Work Text:
Shoto gently wraps Izuku's wrist with the bandages. The air in the dorm room is tense, and both of them hesitate to speak before Izuku's gaze finds Shoto's.
“I'm sorry.”
Shoto doesn't respond until he's done wrapping the bandages. “For what?” He asks, gently taking hold of Izuku's other wrist and pressing down a sterile pad on the fresh cuts.
“.. I thought I was getting better,” Izuku says quietly, voice full of regret. Shame. Izuku knew he wasn't fixed. He loved his friends, his school, his teachers, but—
When it all got too overwhelming, when his head tormented him with terrible thoughts and ideas, when Izuku felt like he was drowning.. It felt relieving in the moment, but once the high died down and his emotions settled, the ache and the shame and the guilt from the relapse makes Izuku feel he's right back at the beginning.
“You are getting better,” Shoto responds. “At least I think so. I really do think that you are.” He finishes wrapping the bandages around Izuku's other wrist before his gaze focuses on the other boy. “Is there anywhere else?”
Izuku shakes his head no, and Shoto nods. He comes closer, sitting beside Izuku on the floor of his dorm room. He feels a weight pressed against his side, and he sees Izuku's head propped up on his shoulder.
“I don't think so,” Izuku's expression is contorted into a frown. “I keep relapsing.. I keep getting these— these bad days. I need to become stronger, but this rain cloud over me won't go away.. Like I'm broken.”
Shoto's silent for a moment. He wishes he knew what to say, how to ease Izuku's pain. He understood it, really, to an extent. He still gets nightmares. Sometimes the anger remaining from his broken childhood rears its ugly head and spite fuels his entire being. “.. Do you think I'm broken?” Shoto asks after a moment.
“No, of course not.”
“Then I think it's unfair to think that you are,” He intertwined his hand with Izuku's, “Recovery isn't linear, that's what Fuyumi-nii tells me. She says that it has bumps and roadblocks and stuff. And sometimes things happen that'll make us feel like we have to start all over.”
“But.. It doesn't mean that we're broken. We're struggling and we're trying our best,” He says. “You relapsed, but now you know that it's possible to quit for that long. And you know that you can do it again.”
The other is quiet, before he sighs. “Yeah,” Izuku mumbles. “I guess so.” He turns his head, and meets Shoto's gaze with tired eyes. “Thank you.”
Shoto nods, “Of course.” He keeps hold of Izuku's hand, an anchor, a silent comfort. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Izuku squeezes Shoto's hand, and the other squeezes back. “Can you stay with me for a while?”
“I'll stay as long as you need me to,” He promises. Izuku smiles weakly, and Shoto smiles back.
There's no need for them to say anything else. Their quiet breathing, their intertwined hands. They huddle for warmth, safety, and home. A feeling of belonging.
When the rain clouds get too overwhelming, a friend can make it just a little bit better.