A/N: And you all thought I'd leave you hanging… ;)

Epilogue

A year down the line, nighttime images still came back to haunt him. Indiscriminate splatters of red; an illusionary pain along his limbs like barbed wire, coiling and scraping through a splintering pattern of veins. Memories or distortions of them, hazy tricks by a derivative author, it was hard to say – but on those nights, nights like tonight, Aizawa woke panting with sweat needling at his forehead. The echo of dogged cries only beginning to fade some seconds after opening his eyes; his heart continuing to cower in relentless throbs. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

If it wasn't late night patrols keeping him awake, it was nightmares.

And there was no point staying in bed, where beneath him the mattress lay soaked and above him the sheets were in a disaster of twisting discomfort. He threw them aside, heard the cat whine unhappily from its curled up position along his legs – a mismatched set of eyes gazed at him sleepily through the dimness, one blue, silvery in its sparkle, the other green and glowing mossy. Slit pupils. An expectant, accusing meow.

Affectionately, Aizawa scooped the cat in his arms and stood. Relieved by the fuzzy warmth – the heavy, restless beat of a feline heart beneath it – he nuzzled the snowy white fur, scratched the spot behind the ears. This was Yuki, whose sleep schedule had aligned itself uncannily with Aizawa's: she closed her eyes when he closed his, purred with equal timing as he breathed. If he slept on the couch, so did she; if he slept standing, so would she. And whenever Aizawa woke, wandering lethargically to the kitchen for coffee, she would patter along beside him like a slinky, white shadow. Most of the time demanding to be held – meow, meow, meow – by head-butting Aizawa's ankles and flicking her tail against his calves.

She was quiet now though, only a gentle rumble escaping her chest as Aizawa cradled her against his body. He carried her to the kitchen, where there was upon the air the lingering smell of last night's curry – garlic and green peppers, chili, a certain smokiness – as well as a pair of unwashed wine glasses on the counter. Full fridge of groceries. An open recipe book – Iron-Rich Recipes For Two.

Aizawa continued to hold Yuki fast against him while the kettle boiled, pressing his face against her fur and on occasion tapping her little pink nose, bouncing like bubblegum, with his finger.

Outside, there was snow on the windowsill, the pale red glow of Christmas lights from the neighbours' windows. A tight darkness. A lonely normality under the gaze of starlight.

A slice of such darkness came slinking into the kitchen after Aizawa, fluid across the floor and seating itself at Aizawa's socked feet just as the kettle reached boiling point. He looked down, saying nothing, and looking up at him in turn were eyes spookily golden against their body's sleek blackness. Tail whipping across the floor with restless energy, Blink (or Blink Junior, or Blink II, it remained roughly undecided) mewed with disinterest like a yawn before resuming his casual sway across the kitchen.

Blink, unlike Yuki, refused to sleep, instead disappearing through windows and down corridors at all sorts of unholy hours, or otherwise marching up and down the apartment somberly. No one was ever quite sure where he went or what he, in all his stereotypical black-cat aloofness, got up to. And unlike Yuki, Blink Junior only seemed to tolerate Aizawa when being given tuna from the can – for indeed, he was a mommy's boy through and through, and would only stomach being in Aizawa's presence if his other, more adored owner was around.

Around as she was now, tip-toeing into the kitchen quietly. Draped completely in Aizawa's clothes, a sagging rumple of black tracksuit pants and a turtleneck sweater that hung stretched and ragged around her neck. White hair mussed in all directions, feet bare against the kitchen's icy tiles. "Ever the early riser~" Rin cooed, leaning against the doorway and smiling dazedly at Aizawa. "Bad dream again?"

Aizawa hummed, stroking Yuki's neck with his thumb in an attempt to stop her fresh bout of struggling. She too, tended to prefer Rin's affections when given the option. "Did I wake you?"

"I planned on getting up early. I still need to finish my reports."

"You should stop leaving things until the last minute."

Rin pouted playfully, sleepily, and came closer. She held out her arms as though to take a newborn, and with childish eagerness Yuki slipped herself from Aizawa's hold into Rin's.

Though only having just woken up, no shadows hung beneath Rin's eyes like half-moon bruises anymore. There was a fresh colour to her cheeks nowadays, a glow no longer so insipid as it was blossomy, and in a shocking contrast to a year ago, Rin hadn't eaten a rice cake in months. Most people who saw her – her grandparents, on their frequent trips to Musutafu, included – attributed this new lightness and glow to the fruitful pleasures of domesticity. And Rin would shrug daintily, and within himself Aizawa would half agree, though he thought it more to do with the fact that Rin had quit hero work like a poison being detoxed from her body.

The closest she came to participating in anything of the sort nowadays was her Criminal Psychology class and guidance counselling at UA. Apart from that though, she had another full-time job in planning her and Aizawa's wedding – initially a small event, hardly bigger than a court wedding, but thanks to Yamada and Kayama's interference now turning into something rather more… extroverted.

A kiss on the perfect whiteness of Yuki's forehead. The sound of ankles clicking as Rin bent and released their cat onto the chilled floor. Blink came rushing, clearly imagining it his turn to be picked up, and then looked up at Rin with dismay when she straightened herself without taking him into her embrace.

"I'm making coffee," Aizawa said, hiding his amusement.

In turn, Rin swaddled his neck with her arms and pressed herself into him – the smell of bedsheets and enduring dews of perfume, her lips close to his – either oblivious to or ignoring the way Blink and Yuki began to wander aimlessly between her legs. "Come back to bed."

Raising his eyebrow at her, lips pricking upwards into a smirk, Aizawa pressed his hands to her cheeks. "Don't you have reports to do?"

"Yes," she groaned. "But the idea of going back to sleep is too distracting… I need to get it out my system before I can be productive."

"You're such a child."

"Yet you're marrying me."

"It's only rational." Dropping his hand to take hers, running his thumb over the metallic rim of the engagement ring he'd given her, Aizawa brought Rin's fingers up to his lips and kissed them. Several, light-lipped kisses bouncing from one knuckle to the next, and then into the underside of her wrist. Over the soft, vulnerable flesh. Over the scars he knew like the night sky knew the stars – and while he kissed them, adoring and tiredly gentle, he and Rin began to sway side to side. Slow. Quiet and lethargic, quite like the way one felt themselves being lulled into sleep.

Yuki sprinted with spontaneous energy out the kitchen after some invisible tyrant. Blink meowed unhappily – once, twice again – before resignedly following his sister out into the apartment's darkness.

And under the yellow glow of the kitchen light, letting the water in the kettle go cold, Rin and Shouta melted tenderly into a slow dance without music. Her face leaned into his shoulder, hair tumbling in all sorts of waves and curls against his neck and chest. He with his arm curving gently around her waist and his eyes falling closed.

He'd spend the rest of his life like this: awake in lightless hours with her in his arms, the promise of forever stretched out before them in the dull, quiet light of their home. Cats scattering about the floors excitedly. The ever unmade bed calling to them with its still-warm sheets and comfort.

He'd waited for what seemed an entire lifetime – and indeed, he'd spend the rest of his life like this.

THE END