Work Text:
The phone call comes on a Thursday.
Katsuki has Thursdays off. He had been in the shower and missed the call, so he puts his Voicemail on speaker to hear it as he cuts vegetables for the curry he’s making for dinner.
Hello, Mr. Katsuki Bakugou. This is Shiro Takayama from Musutafu Hospital North. I’m the social worker assigned to the case of your mother, Mitsuki Bakugou. She has been placed in intensive care as of 10:43AM this morning. You are her second emergency contact after Masaru Bakugou, so we wanted to reach out to you. Feel free to give us a call back if you have any questions or concerns.
Katsuki stares at the phone as if it has suddenly turned into a monkey with three heads. “What the fuck?”
The panic sets in right after the words leave his lips. He’s putting on a jacket and calling his dad before his thoughts have stopped racing, and he’s out the door right when his dad picks up.
“Katsuki – Katsuki, I’m so sorry.”
---
In less than ten hours, Mitsuki Bakugou passes away. From a car crash. His dad had been driving. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t even the other guy’s fault – an idiotic low-level Villain had burglarized a nearby bank, and he had some sort of explosion quirk. The explosion had sent nearby cars into a frenzy of spirals out of the control of any of the drivers. Katsuki’s parents had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Masaru was lucky, but Mitsuki hadn’t been as such.
When they call him, Katsuki is walking just a few blocks away from the hospital. He needed fresh air. He couldn’t bare to sit and look at his mom’s weak, limp body any longer.
He answers the call on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Hello, Katsuki? This is Mira Nigasa. I’m calling to let you know that Mitsuki Bakugou has expired at 7:32PM. I’m so sorry about your loss. Will you or any other family members be coming by to see her?”
Katsuki is frozen on the sidewalk, unable to speak. He feels as if the world has tilted on its axis, as if everything is upside down. Everything is wrong.
Expired?
They can’t even say that she passed away? They have to say she ‘expired’?
“Katsuki? Are you there?”
Katsuki blinks. Swallows. Feels frozen and empty and numb. “Yes.” He manages, feeling like a fish out of water. “I’ll be there.”
---
He’s swamped with phone calls, texts, emails, and social media messages over the next few days.
We love you, Bakubro. Let us know if there’s anything we can do.
I’m so sorry to hear about your mom, Baku. I’m here if you need some company!
So sorry for your loss, Ground Zero. Prayers and thoughts for you and your family. <3
Hey, man – it’s Eij. I know everyone is probably reaching out to you right now, and it’s probably pissing you off, but listen, dude. I can be at your place in ten minutes if you need literally anything. You hear me? Anything. Give me a call back if you want. I’ll check in with you again in a bit.
Katsuki smiles a bit at Eijiro’s voicemail. He was right – all of the sending lots of love, keeping you in my thoughts bullshit is pissing him off.
Katsuki knows that’s a bit irrational. He does appreciate the sentiments. He’s just not good at dealing with emotions, let alone sharing them with other people.
He doesn’t message anyone back, other than Eijiro. He tells him that he’s alive, he’s doing just fucking fine even though it’s a complete lie, and that he’ll let him know if he needs anything. He also says thank you in there somewhere because he’s not a complete asshole.
He finds that he’s really fucking emotional. He can’t stop himself from crying, which is frustrating. Some days, he thinks he cries the entire day away. Some days, he finds it hard to get out of bed. Some days… he feels fine. He feels like he’s actually okay, like he’s accepted the fact that his mom – his mom – is gone, and that’s just how it is now. And then the next day, he’s a mess again.
He really, really fucking hates having no control over his emotions.
After four or five days of ignoring the world – the agency gave him as much time off as he needs, which is both frustrating and an appreciated necessity because he isn’t exactly firing with all cylinders right now – he decides that maybe he wants company. He feels a bit isolated, and, though he hates admitting it, lonely.
But at the same time, he doesn’t want to talk to anyone. He wants a hug, and he really doesn’t want anyone to touch him. He wants to get drunk, but he knows that he’ll just cry more if he drinks. He wants to leave his apartment but hates the idea of running into people who will ask how he’s doing.
He needs to do laundry, but who the fuck cares, it’s not like he’s seen anyone in the past few days, anyway. He also needs to do his dishes and take out the trash and, at the very least, throw out the food that’s probably spoiled in his fridge by now. He knows he should definitely call his dad, but the thought of that makes him feel like he might throw up. He also needs to shower and go over reports that he’s been putting off for work and –
That’s a lot. He very quickly feels overwhelmed by the number of things that he both wants and needs and doesn’t want and doesn’t need all at once. He feels paralyzed, and he feels angry, and he feels sad.
And –
There’s a knock at his door, then. It interrupts his stream of anxious and negative thoughts. “Who the fuck is at my door?” He speaks the words out loud to the empty apartment. He looks around. It’s a mess; he doesn’t want visitors right now. He decides to ignore the visitor, assuming they’ll take the hint and leave.
His phone buzzes in his hand.
Deku 6:32PM: It’s me, Kacchan.
Of course, it is. Of course, it’s fucking Deku. He’s surprised it’s taken this long for the nerd to show up or reach out, honestly.
He doesn’t want to answer the door. Doesn’t want to talk to Izuku, of all people. But – Izuku… knew his mom, too. Izuku grew up with his mom, too.
The phone buzzes again.
Deku 6:33PM: I can go. Or I can stay and not talk. Or we can talk. I can do whatever you want to do. I just want you to know you’re not alone.
Katsuki hates how the message makes him feel. Hates that it brings the tears back to his eyes and hates that he’s so emotional.
He shoves his way out of his bed, throwing the blankets onto the floor and stomping out into the living room. He’s in three-day-old sweatpants and a t-shirt that he can’t remember ever buying. His hair is a mess. He has bags under his eyes because he hasn’t gotten a full night’s sleep in probably five days, and because he’s been crying all the time. His apartment is a fucking train wreck.
And Izuku fucking Midoriya is at his door.
He throws the door open when he gets to it, scowling. Izuku startles, looking up from his phone where he was obviously typing out another message to Katsuki. He’s dressed in his hero gear. There are bags under his eyes, too. He looks exhausted, his cheeks lacking their usual vibrant hue, and his eyes look tired and sad, but his smile is genuine.
“Hi, Kacchan.”
Katsuki doesn’t answer. He stands there with the door in one hand and a heart full of emotions that he doesn’t know how to navigate. Izuku scratches at his jaw. “Uhm. So. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to reach out. I was on a three-week covert mission. No service. But, uhm. I came as soon as I heard and – “ He pauses, and now there are tears in his eyes, too. That pisses Katsuki off more. “I just wanted to make sure you had company if you wanted it. I can go, if you want. Or I can stay. I can help you with whatever you need done around the apartment or I can just sit in silence or bring you food or – “ He stops again, realizing he’s rambling and that his words are starting to come out wobbly because he’s trying not to cry. “Whatever you want.” He finishes, looking away, swallowing down his emotions.
Katsuki is so angry. He’s so angry that everyone is so goddamn nice and cares so much about him, and he’s so angry that Izuku is on the verge of crying, too, because it’s not his mom that died too young and too fast and too suddenly. And he’s angry that he doesn’t know what he wants, doesn’t know if he wants Izuku to come in or leave or what. And he’s angry that his mom is gone and that he feels so helpless about that.
He feels himself cracking. He feels his body shutting down, the tears welling at the corners of his eyes. He opens the door a little wider, stepping to the side. “C’mon.”
Izuku’s tears finally fall as he enters the apartment, and Katsuki thinks that’s what pulls his own down, too. They don’t talk about it.
---
Katsuki gives Izuku a change of clothes because he just showed up at his apartment after a three-week covert mission without even going home first, and Katsuki knows he would be a dick if he didn’t at least offer a clean set of clothes. Izuku changes, and then he does the dishes. He starts a load of laundry, and he takes out the trash. He vacuums and puts on some tea and forces Katsuki to take a shower.
“If you don’t get in there and wash your hair, I am going to do it for you.” He threatens. That’s all Katsuki needs to get his head under the water and shampoo in his hair.
He does feel better after a shower. Like he’s washed some of the grief from the past few days away. He dries his hair with a towel exactly how his mom used to tell him not to do, and he breaks down in the bathroom at the thought of her berating him about his hair – we have the same hair, kid; trust me, I know what’s best to keep it healthy!
He’s in the bathroom for a long time. He doesn’t know how long, but it’s long enough for Izuku to check on him. Izuku knocks, and when Katsuki doesn’t answer, he lets himself in. The sight of Katsuki sitting on the floor with the towel in his lap and tear streaks on his cheeks makes him tear up, too. He clears his throat. “There’s tea.”
Katsuki looks up at him, and Izuku feels haunted. Seeing someone so normally full of life, spark, enthusiasm, sass, sitting on the bathroom floor looking so empty and lost – it’s hard. It hurts. Izuku’s heart aches, but, he thinks, this isn’t about him. It’s about Katsuki.
“I can… bring the tea to you, if that’s better.” Izuku offers, trying to navigate gingerly. He has never lost a parent. He’s only ever known his mom, but he still has her. He can’t begin to fathom what this feels like. The closest he’s gotten to this is when All Might stepped down after the battle with All for One, and he knows that’s not even close to what Katsuki must be feeling.
But Izuku feels like he’s lost a part of a parent with Mitsuki gone, too. Feels like he’s lost one of the few people that he’s known literally his entire life – since before he was born. Feels the ghost of helplessness, of the sudden knowledge that death is very real, and it can happen at any time to any person. Feels a little lost because he doesn’t really know how to help Katsuki because he can’t make it better. He can’t bring his mom back.
Katsuki laughs a little, but it’s humorless. Bitter. Izuku’s heart squeezes again. “No, I’ll get up. Thanks.”
Izuku nods, offering him his hand. Katsuki stares at it, and Izuku wonders if he’s thinking about all of the previous times that Izuku has offered him his hand for help and Katsuki has refused it – probably not; he’s probably thinking about his mom, not Izuku.
But Katsuki looks up and meets Izuku’s eyes, hot red on cool green, and Izuku knows. Knows that they’re thinking about the same thing.
Katsuki takes his hand. Izuku helps him up, and without asking, pulls Katsuki into a hug that the blonde doesn’t resist. Katsuki hasn’t had human contact in about a week, and it feels nice. It feels good.
He allows himself to shove his face into Izuku’s shoulder and cries while Izuku holds him and cries, too.
---
Izuku stays the night and sleeps on the couch. In the morning, he makes breakfast and puts water in the kettle for tea, and wakes Katsuki up at 10AM.
“Kacchan,” He greets, voice soft and soothing. The blonde doesn’t stir, which makes Izuku smile slightly. He sits on the edge of Katsuki’s king-sized bed – of which the blonde has somehow managed to take up most of the space – and runs his fingers through Katsuki’s hair lightly.
Katsuki grunts softly, his body beginning to wake up, his arms stretching slightly and his head turning toward the culprit of fingers in his hair. He scrunches his nose slightly in distaste of being slightly awake but doesn’t open his eyes.
“Ma?” The word is a soft murmur, almost a slur of leftover sleep on Katsuki’s lips. The blonde blinks his eyes open slowly, looking up at Izuku at the edge of his bed, and when reality hits him as he wakens, his eyes dim a bit, losing the tiny bit of spark that Izuku has always associated with Katsuki’s vibrant irises.
Izuku’s heart shatters. His smile is wobbly, and his eyes are wet when he says, “I made breakfast.”
---
A week later, Katsuki goes back to work.
It’s hard, but it’s nice to be out of his apartment and see other faces aside from Izuku’s. Izuku has spent every day at Katsuki’s apartment since he’s returned from his three-week mission, only really leaving to go back to his own apartment and pick up things he needs or to go get groceries. Katsuki appreciates the fellow pro-hero’s companionship.
He also still thinks Izuku is annoying as fuck.
The freckled man still mumbles all the goddamn time, and he’s very particular about where stupid shit belongs, like the salt and pepper shakers – they belong on the dining table, Kacchan, so when you commune with people, they can add what they want! – and he’s simultaneously ridiculously clingy and respectful of Katsuki’s need for space.
No one says anything about his mom to him when he’s at work, which is wise. His coworkers aren’t idiots. He struggles to make it through the day, even though all he has to do is catch up on reports. They’ve taken him off of the first responder’s on-call list for the next couple of weeks, trying to give him some time to find his footing.
He starts seeing a therapist a week after going back to work. Pro-Heroes get free access to counselors through their hero agencies because being a hero is a stressful and emotionally taxing career, even if it is rewarding.
Katsuki thinks it’s awkward as fuck.
He doesn’t know what to say. He has too many words to speak and also none to say at all. His therapist is kind and patient, though, which is a goddamn miracle because Katsuki isn’t.
“I’m just so fucking angry.” Katsuki admits during his second session. The first session was an intake, getting to know why he was there, what he had been through. His childhood, his upbringing, his trauma, his anxieties. “I feel so weak. I can’t seem to take control of my emotions at all. I’m angry because I can’t do anything. I’m fucking pissed because people keep reaching out to me and asking if they can help, and I keep saying no. But I want to say yes. But I also want to say no. And that pisses me off, too. Why can’t I make up my goddamn mind? What the fuck is wrong with me?”
He’s crying, and he didn’t realize it until he was done ranting. He also feels a bit like he’s about to let off explosions from his palms, and he knows that wouldn’t be good for either of them. His therapist smiles softly, looking sympathetic and understanding.
“Nothing is wrong with you, Katsuki.” She says, gently. “You’re grieving. You lost your mother very suddenly, and that… that fucking sucks. It really does, and I’m really sorry that happened to you.” She pauses. “You’re putting too much pressure on yourself to get better faster. It’s okay to be upset. Let yourself be upset. Grieving is a process, and it takes time. You should… expect to feel this way for up to a year, at least.”
A year?
A year?
He might feel this out of control for a year? At least?
His therapist can clearly see his panic rising, so she adds to her statement. “Everyone is different though. It takes some people longer to figure out how to cope and navigate life as it is after losing a loved one. It takes some people less time. The point is – don’t try and force yourself to be okay. You’re not okay. And if you want company, then work on accepting it when it’s offered. It’s okay to say, ‘hey, it’d be helpful to see you, but I’m probably not going to be any fun or want to really talk, so if you could just sit with me, that’d be cool.’” She smiles again, but it’s a sad smile. “You’re in pain, and you need people to sit with you in your pain, right now. Let them. Let yourself. Even though it’s hard for both parties.”
Katsuki struggles to find the words to respond. He’s never been good with words. He’s also never been good at letting others in when he feels weakness.
He feels helpless, and thinks – death and grief and anxiety and depression are the most powerful Villains of them all, aren’t they? And yet, no one knows how to fight them, really.
This is fucking bullshit.
---
He has a hard time letting his other friends in, still. And he still hasn’t called his dad, though his dad has tried to call him multiple times and has left multiple voice messages. Katsuki texts him in response, though, to at least let him know he’s alive.
Izuku still comes by every day, though.
Katsuki has come to relish his childhood friend’s presence like a comforting blanket.
He decides that he doesn’t really want to analyze what that means, exactly, but he asks Izuku if he wants to watch old hero show reruns one night and his heart nearly leaps out of his chest at how excited Izuku looks.
They sit a little closer on the couch than is necessary. Katsuki doesn’t try to reason that one through, either.
---
It’s been two months. Sometimes it feels like it’s been five years. Sometimes it feels like it’s been two days. Time is a concept that Katsuki isn’t quite sure he understands.
Izuku drags him out of the apartment to get ice cream. It’s summer. It’s hot as fuck. Izuku gets strawberry and Katsuki gets mint chocolate chip because he’s not a heathen like his childhood friend.
Who the fuck likes strawberry ice cream?
Izuku takes three licks, and then, like straight out of a movie, the scoops slide off of the cone and splatter onto the concrete at the freckled man’s feet.
Izuku looks so dejected, like someone just kicked a puppy. He looks at his melting ice cream and then at his cone, and then up at Katsuki, and it’s so comical that Katsuki loses his shit.
The laughter bubbles from deep within him, rumbling up from the depths of his chest and out through his mouth without his permission. He feels a little out of control – but what’s new, really? – as it tumbles out from between his lips. And then Izuku is laughing too, smile wide, eyes crinkled, cheeks flushed.
Katsuki feels joy. It’s surreal to be so emotional and to be so consumed by negative emotions that the rush of joy feels so explicit and palpable. The laughter makes him double over, clutching at his sides, makes his cheeks hurt, makes his chest feel light.
When it dies down, Izuku is looking at him with the largest, brightest smile he’s seen in a long time. He looks up at Katsuki with those big, sparkling eyes and pink cheeks, and Katsuki feels his heart squeeze in his chest. He feels guilt for taking up Izuku’s time these past couple of months, but he feels genuine gratefulness and appreciation and joy overwhelm the guilt for the first time since his mom passed.
Katsuki smiles back at the freckles on pale cheeks and feels a little lighter.
He buys Izuku a new ice cream cone. This one doesn’t fall on the ground.
---
Two days after Katsuki became reacquainted with the feeling of joy, he hits a low, and can’t get himself out of bed.
Healing isn’t linear. Isn’t that what they say? Katsuki hates this nonlinear bullshit.
He sleeps most of the day. He cries a bit, but not too much. He mainly feels empty and lonely and suddenly helpless.
Izuku comes by after his patrol shift to find Katsuki cocooned in his blankets. “Kacchan?”
Katsuki grunts in acknowledgement even though he already knew the nerd was there – he heard the front door open. Izuku approaches the bed and slides onto the edge. “Rough day?” The dark-haired boy asks, voice soft and full of sunshine. Katsuki kind of hates it now that he’s no longer filled with joy again.
Katsuki nods because that’s all he feels like doing. Izuku slides a bit closer and pushes his fingers into Katsuki’s hair gently, experimentally, carefully. Searching for any signs of discomfort. There aren’t any. Katsuki likes having his hair played with, even if he’d never admit that out loud.
The blonde turns his head so Izuku has better access to his hair, and Izuku smiles. He takes the tiny shift in composure as an invitation and scoots onto the bed to lay next to the blonde, fingers soothingly caressing soft locks. “Want me to tell you about my day? Or do you just want quiet?”
Katsuki is eternally grateful for Izuku’s mindfulness and compassion. He isn’t sure he’ll ever understand how his childhood friend-turned-enemy-turned-rival-turned-friend(?) seems to be overflowing with genuine care for those around him. Katsuki sighs softly into his arm. “Tell me.”
Izuku smiles and starts from the beginning.
---
Three days in a row, and Katsuki can’t bring himself to leave the apartment.
So Izuku cuts him a deal.
“How about I call you in the morning? You normally have to be at your agency by 9AM, right? I’ll set an alarm to make sure I call you around 8AM or 8:30AM to make sure you’re awake and out of bed and getting ready.”
Katsuki stabs at the food on his plate. He’s barely eaten any of it, which Izuku notices but decides not to push quite yet. “No, stupid Deku. I already feel like enough of a fucking burden.”
Izuku chews his food quietly. “I hear that you feel that way, but you’re not a burden. I want to do what I can to help. I normally have to be up around then, anyway. It’s really not a big deal, honestly.”
Katsuki glares at him, but it’s half-hearted and weak. He takes a bite of his chicken, which makes Izuku happy. “That’s not fucking fair to you though.” He mutters, frustration welling behind his eyelids. “What can I do in return? At least then it’s fair.”
Izuku looks taken aback by Katsuki’s question. “Fair?” He echoes. “Kacchan, it’s not about – that’s not necessary, really.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes. “I know, dipshit. But it’ll make me feel better and less like a goddamn burden if I’m able to help you with something in return, alright? You already come over here every damn night and like, eat dinner with me and shit.”
Izuku flushes, mouth pulled down into a pretty frown, obviously unhappy with the deal. “Fine, okay. If that will help you, we can do that. I’ll call you in the mornings so you don’t continue to isolate yourself, and in return… can I watch that collection of All Might specials you have tucked away in the entertainment center?”
Katsuki doesn’t even miss a beat. “No.” He responds, expression deadpan. “That’s not a fair exchange.” Then, as an afterthought, “I mean, I don’t care if you watch the specials. Do what you fucking want. But that’s not going to be the deal.”
Izuku has the audacity to look bashful. He sets his utensils down and looks away, heat rising up his neck. “Okay.” He begins, soft, looking embarrassed. “Okay, if you’re really looking for equivalent exchange or… whatever. I uh, have a hard time sleeping. I don’t know if it’s from anxiety or from work or from – I guess it doesn’t really matter. Anyway, so I have a hard time sleeping most nights, which sucks. I, uhm. I sleep better when I sleep with someone.” He pauses, and then there’s color lighting his cheeks. Katsuki thinks that watching Izuku stumble through this explanation is one of the most amusing things he’s witnessed. “Not like sleep-sleep, as in sex-sleep! Just regular sleep. With another person. In the same bed. At the same time.”
Katsuki puts up a hand to save Izuku and himself from enduring any more of this shit show. “You want a cuddle buddy.” It’s not a question.
Izuku flushes impossibly redder. “No – that’s not – not really – “
Rolling his eyes, Katsuki groans. “Deku, it’s fine. I have a big ass bed. If that’s what you need, then sure, what-the-fuck-ever. You’ve done an impossible amount for me. I don’t mind sharing a bed with you, Jesus fuck.”
Izuku’s heart slams in his chest at Katsuki’s response. He swallows, laughing nervously. “Uhm. Okay, well if you’re sure – I guess it would be easier for me to make sure you’re up in the mornings. But only if you’re really sure – “
Katsuki cuts him off again, glaring. “Let me put it this way, Deku. If you aren’t in my bed after dinner to sleep in a totally non-sex-sleep – “ He pauses, smirking slightly, and Izuku feels his blush travel downward at Katsuki’s obvious teasing. “ – Kind of way, then I’m going to kick you out and never talk to you again.”
“Kacchan! That’s not fair nor healthy!”
Katsuki’s smirk widens, and Izuku thinks he almost looks like the Katsuki of his childhood, then, all haughty and cocky and dripping with arrogance. “There isn’t a damn person on this planet or the next who’s ever said I’m a fair person, Deku.” He says. “That’s your job.”
Izuku’s jaw drops. “Kacchan!”
---
Katsuki regrets agreeing to Izuku’s arrangement almost immediately.
Because Izuku is a goddamn spider monkey and likes to cuddle in his sleep.
But at 8AM, Izuku’s alarm goes off, which startles Katsuki awake and puts him in a sour mood. Izuku whacks at it to snooze it, and then wraps his arm back around Katsuki’s waist. He nuzzles his face into the blonde’s shoulder affectionately. Katsuki pointedly ignores the way his heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest in response and how his mood is slightly less sour with the affection.
“Kacchan,” Izuku’s words are slurred with sleep into Katsuki’s shoulder. “Gonna have to get up soon.”
Katsuki stares at the wall across the room, feeling anxiety drop into his gut. He’s called out of work three days in a row. He feels so behind, and the thought of confronting the piles of paperwork waiting for him makes his anxiety curl up into his throat. It’s a cycle, really. He can’t get out of bed, so he doesn’t go into work. Not going into work means he gets behind. Getting behind gives him anxiety. The idea of catching up is overwhelming, so he tries to avoid it. Avoiding it gives him anxiety and puts him even further behind than he was before. It’s like anxiety is piling on top of anxiety and it’s all because he was hit by a sudden spell of oh, hey, just a reminder, your mom is dead.
Izuku squeezes him around the waist, pulling the blonde out of his head, if only temporarily. “Hey,” The freckled boy murmurs. His lips lightly brush fabric on Katsuki’s shoulder when he speaks. It’s oddly intimate. “I can feel you thinking.”
Katsuki swallows down a swell of anxiety and relaxes his shoulders. A small smile tugs at his lips. “Isn’t this fucking ironic.” He mumbles, feeling heat filter into his cheeks. “That’s usually my line.”
He feels Izuku smile into his shoulder. “Yeah, well. Sometimes friendships get a little flip-flopped during tough times.” He states like it’s just a fact of life, rolling onto his back, fingers skimming over Katsuki’s side as he releases the blonde. He stretches, groaning at the morning stiffness of his muscles. “C’mon. I’ll make breakfast. Take a shower.”
Katsuki isn’t given a chance to retort or comment. Izuku grabs his arm and tugs slightly, forcing Katsuki to roll towards the edge of the bed. Izuku is smiling, and it’s like a sunrise, soft and warm, but not too bright for the early morning. His freckles are like tiny stars on the backdrop of the first rays of dawn, and his hair is a fucking mess. His eyes are half-lidded with sleep, still a little hazy because he hasn’t had his tea, yet. He slept in one of Katsuki’s old T-shirts and a pair of loose sweatpants, and it’s slightly too big for him, even though he’s filled out over the years. It slides to one side, exposing the creaming, freckled skin of his collarbone and sinewy muscle.
He looks like comfort personified.
He looks like sex personified. Like a man who’s spent the night rolling around with another person, a man who was probably a tease because he looked so innocent – and he knew it. Like a man who just woke up from a satisfying rest next to someone he cares about deeply.
And Katsuki – well, he startles at that thought. Quite frankly, he hasn’t had an R-rated thought in probably a month. He hasn’t really been in the mood for it. He certainly isn’t in the right frame of mind to try and start a relationship or even hook up with anyone.
And it’s Izuku. Fucking Deku.
He knows he’s blushing and staring. He clears his throat, forces himself to look away from those morning bedroom eyes full of lush moss and mysterious forests. “Did you, uh. Sleep okay?” He finds himself asking. Izuku is still holding his wrist.
The freckled man’s smile widens. He squeezes Katsuki’s wrist gently, reassuringly, and Katsuki feels suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. “The best sleep I’ve had in a while, actually.” His words are soft, like a secret. He tugs Katsuki again, and the blonde doesn’t resist. He slides forward until he’s sitting at the edge of the bed. He looks up at Izuku, who hasn’t moved, who is, somehow, some way, standing between his legs, and Katsuki’s mind feels foggy with how much he desperately wants to press his fingerprints into Izuku’s hips.
Izuku drops Katsuki’s wrist, his fingers sliding into Katsuki’s hair. Because that’s apparently become a regular thing, now. He’s smiling, and Katsuki leans his head back, tilting into Izuku’s fingers like a touch-starved puppy. His heart is running a fucking derby in his chest and he’s really fucking confused as to what’s really happening here.
Izuku pulls Katsuki forward so that his head is pressed to his chest, his fingers still carding gently through his hair. Katsuki realizes suddenly that Izuku is kind of hugging him. It’s – well, it’s the first hug he’s honestly received since that first week his mom passed away. He’s never been much of a hugger, but fuck.
He feels emotional everywhere. He feels it in his toes and across his scalp and in the tightness of his throat. He reaches around Izuku, pressing his hands into the man’s back, accepting the affectionate gesture. It’s such a foreign feeling that Katsuki wonders idly if he’s doing it right.
Izuku hums low in his chest, and Katsuki can feel it. It makes him feel odd. Warm. Tingly. He’s, at least temporarily, forgotten about his overwhelming anxiety about going into work. “C’mon. Breakfast. Shower.” Izuku murmurs, pulling away slightly.
Katsuki swallows down every bit of burning emotion swelling in his chest when Izuku stretches his arms upward, back bending slightly, waking up his muscles. Katsuki’s shirt slides up on him, exposing a thin strip of smooth, toned abdomen.
Katsuki’s hands are still pressing into the other man’s back. They slide down and around, dropping just before they hit the swell of exposed skin. Izuku is watching Katsuki with an unreadable expression, but the blonde can make out the soft glow of pink creeping up Izuku’s neck in the dim morning light.
Katsuki exhales deeply. “Right. Breakfast. Shower.” He echoes.
---
He tells his therapist about Izuku the next time he sees her. The words fall out of his mouth like a waterfall, frantic and a little panicked and desperate to escape.
“So you know the guy who’s been helping me out a lot, Deku? Well, he’s been staying over. I mean, he was doing that a lot before, but – now, he’s – he’s sleeping with me. In the bed with me. Apparently, he has a fucking hard time sleeping alone or what-the-fuck-ever. Anyway, doesn’t matter. I, uhm. It’s nice. I guess. Kind of confusing.”
His therapist looks at him quietly. “This Deku is the same one you told me about from your childhood? The one you fought with a lot?”
Katsuki feels guilt swell in his chest. He was a fucking dick to Izuku when they were younger, and yet – and yet – Izuku has been his main line of support since Mitsuki passed away. “Yeah.”
“Why is sharing a bed with Deku confusing?”
Katsuki exhales deeply. Oh, no. Oh, God. He feels it coming, feels it bubbling at the back of his throat, the confession, the words he’s been too afraid to say out loud or even in his head because that makes them real. “I think I have, uhm.” He stops. He’s blushing. His palms feel extra sweaty. “You know.”
She raises a brow, prompting him to continue. He releases a frustrated noise. “Fucking. Feelings. You know. For him. Or some shit.” He grinds out. Fuck, he wants to explode something right now.
She smiles, soft and warm. It reminds him of Izuku’s. Izuku would probably make a fucking great therapist, now that he thinks about it. “That’s great, though, Katsuki! That’s – It’s progress in your healing. Feeling and focusing on something other than what you’ve lost and the negative feelings that come with it. It might not seem like it all the time, but you are healing. I see it in you every week, some slight change in how you’re doing.”
Katsuki stares a little dumbfounded at the woman. He just said he had feelings for Izuku fucking Midoriya and she said that’s great. She said he’s healing. She said –
“Really?” He croaks, feeling his throat tighten. He’s felt as if he’s been stuck in a pool of despair for so long that there’s no way he could be getting better. He thought he must be getting worse. “You think – I’m getting better?”
His therapist’s eyes shine with emotion of her own. She smiles, genuine and kind. “Yes, Katsuki.”
---
Izuku is over at his place so often that he decides to just bring a suitcase of clothes and toiletries with him one night after work. Katsuki isn’t a total asshole, so he cleans out a drawer for the freckled man. He doesn’t need to live out of a suitcase when there’s plenty of space.
Katsuki pointedly ignores how fucking domestic and intimate this all feels. Like they’re dating or some shit. Because they’re not.
But Izuku is chopping vegetables while Katsuki folds laundry on the couch, and Izuku says, “Your dad called me today.” Which makes Katsuki pause in his laundry endeavor and stare at the dark-haired man with wide eyes.
Now it really feels too domestic.
“What.” He snaps, harsher than he means to. Izuku looks up from his task in the kitchen, raising a brow.
“He was wondering how you were doing. Wondering if I had been by to see you since, you know.” He looks – annoyed? “He said he hasn’t heard from you other than the occasional text.”
Katsuki narrows his eyes with a huff. “Yeah, I text him to keep him updated.”
“But you haven’t called him?”
Katsuki is silent for a moment. “No.”
Izuku sets the knife down and leans against the counter. “Kacchan, it’s been four months. You haven’t called your dad in four months.”
Katsuki glares, feeling defensive. “Why the fuck do you care?” He snarls, anger simmering in his gut suddenly. Anger and shame.
He knows he hasn’t called his dad. He knows it’s been four months. But – calling meant – calling was – he didn’t want to call the house and know his mom wasn’t going to be able to pick up. He didn’t want to deal with his dad asking him how have you been, have you been eating, how is work, have you been to visit her?
Izuku’s annoyance is full-blown now, apparent on his expressive features. “I care because I care about you.” He snaps back, huffing. “He’s your dad, Kacchan. He’s the – he’s the one you have left, now.” His voice cracks a little, and it just makes Katsuki even angrier. “And I don’t fucking know, it kind of sucks that he had to ask me if I’d seen you. Like I haven’t been here almost every day for the past four months. Like nobody knows.”
Katsuki is very, very aware, at that moment, that this conversation is not just about the need to call his dad. This conversation is teetering on the cusp of addressing what the fuck is going on between them. Teetering on the edge of making it real.
Katsuki feels his hackles raise, feels cold dread drip from his pores, feels the need to run.
He can’t do this.
He can’t –
He drops the shirt in his grasp, body bowing forward as a sudden cold flash of anxiety curls through his body. He can’t breathe – he can’t breathe – he can’t –
Izuku is there, at his side. “Kacchan.” His words are soft, soothing, all traces of annoyance chased away by genuine concern. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I need you to try and focus on my voice, okay. Breathe, baby, c’mon.”
Katsuki hears him. He hears him and panics a bit more, feels like he might throw up. “Can I touch you?” Izuku is asking, hands hovering, yearning to comfort. Katsuki is hyperventilating. He nods because he can’t speak. “Okay. Okay.” Izuku mumbles, sounding a bit like he too is about to break. He slides a hand over Katsuki’s back, rubbing in soothing circles. The touch is light, but grounding. Izuku places a slightly shaky hand on Katsuki’s arm, squeezes, gently tugs to try and get Katsuki out of his quasi-fetal position.
Katsuki realizes that he’s started crying when he finally manages to get a full breath of air into his lungs and mutters out a shaky sniffle of I’m sorry.
Izuku is crying, then, too. He presses his forehead to Katsuki’s shoulder, body shaking, whispering it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re okay, we’re okay, over and over again like a mantra.
---
A week later, Katsuki finally calls his dad.
He doesn’t want to.
But. He realizes that he’s been unfair. He’s been irrational. He’s been using Izuku as his crutch, bleeding his childhood friend dry.
His dad answers on the second ring. He sounds exhausted. “Hello?”
Katsuki is quiet for a moment too long. He almost hangs up. “Hey, dad.”
Masaru’s next word comes out in a quiet awe, like he can’t really believe his ears. “Katsuki?”
Katsuki feels his throat tighten. He feels the tears threatening to fall. Fights them back. “Yeah, uhm.” He stumbles, unsure. “I’m uh, sorry. For not calling. Until now.”
Masaru sounds like he might be crying, and that certainly does not help Katsuki’s own emotional state. But his dad has always been more of an emotional wreck than the rest of the family. “No, it’s okay, son. I’m just really glad to hear from you.”
The conversation doesn’t end up being as difficult as Katsuki thought it would be. He realizes, suddenly, that he’s really fucking good at building things up in his head. That’s called anxiety, you dumb shit, his unhelpful brain snaps at him.
And that is called depression, he thinks.
But he feels lighter after the call. Feels like he closed a door that he’s been trying too hard to keep open. Feels like he’s taken the tiniest step forward.
They talk about work and his cousin and how Masaru has taken up gardening, which Katsuki finds fucking hilarious, but he says, “Maybe when I come visit next, you can show me how, too.”
They talk about heroes and Katsuki’s therapist, even though they both pointedly avoid speaking directly about Mitsuki. For that, Katsuki is grateful. He thinks his dad is, too.
They talk about Izuku.
“I talked to him recently.” Masaru says cautiously, like he knows he is treading on thin ice. “He spoke like he really cared about you. Has he been by recently?”
Katsuki swallows the lump in his throat. He remembers Izuku’s annoyance and hurt over the fact that Katsuki hadn’t told his dad that Izuku had been around a lot. He wonders, vaguely, what’s happening between them. With a deep breath, he licks dry lips. “I – yeah. He has. He’s over a lot.” He admits, and then, “Every night, actually. He basically lives with me, now.”
Masaru is quiet for a moment, and then, “Oh.” He says, and that single word is loaded. “So are you two – are you, you know?”
Katsuki runs a frustrated hand through his hair, fingers clutching his phone probably a little too tightly. He feels nerves tingle up his spine. “Dad, I don’t fucking know.” He breathes out. Suddenly, he’s speaking fast. “He’s over all the fucking time and we share a bed and he has a drawer of shit in my dresser and he’s been a fucking Godsend the past few months and sometimes I want to kiss him and sometimes I want to punch him.”
Immediately, Katsuki is embarrassed by his outburst. He flushes, but Masaru just chuckles fondly on the other end of the phone. “You sound just like your mother did when she was first telling her parents about me.”
Katsuki thinks his heart just stops in his chest. It feels tight. He swallows. “Yeah?”
Masaru is smiling – Katsuki can tell, even though he can’t see. “Yeah. You’ve always been the spitting image of her, you know?” He’s speaking softly. “Down to every last hair on your strong head. Maybe you should just talk to Izuku about it? That worked well for us.”
Fucking hell no.
Katsuki swallows the angry fear that swells in his chest. Okay, maybe talking it out could be helpful. He could admit that. Easier said than done, though.
“Maybe.” He says, and then they change the subject.
---
Izuku doesn’t come by for a few days.
Deku 11:23PM: Hey, Kacchan. I probably won’t be home for the next couple of days. There’s a pretty violent Villain we’re trying to apprehend, and they need all hands on deck. I’ll have my phone, though. Call me if you need, okay? <3
Katsuki pointedly tries to ignore how the word home and that stupid little heart makes him feel.
Katsuki 11:26PM: Whatever, thanks for letting me know, I guess. Better take him down.
Then, he decides to send a second message because he can’t help the anxiety that pools in his gut. He hates the feeling.
Katsuki 11:27PM: Don’t fucking die.
Deku 11:30PM: Thanks, Kacchan! I’ll be safe, don’t worry.
Katsuki tosses and turns all night. And the night after that. And the night after that. He’s grown accustomed to a warm body pressed against his. Grown used to Izuku nuzzling into his shoulder into the morning, pressing his cold nose into Katsuki’s neck. Grown used to warm breath at his ear, mumbling good morning, Kacchan.
On the fourth night that Izuku is gone, he calls Eijiro.
“Baku!” The red-headed man exclaims. “What’s up, my man?”
He’s seen Eijiro a few times since his mom passed away. They text often. He’s kept him relatively updated on his life and how he’s been doing. Eijiro is a good friend.
“Hey.” Katsuki grunts. Then, without warning, he says, “Izuku hasn’t been home for a few days because he’s on some fucking mission with his agency. Do you want to like, get dinner or something?”
Every word feels odd on his tongue, feels heavy. Eijiro is quiet for a moment. “Izuku hasn’t been home?” He asks. “What does that mean?”
Katsuki rolls his eyes. “I’ll fucking tell you all about it at dinner.”
Eijiro’s excitement is palpable through the phone. “You got it, man! Meet at Bistro’s in thirty?”
Katsuki grunts but can’t help but smile. “What-the-fuck-ever.”
---
“Okay, so let me get this straight.” Eijiro points a chopstick at Katsuki. Rice flings onto the table, and Katsuki rolls his eyes at the dramatics. “Izuku has essentially been living with you for a few months now. You guys sleep together. You cuddle. He called you baby once, – oh my God – he has shit at your apartment, he texted you to let you know that he’s not coming home, your dad compared you guys to him and your mom. Am I missing anything?”
Katsuki shoves a piece of meat into his mouth. “No.” He huffs, irritated.
“Bro. Bakubro. Kat. My main man. My favorite explosive dandelion. Dude.” Eijiro grins. “You two are so dating.”
Katsuki flushes. “We are not!” He snaps, defensive. “He’s just been really helpful after my mom passed. Like a fucking leech or some shit.”
“A leech that you totally want to bang.”
Katsuki glowers. “I do not.” He mutters, knowing that he sounds like a grumpy five-year-old in denial.
“Okay, so if I were to ask Izuku out on a date right now, how would you feel?”
Katsuki looks surprised at the question. His immediate reaction is anger, and then unease. Something possessive and jealous curls in his gut. He flushes and doesn’t meet Eijiro’s gaze. “You wouldn’t.”
“I totally would. Guy’s a fucking catch.” Eijiro smiles. “Like, hello? Have you seen his thighs? And he’s thoughtful and sweet? He’s hot, he’s powerful, he’s capable, and he’s a genuine good guy?” The red head raises a brow. “Honestly, Kat, I’m fairly certain our new Symbol of Peace gets asked out at least once a day.”
“Shut up.” Katsuki snarls.
“And yet,” Eijiro continues, pointing his chopsticks again, ignoring Katsuki’s bite. “He refuses all of them. He rejects all of the other potential suitors. And he goes home to you.” Eijiro shrugs his shoulders, taking a bite of his rice bowl. “You two are totally, undeniably, irrevocably dating-without-dating. You probably have been since fucking high school, bro. Seriously, when’s the last time either of you dated someone? Hooked up with someone?”
Katsuki can’t recall, honestly. He looks away. “I don’t fucking know. I don’t keep tabs on Deku’s fucking dating life.”
Eijiro raises a brow. “And the last guy you hooked up with was like, two years ago, dude. And, surprise, he had green hair and big-ass hands and thick thighs. You have a type. Your type is Izuku fucking Midoriya.”
Katsuki looks a bit surprised that Eijiro remembers his last hook up because Katsuki doesn’t. He’s blushing, his cheeks hot. “Okay, what-the-fuck-ever.” He concedes, though he won’t actually say that he has feelings for Izuku to Eijiro. Saying it to his therapist is one thing. Saying it to his best friend is a whole separate terrifying prospect in itself. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not in a good place to enter a relationship. That wouldn’t be fair.”
Eijiro looks thoughtful. “Well, okay. That’s fair. At least, I think that’s fair if you were trying to date someone you didn’t know at all, right? But Izuku has been there for you the entire time. He’s always been there. He knows you better than anyone else. You wouldn’t have to pretend with him or anything, you know?”
Katsuki chews his food slowly. Eijiro has a point, even if he doesn’t particularly like it. It makes him uncomfortable to think about. “Whatever.” He mumbles, heart racing.
Eijiro smiles, reaching over to pat Katsuki on the arm affectionately. “Just think about it, bro.”
Katsuki does think about it. For the next two days that Izuku is still absent. He frets. He worries. He misses him.
Fuck.
---
After a week of absence and a few texts to ensure that he was still alive, Izuku shows up at Katsuki’s apartment on a Saturday. He’s freshly showered and not in his hero outfit, so it’s obvious he went home before coming to Katsuki’s. He looks tired, like he hasn’t really slept in a week and like any sleep he has managed to get wasn’t restful. He has a few new bruises and a small cut under his right jaw that doesn’t look too deep.
Katsuki feels elated at the sight of the freckled man. He tries to stomp it out, but he’s sure Izuku can probably see it in his eyes, in the slight upward tilt of his lips.
“Hi, Kacchan!” Izuku greets, stepping into the apartment with ease. “Sorry that I’ve been away for so long.” He’s holding something behind his back, and his cheeks are flushed. Katsuki feels his heart hammering in his chest.
“Yeah, about fucking time.” Katsuki settles on, after a moment of floundering for the right words. Izuku beams and pulls a brown paper bag from behind his back.
“I figured you might say something like that.” He giggles. “I brought your favorite sweet buns as an apology.”
And Katsuki thinks about how absolutely fucked up this entire exchange is. Here’s Izuku, standing in front of him all sunshine and glitter and rainbows with a few scars, bringing him sweets. Telling him sorry. After what, five fucking months of Izuku taking care of Katsuki?
Katsuki feels his last thread of sanity snap. “Are we dating?”
The question is out of his mouth before he realizes it. He’s immediately flushing, dark and red. He feels anxiety rush through his veins, and fuck, he hopes he doesn’t have another panic attack.
Izuku’s expression looks surprised. He’s blushing, too, Katsuki notices, all the way from the tips of his ears to the skin hiding beneath his shirt. “Uhm.” Izuku responds, completely unhelpfully. He licks his lips. He looks away, obviously a nervous wreck. “I mean. Like, no? Because you can’t – you can’t be dating if it’s not agreed that it’s as such, right?” He swallows, and Katsuki feels nervous by Izuku’s response. “But. I mean. I wouldn’t – I’m not – I – fuck.”
The abrupt fall into a curse reminds Katsuki so much of himself that he immediately wants to kiss the freckles on Izuku’s cheeks. “You sound like me.” He grins, even though his heart is still trying to leap out of his throat.
Izuku scratches the back of his head, smiling sheepishly. “I mean, I do spend a lot of time with you.” He murmurs, looking at Katsuki with half-lidded eyes. “What I’m trying to say is that I would like to be dating. If that’s, you know, something you want or feel ready for, right now.”
Eijiro was so fucking right. Izuku does know Katsuki better than anyone else. That pisses him off, but only because it terrifies him. “I, uh.” He starts. He remembers the bag of sweet buns and grabs at it furiously, taking a bun out and ripping into it suddenly. Swallowing the sweet, he forces himself to look at Izuku. “Why the fuck not.” He snaps. “But – like – I just. Let’s take it slow, okay?” The question is small, and Izuku can tell that it takes all of Katsuki’s willpower to ask for that boundary. “I don’t want to ruin it because I’m a fucking train wreck sometimes.”
Izuku’s smile is wobbly, and his eyes are shiny as if he’s going to cry, but Katsuki can tell that he’s thrumming with happiness. “We’re all train wrecks, sometimes.” He says, and Katsuki thinks that he might be just a little bit in love.
---
Taking it slow is a bunch of bullshit, honestly.
Katsuki has never been good at patience, after all.
A couple days after their conversation, Izuku is pressed against his back in his usual spider monkey fashion and his lips are pressed against Katsuki’s bare shoulder because Katsuki had decided it would be a good idea to sleep shirtless.
His decision had everything to do with the fact that his body temperature runs high and he has another human clinging to his body, adding to the warmth, and absolutely nothing to do with the feel of Izuku’s fingers on his skin, okay?
Izuku’s breath is light on his skin, his nose teasing the flesh near his collarbone. Katsuki feels like a live wire, sparking, ready to ignite.
The blond tilts his head slightly, pressing his ear into the pillow a bit more so that there’s easier access for Izuku’s wandering lips, if he were to choose to take the opportunity.
Luckily, Izuku is very adept at deciphering Katsuki’s language.
He smiles into Katsuki’s skin, pressing a hot kiss to the top of his shoulder. His arm wraps around Katsuki a little tighter, pulling the blonde closer. His lips skim upward, lightly teasing the sensitive skin of Katsuki’s neck, nose nudging Katsuki’s ear.
Katsuki tries very hard to keep his breathing under control. He finds it frustrating that he’s waiting in anticipation like a thirteen-year-old with a school crush who’s about to give him his first kiss. He’s a grown ass man, dammit, and he’s not inexperienced.
Izuku’s breath is hot over his ear. “Is this okay?” He asks, respectful, kind, thoughtful, as always. His fingers trace small circles over Katsuki’s hip. Katsuki thinks he might combust.
“Yes.” He breathes out, and that one single word betrays any trace that he has it under control.
Izuku makes a soft, low noise from the back of his throat. Katsuki bites his lip when Izuku kisses just beneath his ear, nibbles on the flesh of his lobe slightly. The soft presses of lips increase in pressure, become a little hotter, wetter. Fingers on his hip grip a little tighter. Teeth scrape at the edge of Katsuki’s collarbone, and the blonde loses it.
“Fucking Christ.” He growls, his body arching and twisting in Izuku’s embrace. He turns so that he is facing Izuku. There are splotches of red mottling his chest, his breathing a little heavy, his pupils blown. Izuku looks no better, barely holding on to his control by a single, fraying thread.
Katsuki presses a leg between Izuku’s, reaches forward, grabs Izuku by the waist. He pulls the solid man closer, pushes his chest against Izuku’s, and kisses him.
It’s hot. It’s needy and frantic and a little out of control. Izuku mewls into the kiss, lips hot and wet and delicious. The kiss is probably seven years late, honestly, and Katsuki’s body vibrates with sparks and electricity.
Izuku presses against the thigh that Katsuki has between his own. Katsuki can feel Izuku’s slight erection, which makes him feel powerful, makes him feel wanted and whole and worth so much.
For the first time in months, Katsuki feels like he’s enough. Like he’s more. More than the anxiety and depression that has settled in after his mother’s death. More than his angry temperament and his fear and his sadness and his weaknesses.
Izuku falls apart in Katsuki’s arms. He melts like butter under Katsuki’s touch and kisses, all soft sounds and words of praise and Katsuki pushes him down into the mattress, grinds down into him, discards his shirt, kisses down his chest.
Katsuki is enough to make one of the most powerful men he’s ever known writhe and arch. He’s enough to kiss him and know that Izuku’s responding kiss isn’t one of sympathy or pity, but of care. He’s enough to press his fingers into thick thighs, worship them, press his lips over a clothed erection and watch with delight as Izuku pants and begs. He’s enough to feel genuine, overwhelming affection when Izuku looks at him with those big, wonderful, wide, shimmering eyes and says, “Katsuki, please.”
Izuku reminds Katsuki that he’s enough in everything that he does. In everything that he says, every move that he makes, and meal he cooks, and text he sends.
Katsuki is enough. He always will be and always has been, even on his lowest, darkest days.
And Katsuki loves Izuku for reminding him of it. He loves Izuku for reminding him of it every single day since they were children, even when Katsuki was a downright terror.
He loves Izuku because Izuku is so much more than enough, to him.
---
On the anniversary of Mitsuki’s death, Katsuki and Izuku visit her grave.
It’s the first time Katsuki has been here since the funeral. Izuku holds onto his arm the entire time, pressing reassuring fingers into warm, clammy skin.
Katsuki leaves flowers on her grave. His words are a little wobbly as a few lone tears fall from the corners of his eyes. “I still don’t dry my hair like you want me to, old hag.” His words are fond, bittersweet. Izuku laughs a little into his shoulder, sniffling back his own tears.
Katsuki looks at Izuku. He wraps an arm around the freckled man’s waist, pulls him close, smiles slightly. “Yeah, you’d be pissed that I still don’t listen to you about my hair.” He murmurs to the wind. “But I think you’d think I got at least one thing right.”
Katsuki kisses Izuku, soft, carefully, gently. Izuku presses his fingers into Katsuki’s jaw, warm and steady.
He tastes like comfort and sex, just like he always does.
Katsuki smiles.
They’re going to be just fucking fine.
---
Fin.