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Aizawa waited politely outside the bathroom. He could hear dry heaves interrupted by the occasional strained moan. The acrid smell of vomit emanated from inside. This certainly wasn’t how he intended their night to end up.
When he heard Yagi sob raggedly from behind the cracked door, Aizawa quietly pushed off the wall and headed to the small kitchen. Remnants of dinner sat in the sink, but cleaning the dishes was the furthest thing from his mind. He found a clean glass and filled it with cold water. He gathered a bowl of hot water as well. There should be clean towels in the bathroom, he thought. Hands full, he made his way back to the bathroom door and softly kicked it open with the outside of his foot.
Yagi had collapsed next to the toilet, arms grasping at its porcelain surface to keep himself upright. His deep breaths rattled, and his shoulders shook. Blood smeared on the inside and seat of the toilet. When he noticed Aizawa, he ineffectually tried to curl into a ball. “Don’t look,” he whined without breath behind the words. His fingers grabbed at the handle as he flushed again.
Aizawa ignored his words. Stepping over Yagi’s splayed legs, he set the glass and bowl onto the counter before opening the linen cupboard and pulling out a hand towel. He dropped the small towel into the hot water. He picked the items back up and moved back to Yagi’s side. Silently, he sat cross-legged next to the former hero and set his things down.
He wasn’t used to being gentle, but now he had to try.
When Aizawa touched a hand to Yagi’s opposite cheek and tried to turn his head to face him, Yagi resisted. When he applied more pressure, Yagi relented, but refused to look Aizawa in the face. “Stay,” Aizawa directed as he used both hands to wring out the towel of its hot water. Satisfied that it wasn’t dripping, he used it to dab at the bloodied corners of Yagi’s mouth. Shifting to a clean section, he wiped along Yagi’s jawline and forehead. Yagi sat still, eyes downcast.
Aizawa took advantage of Yagi’s slouch to press their foreheads together. “What’s wrong this time?” he asked. Yagi had seemed fine earlier. It wasn’t until he excused himself to take his medication that the evening turned to shit.
“My stomach, my lungs, my heart, kidneys—everything is wrong. Every single part of me is breaking down,” he spat. He pulled away from his lover’s touch.
A part of Aizawa wanted to lash back at the foreign bitterness that filled Yagi’s words, but he rode Yagi’s anger like a wave. After all these years of smiling through his pain, Yagi deserved to be angry. He deserved to rage. Aizawa would still support him when his fury was spent. “Is there anything I can do for you? Please tell me how I can help you.”
Yagi shook his head. “There’s nothing that anyone can do.”
The concept of comfort was still new to them: for Aizawa to give it and Yagi, to receive. Still, Aizawa hesitantly reached his arms around thin shoulders. He moved slowly, ready for his touch to be rejected, ready to feign apathy when it happened. When Yagi accepted his actions, Aizawa gently pulled the other man to lean closer until Yagi’s head rested limply against his shoulder, his nose buried in wildflower yellow hair. Even in his sickly state, Yagi Toshinori smelt of sunshine and warmth.
Yagi turned his forehead against Aizawa’s shoulder to hide his face. “How can you stand to look at me? How can you touch me like nothing is wrong?”
Aizawa wasn’t sure what tone to take, so he simply stated, “two or three times a month, after he’s been drinking too much, Hizashi ends up in that same position, exactly where you are. Granted, he doesn’t vomit blood.” Aizawa was usually frank and unapologetic when Hizashi ended up sick in his bathroom, though. His friend knew how much alcohol he could handle, and Aizawa’s blunt care (which usually consisted of pointing out that it was Yamada’s own fault that he was sick while holding his hair back for him) was what he responded best to. This was uncharted territory. He had to use tact; he’d never been good at that.
“It’s not the same, and you know it.” Yagi’s breath was wet and hot against Aizawa’s neck.
“The point was, I’m not going to kick you out just because you make a mess out of my bathroom, even if it becomes habitual.” He frowned. “I’m… emotionally invested in you.”
Yagi huffed abruptly. “How romantic.”
Aizawa rapped his knuckle against Yagi’s head once. If he was joking, then he must be feeling more stable. “You know I’m not good at this stuff.” He sighed heavily, ignoring the lingering smells of bile and vomit. “You know that I like you.” Yagi just didn’t know how important that was for someone like him, for someone who valued being alone over petty relationships. There were, quite literally, only three adults that Aizawa would consider taking care of through sickness, and one of them currently needed it.
“I can’t understand why you would.” The flatness in his voice cracked something inside Aizawa. He’d never met anyone with so much self-loathing. It was internalized because Yagi continuously compared his current self to an ideal he could no longer be and found himself to be lacking.
“Because of who you are,” Aizawa stated. ‘You’, when referring to Yagi, encompassed more than Aizawa could express. More than he could comprehend, really. Time with Yagi was like reading a new, captivating book. Every new page, every chapter he took in held him spellbound. He wanted more.
“Because I’m All Might.”
Aizawa sighed and tried not to take offense that Yagi insinuated he could be so shallow. He knew that it was frustration talking. “How stupid can you be?” He held Yagi closer when the other man stiffened with his harsh words. “All Might was your past. While I acknowledge that your past made you as you are, it’s not what I’m interested. I want your now.” He hesitated, glad that Yagi’s face was still pressed against him. “I want your future.” He’d never admitted it out loud before. He didn’t feel ready to acknowledge those thoughts, even to himself. He didn’t think he was ready to dwell on them. Giving these feelings a name would make it too real, and he couldn’t. Not yet. “If this is part of it, then I’ll take it, gladly.” He’d do whatever he could to help Yagi climb out of this abyss. And if they couldn’t, then they’d weather it out together.
Yagi drew back against Aizawa’s hold. He stared at the younger man for a few moments, so much weight behind his sunken eyes. “Thank you, Aizawa.”
He wanted to tell him to call him “Shouta”. Part of him longed to hear his name sweetly fall from those lips, but now wasn’t the time. Instead, he brought a hand up to Yagi’s cheek, ran his thumb against his prominent cheekbone. “You’ll be alight,” he murmured. “I’m here.”
Yagi laughed shortly, then grimaced as the motion pained him.
“How’s your stomach?”
Nodding, Yagi replied, “settled.” His bright blue eyes seemed to shine.
Aizawa recognized the look. He moved his hand in front of Yagi’s mouth. “I’m not kissing you. Not until after you brush your teeth.”
The wheezing laughter should have concerned him, but Aizawa had to smile. He knew their relationship wouldn’t always be easy, but nights like these were a part of Yagi, and Aizawa wouldn’t let him face them alone again.