouta learned ages ago how to fix or work around such a problem.
Eventually, they break apart so Toshinori can catch his breath. Shoving his pillows against the headboard, he shifts to lean against it. Shouta stays prone besides him, reaching out to trace random patterns against his arm.
Shouta clears his throat suddenly, breaking the silence, and pulling his hand back. “Did I have a strangely vivid dream, or did I actually ask you to marry me when I came back last night?”
Toshinori nearly flinches at the question. He looks away, hopefully fast enough for Shouta not to see the flash of hurt in his eyes. He coughs, once, clearing his throat. “Not in so many words, but yes, that happened. If you didn’t mean…” Toshinori struggles to find the words he wants, without showcasing rather clearly the sinking feeling in his chest. “Rather, I understand if… Shouta?” Toshinori trails off as Shouta wordlessly slips out of bed and pads across the room to their shared dresser, crouching to access the bottom drawer– the one Toshinori never bothers with.
After rummaging around for a few moments, he pulls something out and returns to the bed, slipping back under the sheets. He cradles a small, black box between his hands.
“I kept thinking,” Shouta sighs, looking moments away from rubbing at his temples like he does when he has a particularly difficult student or a frustrating fight. “I thought, eventually, I would figure out something profound to say, or a special way to ask, because you deserve at least that much, Toshinori. Even just once. I certainly didn’t think I would just blurt it out, in the middle of the night, after you had just spent the last thirty minutes washing someone else’s blood out of my hair.”
“Shouta…” Toshinori reaches for him, but Shouta holds up a hand, requesting patience, a moment to collect his thoughts, and Toshinori’s hand drops back between them.
Eventually, Shouta reaches over and grabs his hand. “I love you, Toshinori. This is it for me. For as long as you’ll have me, and all my bad habits, late nights and shitty moods, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” Letting go of him once more, Shouta opens the box in his hands, turning it to face Toshinori.
A thin gold band sits nestled in a bed of velvet. The surface is a plain, bright gold, but when Toshinori looks closer, he sees a pattern etched into the inside of the ring.
“Is that a-”
“Sunflower.”
When Toshinori looks up again, Shouta is watching him with a familiar, awkward look, which he thinks is supposed to be a smile but looks more like a grimace, that he wore the first time he asked Toshinori out for drinks with the clarification that it was actually a date this time, and again when he suggested they move in together, because Toshinori’s apartment was bigger and Eri needed her own room, and they spent all their time together anyways. It’s one of Toshinori’s favorite expressions.
“The simple band felt like too…little for you,” Shouta mutters when Toshinori still doesn’t say anything else. “But I wasn’t sure what…nothing else seemed-”
“It’s perfect.”
“Really?”
“Shouta,” Toshinori leans over, cupping Shouta’s face. The ring box falls out of his hands between them as Toshinori pulls him into a kiss that has Shouta grasping desperately at his shoulders, blunt nails digging sharp and familiar into his skin. He tries to pour everything can’t say now into the kiss, but they’ll have the rest of their lives together for him to show and tell and prove to Shouta everything he can’t in this moment. “Let’s get married.”