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Our Endless Numbered Days

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There are a lot of good days.

Some days after Kamino, Yagi Toshinori can get up and go jogging. He can put on his new suits that are actually tailored to fit him, and he can stand up straight, push his hair back (even though it bounces right back into place like flopping rabbit ears) and walk out the door. On those days, Aizawa Shouta lets himself stay in bed a little longer, and he tells him after the fact that it's because he has so much more space to himself, but the truth is he loves to see him thriving.

And he knows that if he waits and dozes, eventually Yagi will come back, fresh from a shower, and even though that thin body seems light enough that it could break in a strong wind, he'll welcome it, bare and soft under the blankets to cover his own.

"Shouta," he'll whisper, kissing him, nuzzling into his scruff. "Wake up, love."

Aizawa smiles, and pretends to sleep so he'll do what he likes. What they like.

But sometimes, especially a year or so later, there are days that aren't as good.

Although that's not to say they're bad. When Aizawa rolls over and the sun has passed beyond the eyelid of the window, he sees Yagi's dark eyes staring up at the ceiling. It's not clear if he's lost in thought or if he's trying to seek the fortitude he once had to fight villains, now needed just to conquer gravity and find his clothes or the bathroom. Aizawa finds his hand under the covers, and they feel so much older than he is. Years beyond their time. And he asks, "Bad day?"

There's the smile. "Of course not."

He squeezes, wryly adding in the tepid light creeping into his partner's expression, "Is All Might too stubborn for bad days?"

Even though it's hard when he's this tired, this worn, Yagi rolls over, lifting Aizawa's scarred fingers to his lips. He can just make our the shape of that tender smile. "How could it ever be, when I am here with you?"

Those are also the days that Aizawa's Russian Blue will curl up on Yagi's side of the bed. He won't hear him leap up from the floor; the only indication will be the moment he hears the motor boat purring, and after a while, Po's round, smiling face appearing over Yagi's slender waist. Yagi laughs as he blinks slowly, rubbing his face into his side.

"Why doesn't he like me when I can play with him? I pick up all those toys and throw them around, and he stares at me like I am the biggest fool in the world."

Aizawa reaches out to scratch his chin, and Po lets him. Real explanations are out there, and he would never tell Yagi that some of the inflammation may be making him warm, and since he is barely moving, Po isn't on the defense from being anxious or smothered. He would never tell him how obvious it is that he is a dog person, and how much he desperately wants Po to act like a puppy, in the same way he desperately wanted Aizawa to act like a real boyfriend, like the detective he used to date. Aizawa learned over time how to show the affection and love that Yagi needs, even if he personally doesn't think that he is good at it.

What he says is, "He knows this is when you need him the most." And that is true.

In that following year, Aizawa takes more time away from the classroom. The students, hearing the stories of how he expelled so many, and how even the league of villains was no match for how strict and terrifying he could be...are surprised at how much softer he is. He's certainly strict, still, his tests hard and his no-nonsense attitude ever present, and he doesn't tolerate any nonsense, but also...

"I thought he was supposed to be scary."

"He is scary!"

"No more scary than teachers are supposed to be, though!"

There are more doctors appointments, too. Yagi's quirk had kept so many complications at bay before that now he goes in regularly to get checked out. Naturally, he's taken to the most prestigious hospitals, with security to keep out the paparazzi, but Aizawa still refuses to let him go alone. "I'm not going to let those vultures find out. They never know how to act when it comes to you."

"Or anyone," Yagi says softly, resting his head on his shoulder in the car while they wait for the shuttle with its dark windows to take them inside.

When they try to kick Aizawa out, he doesn't even give them the opportunity to make him feel like it's necessary. He's already in his sleeping bag, next to the bed, and Yagi just shrugs. What are you going to do?

On the way back, his arms sore from needle sticks and his head swimming with medicine, Yagi says, "We should go to that place with the breakfast food!"

"It's almost dinner time. We should go home and order something." Aizawa is notoriously paranoid that someone who is tenacious will follow them from the hospital and harass them in public.

Yagi hums, his forehead bumping the window as he stares at the trees passing above them. "Yes, but..." He trails off, picking a little at one of the paper tape bandages on his arm holding a cotton ball in his elbow. Aizawa gently guides his hand away until he's holding his.

"What?"

"You never eat breakfast in the morning," Yagi says, and it doesn't matter that it's probably the fatigue or the meds. It feels like he has never said anything so horribly sad, and Aizawa hates himself for this one thing.

The next morning, Aizawa goes about doing the hardest thing he has ever done, and it's not because it's a particularly terrible day (although the twenty-four hours after hospital tests are always rough for Yagi) but because he actually wakes himself up at an ungodly hour. His alarm goes off next to his ear, and he fires off his quirk before he can remember that the phone is a piece of technology, unaffected by his erasing powers. In fact, he swears that it beeps even louder to spite him.

"Shou...? Are you okay, darling?" Yagi's sleep-laden voice breaks, and the splinters hurt Aizawa's heart. The thought of him using that same fatigued tone again is encouragement enough to push him out the bed and out the door.

He sits up and leans over to kiss his forehead, the wrinkled flesh relaxing under his lips. "Keep resting. I just have an errand to run." He waits and listens for his (shallow, always so shallow) breaths to even out, so he knows that he won't get up and follow him.

The whole thing is nearly spoiled when Aizawa comes an inch close to putting his full weight on Po's tail. "MOW!" the cat curses, glaring up at him, promises of accidents conveniently next to but not inside the litter box exuding from his whiskers.

"Sorry, sorry. Just. Stay with him."

When he picks Po up and puts him on the bed, he can feel his own cat adding him to his feline shit list.

And Aizawa walks. He walks to the market, and it's so early that people are still unloading huge crates of vegetables and fruit, and the morning air is broken by the crinkling slide of ice being placed into even bigger crates, fish slapped down on top and staring at him. It smells different, being out of the only two places he knows at this hour when the sun is still hidden away over the horizon like Po's smiling face beneath the horizon of Yagi's form in his bed. He knows home. He knows Yuuei.

Nobody recognizes him, and he's not sure if he should attribute that to the low numbers or that they just don't care. They don't know him, and they don't plaster fake smiles on their faces for him. In fact, they look blissfully annoyed that he's standing there with his hands in his pockets waiting for them to finish, willing them to hurry so he can purchase fresh eggs still dirty with stray feathers, salmon and seaweed so wet it's like they were taken straight from the water to his hands, the most perfect apples he has ever seen (and he pays for that perfection), and rice. And, well, the rice is rice, but the satisfying heft to it, the way it's measured into a paper bag and added with everything... it's perfect.

Aizawa smiles, and he goes home, and he cooks.

He cooks everything. Everything he bought, and everything he didn't. He makes miso and tea and coffee that was a gift from America, from Dave (the one love of Yagi's he doesn't mind hearing about, that doesn't make him ache like his heart has a charlie horse). He cuts the apples into rabbits, then gives a few triangular smiles with his small knife so there are also All Mights in the mix, too. He makes the eggs every way he knows, and he even tries making thick, fluffy pancakes. They aren't great.

He's sliding his knife through the beautiful pink of the salmon when something butts against his shins, insistent and familiar. The moment he looks down, all slights from the early dawn are forgotten, and Po only has eyes for him. But if he's gotten out of the bedroom, then...

"Shouta?"

He turns, caught in the act. Yagi is holding the door frame, so shaky and uneasy that it's as though he could go at any minute, and even the fact that that thought cycles through Aizawa's brain makes him immediately go to him, holding him in his arms. "You should have stayed in bed. I would have come to you."

"Did you make all this for me?" Yagi asks. His tone is so reverent, so sweet, like Aizawa has brought the entire world to his kitchen, just for him.

"It's just breakfast."

The smile is dazzling and timeless. "Just breakfast, he says...Shouta." He's tenderly tapping his face with his finger, the world's most gentle admonishment.

"Come on already."

Yagi must be tired, must be so weak, because when Aizawa lifts him off the floor and carries him back to bed, he doesn't even startle. He just holds his sweater with a thin hand until he puts him back down, goes back to the kitchen, and loads a plate with a little bit of everything. There's a lap desk by the bed that Aizawa uses sometimes for grading papers, and it's the perfect banquet table for Yagi, quickly filled with the plate, a bowl of soup, coffee, tea, water...even the pills he takes every morning are in a tiny dish.

He eats it all.

He eats it and then more, and on the third helping, Aizawa puts a hand on his arm. "Toshi, I swear, if you're doing this to be nice..."

Aizawa is pulled in by that arm. There are hands on his face and the warmth coming from them soaks into him deeper than the stove he worked over to make the meal that is now disappearing. Yagi is kissing him, with such depth and love that maybe, just maybe, he's going to disappear too. Past those lips, into that mouth, and disappear into his heart.

For Yagi, he would give up everything. His whole existence.

Especially if it meant going out like this.

"I love you," Toshinori Yagi whispers against his lips. "I love you, and being here with you, and everything that you are."

Aizawa closes his eyes. He could shrug it off, if he wanted to. Tell him to stop being such an overbearing sap.

But he doesn't want to. He holds him too, kisses him back. He accepts his love like the gift it is, and he vows that he'll stop defending the existence of bad days.