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Hitoshi snaps up with a start, gasping for air as the blend of memories and nightmares drags him back to a time and place he'd rather never return to again. It takes a while, too long, before they begin to fade and he's able to finally take in reality.
A dorm room, he's in a dorm room. His dorm room. There's the door, a sliver of the hallway light sneaking in through the crack at the bottom. His desk chair, piled high with freshly washed laundry that still needs to be folded. A sweatshirt that isn't his own but is familiar enough is thrown over the backrest. Hitoshi's heart begins to settle at the mere sight, the next breath coming easier than the last.
Monoma is already watching him when he glances beside him, propped up on an elbow. He looks exhausted, his blond hair disheveled from sleep, but his gaze sharp as he quietly regards Hitoshi. A single hand rests on Hitoshi's leg, Monoma's forefinger tapping a steady beat against his skin like a metronome. Hitoshi focuses all his attention on the single point of contact and lets it ground him. He follows the count until he reaches a hundred. The finger stops and Monoma lightly squeezes his leg.
"You hogged the whole blanket and then tossed it overboard, you jerk," is all Monoma says. His tone doesn't entirely match the remark, though it still manages to carry a hint of his usual snark. For Hitoshi's sake.
Hitoshi looks over the edge of the bed to find their shared duvet on the ground. It incites a full-body shiver, the thin layer of sweat covering his body now cooling as the adrenaline begins to drop rapidly. Exhaustion is filling its space just a quick.
"Sorry," Hitoshi rasps, reaching down to drag the blanket back up. His arms shake slightly as he throws it over both their legs. Monoma helps cover the rest of them, gently shoving Hitoshi back down onto the pillow before pulling the end up to his chin.
He looks down at Hitoshi, expression mostly placid except for the mild furrow of his brows. He's still balanced on an elbow.
"That was twice tonight," Monoma says, genuine concern lacing his words. Hitoshi finds it hard to meet his eyes when he sounds like that - he glances away, swallowing the lump past his parched throat.
"I can sleep on the floor," Hitoshi suggests.
Monoma rolls his eyes. "It's your room."
"Then you sleep on the floor."
"Ha, that's hilarious."
Monoma's hand comes up to grip Hitoshi's under the jaw, forcing him to return his gaze once more. Hitoshi clicks his tongue in annoyance despite the touch, however rough, soothing him.
"You know I can help," Monoma says. "You do it for me all the time."
Hitoshi clenches his jaw. Yeah, that's true. He does help pull Monoma under on the nights he wakes up thrashing - haunted by the visions of a dead Bakugou along with the fabricated images of a dead Midoriya, Eraserhead, Vlad King, Kendou. A dead Hitoshi. Everyone just gone all because Monoma dared to blink once.
It's not like Hitoshi is comparing; trauma isn't a fucking competition. But Monoma saw some shit, and Hitoshi. Well, he did too, he can't deny that. They were all in that war together. But still, it's just hard to accept it for himself sometimes, the help.
He's been self-sufficient his whole damn life and he feels embarrassed enough as is that these days he needs another person wedged in his stupid twin bed at all. And he doesn't want to keep using Monoma as a crutch just for the simple task of going to sleep.
"Quit that," Monoma says, the hand on his jaw sharply smacking him. It yanks Hitoshi back to the present. Monoma looks a little pissed now, as if he'd read all of Hitoshi's thoughts in real-time.
Sighing, Hitoshi cups the back of Monoma's neck. His skin is cool compared to how flushed Hitoshi's is. Monoma comes easily when Hitoshi pulls him down for a kiss, lingering yet chaste. Unspoken words are traded as warm breaths before the next kiss. Then one more for good measure.
"Alright," Hitoshi relents after searching Monoma's tired and determined face. The frown turns up in the corners.
Hitoshi's response is used as a hook into his consciousness. Monoma uses the borrowed quirk to anchor himself there and then he begins to reel himself into Hitoshi's mind. His thoughts are dulled down, muted, as though Monoma's thrown a blanket to tamp them all down. It calms Hitoshi instantly and he distantly feels himself sigh in pure relief.
Close your eyes, Monoma's voice commands and Hitoshi's body obeys.
Relax your shoulders, he says, Ease your muscles. But put your damn arm out first so that I can lay on it. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. Again. Again. Again.
Now sleep.
The blanket is slipped off but Hitoshi's already tucked in. He thinks he hears Monoma whisper "goodnight", in his ear and not his mind but he's not entirely sure. Because Hitoshi's already been pulled under.