Chapter Text
Izuku wakes to his phone vibrating against the nightstand, the glow of the screen breaking through the dark of his bedroom. The name flashing on the screen immediately cuts through the haze.
He swipes to answer.
“Kirishima?”
“Deku, man, I need you to come get us.”
Izuku sits up instantly. “What happened?”
There’s noise in the background. Shuffling, low voices, the distinct slam of something hitting metal. Someone muttering curse an under their breath.
“We got him outside,” Kirishima says, breathless. “Before the cops got called.”
“Before the…” Izuku’s brain stutters. “What is going on?”
“Bakugou got into a fight,” Kirishima explains quickly. “Some guy at the bar was talking shit. You know how he is. Denki and I pulled him off before it got worse, but he actually…”
“Wait,” Izuku’s heart stutters, something lodging in his throat. “Kacchan hit a civilian?”
“Uh.” Kirishima hesitates. “Yeah.”
“Is he alive?!”
“Dude, yes, relax,” Kirishima assures him. “The guy’s fine. He went down, but he got back up. I think he was too scared to press charges, which is probably the only reason this isn’t worse.”
Izuku presses his fingers against his temple, forcing his brain to work past the rising panic.
“Bakugou drove here, and there’s no Ubers or trains running this late.” Kirishima sighs. “He’s absolutely about to go back in there and finish what he started.”
Izuku exhales, already reaching for his keys. “Okay, I’m coming.”
“No,” Katsuki snaps in the background. “Don’t fucking call him for this, Ei.”
“Dude, we don’t have another choice!”
“I’m not his fucking problem.”
“Too bad,” Izuku cuts in, voice firm. “I’m coming.”
Katsuki makes a frustrated noise, but Kirishima exhales in relief. “Thanks, man. We’re outside, down the street from the bar. The one we always go to on Broad Street. “Just hurry, okay?”
“I’m already leaving,” Izuku mutters, slipping into his shoes, not bothering to change out of his Pajamas.
He hangs up and grips his keys tight, his pulse hammering as he steps out into the night air. His heart is still pounding.
Kacchan got into a fight.
Kacchan hit someone.
Kacchan is pissed that Izuku even knows about it, let alone that he’s coming to get him.
But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t. Not at all. Because no matter what Kacchan says, no matter how much he fights it?
This is his problem.
Kacchan is his problem.
***
Izuku pulls up to the curb, the streetlights flickering dimly above the scene of what is obviously a disaster.
Katsuki, Kirishima, and Denki are all standing outside the bar, looking way too much like a group of teenagers who just got caught sneaking out past curfew. Katsuki has his arms crossed, tense, looking annoyed. Kirishima and Denki are on either side of him, like they are just waiting for him to try to go back inside.
Izuku barely throws the car into park before stepping out, and immediately, Katsuki’s eyes immediately narrow.
“The fuck are you wearing?”
What?
“Are you kidding me right now?!” Izuku shouts, gesturing wildly. “You almost could've gotten arrested, and you’re worried about my pajamas?!”
“You look like a goddamn toddler,” Katsuki mutters, annoyed. “What the fuck kind of grown ass man leaves the house in All Might pajamas?”
“The kind who gets woken up in the middle of the night because you decided to commit assault in a bar!”
He watches as Kirishima has to brace himself against a lamp post to keep from toppling over, and Denki is somewhere between cackling and gasping for air.
He’s about to bitch him out. In public. Right here, right now. Because Kacchan deserves this. Because Kacchan is a goddamn menace. And because he is so goddamn tired.
He doesn’t give him a chance to cut in.
“Do you even understand what you just did?! You’re number fifteen! Fifteen! Do you know why you’re not in the top ten? Because you keep doing stuff like this! The Commission is already on you about your behavior, and now there are witnesses! You have an agency, sponsorships, a full career, and you’re willing to risk fucking everything for—”
“Watch your fucking mouth.”
Izuku jerks to a stop. Huh? Denki lets out a wheezy laugh. Kirishima sighs next to him, muttering “Oh, man”
Izuku should be focused on the argument. He should be pushing back, should be yelling at him again. But…That was hot.
The thought slams into him out of nowhere, making his pulse jump. He doesn’t know even know why. It shouldn’t be hot. Kacchan is angry, Kacchan is being a dumbass, Kacchan is…
Standing way too close, shirt stretched perfectly over his arms, looking so good under the glow of the streetlights that Izuku actually hates him for it.
Izuku swallows hard, forcing himself to focus. “Are you seriously lecturing me on language right now?”
Kacchan crosses his arms, biceps flexing beneath his shirt. “Yeah.”
Izuku makes a frustrated noise, gesturing wildly. “You—”
“Me, what?”
“You literally have a jar at the agency!” Izuku exclaims. “They dock your pay every time you curse in public interviews, and you still owe, like, a ton.”
“I fucking do not.”
“Oh, so it’s okay when you cuss?”
Katsuki exhales. “You shouldn’t even be here.”
The words knock the wind out of him.
“I don’t need you here.” Katsuki continues.
The words hit harder than he expects, like a knife slipping between ribs, cutting quick before he has a chance to brace for it. He swallows, forcing his voice even.
“You’re drunk. You want me to just leave you here? To fight some random civilian again?”
“He deserved it.”
“Oh, of course he did,” Izuku deadpans. “Because Kacchan is the ultimate moral authority.”
Katsuki’s eye twitches. “You’re really fucking pushing it.”
Izuku steps closer. “What?” he challenges, voice lower now. “You gonna fight me now, too?” For a second he swears Katsuki’s gaze drops.
Kirishima groans. “Bro. Are you really about to fight him while he’s standing there in his All Might jammies?”
Katsuki clicks his tongue, fists clenching at his sides. “Move, Izuku.”
“No.”
“Move, or I’ll make you move.”
Izuku exhales sharply, patience gone. “Oh, I’d love to see you try,” he challenges, mouth curling into a smirk.
Katsuki freezes. For a second, just a second, his breathing stutters, his face flushes, but whether it’s from anger or something else, Izuku can’t tell. He swallows, suddenly aware of how charged the air feels.
“Katsuki.” Izuku narrows his eyes, using his given name like a weapon. “Get in the car.”
Izuku watches as Katsuki’s shoulders tense, and something flashes across his face before he immediately covers it up with a deep frown. For a second, they just stare at each other.
Then Katsuki shoves past him, yanks the passenger door open, and throws himself into the seat like an angry child. The door slams shut so hard the whole car rattles.
Izuku takes a second. Then, behind him, Kirishima claps a hand on his shoulder, grinning way too much. “That was hot.”
Izuku groans.
***
He drives on, reeling over the last fifteen minutes of his life. Katsuki, sulking in the passenger seat, doesn’t say a word.
Izuku grabs his phone, quickly turning on shuffle.
Great. Because this is exactly what he needs to hear right now. He goes to skip it, but hesitates when he hears Denki actively singing it, filling the awkward silence in the car. So it’s fine. Just a song.
Izuku keeps his hands tight around the wheel, eyes glued to the road, still feeling the tension of the last few minutes. Katsuki hasn’t said a single word since he got in the car, sitting stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed, glaring at the dashboard like it personally offended him.
Izuku doesn’t look at him. Refuses to look at him. He’s still pissed. At Katsuki. At the fight. At the way he yelled at him, like Izuku had no business showing up, like he wasn’t dragging his drunk ass out of a situation that could’ve ruined his whole career.
Katsuki looks mad too.
Izuku can feel it in the way he sits next to him, arms crossed, scowl carved into his face, still turned toward the window like the street outside is more worth looking at than Izuku. It pisses him off.
Because what the hell did he even do, besides try to keep him safe? Izuku exhales, slow and through his nose, forcing himself to focus on the road. His body feels too tight, wound up from the argument, from the tension, from him. He shifts, dropping his right arm onto the console.
The second it settles, a deep, familiar ache pulses through it and Izuku winces, his fingers twitching slightly. Not much. Not anything too obvious.
But out of the corner of his eye, Izuku sees a shift. Sees Katsuki’s gaze flick downward. Sees the way his own anger gets pushed down by something else.
Suddenly, he reaches over, wraps a hand around his wrist, and holds it still.
Izuku stops breathing. His whole body tenses, heat flaring up his neck, because Katsuki doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t ask. Just takes.
Izuku doesn’t look at him.
But he feels his hand, the warmth of it pressing through the fabric of his sleeve, the way Katsuki’s fingers shift slightly, thumb tracing slow over old scars, checking.
“You hurtin’?” Grating in that way that makes Izuku’s stomach twist. Izuku wants to say no.
Wants to pull his arm back, wants to stay mad, wants to shove him away and tell him to mind his business. Tell him leave him alone and not talk to him after the shit he just pulled. But Katsuki already knows. So Izuku swallows, pressing his lips together, fighting every instinct to tell him off.
And nods.
Kacchan’s grip shifts, fingers pressing into the muscle, testing the tension, mapping it out. Izuku hates how easily he does it. How his touch is so precise, like he’s spent time memorizing it, like he knows exactly where to press. He finds it. A sensitive spot, just below his elbow. His thumb presses in slightly.
Izuku flinches. Katsuki’s grip tightens slightly, his breath shifting.
“There?”
Izuku clenches his jaw. Because Katsuki is still touching him. What the hell.
“That feel good?”
Oh God.
Izuku’s entire body fucking reacts before he can stop it. He manages a small nod. Then…Heat. A slow, controlled pulse, warm and too much, seeping into his skin from Katsuki’s palm, sinking deep into the pain, spreading over the stiffness.
Izuku actually wants to die.
Because he is still pissed at him, but now his brain is short circuiting, trying to process the fact that Katsuki’s hands feel good on him, that the way his quirk spreads warmth actually helps, that his voice just now sounded like something Izuku absolutely should not be reacting to. The way that despite arguing, despite screaming at each other in the street fifteen minutes ago, Katsuki wants to help him. Its a silent apology. And Izuku lets him.
‘Bring your love, baby, I could bring my shame…’
Stupid song.
Izuku grips the wheel hard, forcing himself to breathe through it. Katsuki’s thumb keeps moving, slow and steady, pressing heat into the worst of the pain like this is just a normal thing they do.
“You good, bro?” Kirishima suddenly asks.
Izuku pulse slams against his ribs, his stomach flipping, his entire brain misfiring.
“Yeah,” he says, a little too fast. “Why?”
Kirishima shakes his head, scrolling. “Just being quiet.”
Izuku clears his throat, forcing his voice steady. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
Izuku exhales, relieved for all of two seconds before Katsuki’s thumb presses in deeper. Izuku flinches. But he doesn’t pull away. Lets him keep holding on.
Until the turn comes.
The second Izuku has to move his arm, Katsuki lets go. Pulls back. Acts like nothing happened.
Like he didn’t just break Izuku’s brain completely.
“Hey. Can we go to McDonald’s?”
Izuku groans, already shaking his head. “Denki—”
“Come on, dude.” Denki leans forward between the seats, eyes wide, grinning. “Im drunk.
And hungry. We need snacks.”
Kirishima nods. “Fries do sound kinda good right now.”
“I’m not driving all over the city for McDonalds.”
“It’s, like, five minutes away.”
Izuku exhales, rubbing his temples. “It’s almost one in the morning.”
Denki shrugs. “And McDonald’s is open twenty four hours.”
Izuku clenches his jaw, about to tell them no. But honestly? He's hungry too.
Izuku sighs. “…Fine.”
Denki cheers. Kirishima fist-pumps. “Knew you had it in you, man.”
Katsuki, supringsly, says nothing. He doesn’t look at him as he flips the turn signal and pulls into the drive-thru.
It’s all fine.
Until they actually have to order.
Izuku rolls down the window, the speaker crackling to life with the most exhausted sounding employee he’s ever heard.
“Welcome to McDonald’s. Order when you’re ready.”
Izuku sighs. “Alright, what do you guys want?”
Denki, way too excited, immediately leans forward. “Large fries, twenty-piece nuggets, an Oreo McFlurry. Wait, no, M&M McFlurry. Wait, both, actually—”
Kirishima snorts. “Dude. Pick one.”
Denki whines. “But what if I want a bite of each?”
“You’re not gonna finish both.”
“I might.”
“You won’t.”
Izuku sighs, barely keeping himself together. “Just pick one.”
Denki groans. “Fine. Oreo.”
Izuku relays it into the speaker. “Okay, so, large fries, twenty nuggets, and an Oreo McFlurry.”
“Wait!”
Izuku flinches. “Denki, I swear to god.”
Denki hums, deep in thought. “Do they still have the BTS meal?”
Silence.
Izuku turns, staring. “That was, like, years ago.”
Denki groans, flopping back. “Man, that sucks.”
The employee, who sounds like they want to die, sighs. “Anything else?”
Kirishima leans forward. “Yeah, can I get a McFlurry too? Oreo. And a large Diet Coke.”
Izuku repeats it back, then glances at the passenger seat. “Kacchan?”
Katsuki, who has been completely silent this whole time, mutters, “Tch. Just gimme a damn burger.”
Izuku raises a brow. “… A burger?”
Katsuki glares. “Yeah, dumbass. A burger.”
Izuku fights a smirk, turning back to the intercom. “Uh, yeah. Just a burger.”
The employee sighs. “We have, like, ten different burgers.”
Katsuki’s eye twitches. “A fucking cheeseburger.”
Denki wheezes.
Izuku, barely holding back a laugh, says, “Yeah, just a cheeseburger.” He hesitates, then shrugs. “Actually, can I get a small fry too?”
Katsuki turns to him. “Get a real order.”
Izuku blinks. “What?”
Katsuki scowls, glancing at him like he’s stupid. “Get whatever the fuck you want. I got it.”
Izuku stares. Something in his stomach tightens.
“…Okay,” he mutters, barely processing as he turns back to the speaker. “Uh. Make that two cheeseburgers.”
The employee gives them their total.
A weight. A warm, solid weight, pressing against his thigh. His breath catches.
Katsuki, still facing forward, still acting so fucking casual, presses his card against Izuku’s leg, fingers barely brushing the fabric of his sweats, just enough to make Izuku feel it.
“Here.”
What the heck. What the heck. His fingers twitch against the wheel. His mind immediately spirals down a dark and unhinged path. Because Katsuki’s hand is right there.
On his thigh. And Izuku hates the way his stomach flips about it. Hates the way his pulse jumps and his thoughts derail. Hates that it’s sending him back to that stupid moment in the street, to Katsuki looking at him like he wanted to do something else, to…No. Nope.
He slams a lid on that thought so fast it nearly gives him whiplash. He focuses, swallows, and picks up the card, pretending his fingers aren’t shaking slightly.
“…Thank you.” he mutters, handing it to the cashier.
Denki, completely oblivious, sighs dramatically. “Man. Can’t believe they got rid of the BTS meal.”
Kirishima snorts. “Dude, let it go.”
He pays, and hands Katsuki his card back, their fingers just barely brushing before Katsuki yanks it away and shoves it into his wallet.
The window opens, he grabs the bag and passes to Denki before preparing to pull away. Quickly Izuku exhales, taps his phone to shuffle his playlist.
‘I wanna fuck you slow with the lights on…’
Izuku yelps and slams the skip button so fast he nearly flings his phone into the dashboard.
The car goes dead silent. He hits shuffle again, desperate to recover. The next song starts.
‘Rip off my shirt if you love me! Spit in my face while you fuck me!’
Izuku screams.
Kirishima blinks. “Dude. Are you okay tonight?”
Denki leans forward, mouth split into the widest grin Izuku has ever seen. “I think Deku is ovulating.”
Izuku’s whole body tenses. “I’m wha? I swear to—shut up!”
Denki is crying, doubled over in laughter. A sharp scoff cuts through the chaos. Izuku freezes. He does not turn his head. In his peripheral is Kacchan, one eyebrow raised, the most deadpan, unimpressed expression on his face. Izuku wants to die.
He slams shuffle again, praying for mercy.
‘It’s fine, it’s cool, you can say that we are nothing, but you know the truth…’
The car settles.
Izuku sighs in relief. “See?” He gestures vaguely. “Fine. Normal.”
Denki hums, suspicious. “Mmm. If you say so.”
Izuku groans, rubbing his forehead and keeps his eyes on the road as he drives.
Denki hums along, nodding his head to the beat as he blindly reaches into the bag between them. His fingers brush the opening of a fry carton and Kacchan attacks.
“Oi, dumbass!” Katsuki snaps, fast. “Don’t touch my fries!”
Denki yanks his hand back like he’s been burned. “Jesus, okay, relax.”
Kacchan doesn’t. He reaches forward, snatches the entire bag from the center console
“We’re not eating yet,” he mutters, glaring out the window.
Denki blinks. “Bro, please.”
Katsuki doesn’t respond.
Izuku exhales, pressing his fingers against the wheel. “Wait. Am I dropping you guys off at your places?”
Denki stretches in the back. “Yeah.”
“No,” Katsuki says immediately.
Izuku blinks. “…No?”
Katsuki still isn’t looking at him, gaze locked out the window, jaw tight. “You’re not driving everybody everywhere this fucking late.” His voice is clipped, final. “They can stay with me.”
Kirishima and Denki exchange looks but don’t argue.
“Okay,” Izuku says finally, voice softer than before.
“Sleepover!” Denki yells in excitement.
Izuku’s hands tighten against the wheel as he drives to Katsuki’s apartment.
***
Izuku pulls up to Katsuki’s apartment complex, the car rolling to a smooth stop in the parking lot. He shifts into park, taps his fingers against the wheel, and exhales. “Alright, we’re here.”
Denki stretches in the back, groaning. “Finally.”
Izuku reaches for the bag in Katsuki’s lap, fingers just brushing the crinkled paper before Katsuki snatches it away. Izuku pauses, blinking.
Katsuki scowls. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Izuku gestures at the bag. “Uh…grabbing my food?”
Katsuki glares at him like he just suggested something offensive. “Come inside and eat it.”
Izuku opens his mouth, then closes it. He said it so casually, like it’s not a big deal, like it’s expected. Like Izuku automatically should.
Denki perks up immediately. “Yeah, dude, come hangout for a minute!”
Kirishima claps a hand on Izuku’s shoulder. “Just eat with us.”
He should say no. He should just take his food and go home. He should put distance between himself and whatever the hell this night has been. Between him in Katsuki after what just happened in this car. That would be smart. But as Katsuki shifts beside him, adjusting his grip on the bag, something catches Izuku’s eye.
His hand. Bruised, busted knuckles, dried blood cracking along the creases of his skin, fingers stiff like he hasn’t been using them much, like it hurts too much to move them properly.
Izuku exhales, rubbing his forehead. “…Yeah, alright.”
Denki cheers. Katsuki just shoves the car door open like this was never in question. Izuku follows behind them, trying really, really hard not to think about how hard he must've hit that guy to mess his hand up like that.
Or how long it took Izuku to even notice he was in pain too.
***
Denki and Kirishima take the food bag from Katsuki as soon as they step inside, disappearing into the living room to spread everything out, already bickering over which movie to put on. Izuku reaches out and grabs Katsuki’s wrist.
Katsuki jerks in surprise, his body tensing under Izuku’s grip. “The hell?”
“Let me see your hand.”
Katsuki scowls, trying to pull back. “It’s fucking fine.”
“Just let me clean you up.”
Katsuki scoffs. “I don’t need you too.”
“Kacchan.” Izuku’s grip tightens slightly, fingers curling just enough to keep him in place “Please.”
Kacchan goes still. Something passes through his expression, but then he huffs, yanking his wrist away but following him into the kitchen anyway.
Izuku doesn’t hesitate, immediately reaching for the first aid kit Katsuki keeps under the sink. The silence between them is heavy, filled only by the distant sound of the TV turning on in the other room. He sets the kit down, opens it up, and grabs a disinfectant wipe. “This might sting,” he murmurs.
Katsuki grunts but doesn’t pull away when Izuku carefully takes his hand, his touch lighter than before.
He dabs the wipe against the broken skin, his fingers steady, careful. Katsuki barely flinches, jaw still tight, watching Izuku with a stubborn glare like he’s trying to fight whatever’s happening between them.
Izuku presses his lips together, still aching for an answer.
“Kacchan,” he tries again, his voice softer this time, eyes searching Katsuki’s. “Tell me what he said that made you hit him this hard.”
Katsuki scoffs. “Nothin’ important.”
Izuku frowns. “Kacchan.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Bullshit!” Kirishima screams from the living room.
Katsuki’s head snaps up, eyes narrowing. “Mind your own fucking business!”
Kirishima leans into view, arms crossed, looking completely unimpressed. “No, man. Just tell him the truth.”
Katsuki’s scowl deepens. “He doesn’t need to hear that shit.”
Izuku looks between them, chest tightening.
“Hear what?”
Katsuki’s jaw clenches so hard Izuku watches the muscle jump. Izuku just watched and waits.
Kirishima exhales. “Dude,” he says, voice softer. “Just tell him. He's not gonna drop it. You know that.”
Katsuki looks away, breathing heavy, like he’s trying to physically hold back whatever’s sitting on the tip of his tongue. Izuku’s grip on his hand tightens.
“Kacchan,” he murmurs. “Please.”
Katsuki grits his teeth, jaw flexing. His whole body tightens, fingers twitching in Izuku’s hold. Like just thinking about it pisses him off all over again. Izuku watches the way his shoulders rise and fall, the way his knuckles twitch. Katsuki finally clicks his tongue. “It was your damn PSA.”
Huh?
Izuku blinks. “My…what?”
Katsuki exhales sharply through his nose, his scowl deepening. “At the bar. Your stupid PSA came on the screen.”
Izuku’s stomach turns. He knows the one, he’d filmed it a few weeks back, something about emergency preparedness.
“What about it?” he asks carefully, not understanding. He shifts, gaze flickering away, mouth pressing into a tight line.
“Some drunk asshole started talking,” Katsuki mutters. “Right after you came up on the TV.”
Izuku nods and swallows, his chest suddenly tight.
“About the war.” Katsuki continues, voice dropping lower, darker.
The breath Izuku was about take gets caught in his throat, and grip tightens on Katsuki’s wrist without thinking. Of course. “What?” His voice catches, but he pushes through it. “What did he say?”
Katsuki doesn’t answer right away. He just stares at the floor, shoulders rising and falling, the muscles in his neck tight. “That you should’ve died,” he then mutters, voice tight, like it’s stuck in his throat.
“Shigaraki should’ve finished you off.” His grip on Izuku’s hand flexes, knuckles whitening “Called you a fuckin’ murderer,” he spits, eyes flashing with something raw. “Like he had any damn clue.”
Izuku doesn’t move.
Katsuki huffs, shaking his head, his expression twisting into something dark.
Izuku’s his vision blurs. It shouldn’t get to him. It shouldn’t matter. But it does. It always has. Because he killed Tenko. He is a murderer.
Katsuki laughs, sharp and humorless. “Dumbass had no clue who was sitting next to him, I guess.” His tone is flat, but there’s something beneath it. “As soon as I heard that last part, I broke his fucking jaw.”
Izuku stares at him, something raw twisting inside him. Katsuki did this for him. This wasn’t about Katsuki’s temper, about him just looking for a fight. He threw that punch because of Izuku.
Izuku swallows, fingers tightening over Katsuki’s. Then he finishes wrapping his knuckles, movements steady despite the fact that his hands are shaking. He exhales, trying to ground himself, trying to push past the nausea sitting heavy in his stomach. Finally, he looks up. And Katsuki is already watching him.
He should say something. Izuku exhales, trying to steady himself, trying to find the right words through the mess of emotions tangling in his chest.
“Kacchan,” he murmurs, voice quieter now. “You can’t hit people because they have an opinion on me.”
Katsuki snorts. “Wasn’t just an opinion.”
Izuku sighs. His fingers twitch against Katsuki’s palm, rubbing absently over the bandages he just finished wrapping. “This isn’t the first time someone’s said something like that,” he mutters. “And it won’t be the last.”
“So you think he deserved to walk away after saying that shit?” Katsuki mutters. “That I should’ve just let him run his mouth?”
“I think you shouldn’t throw away your career over me,” Izuku murmurs, steady despite the fact that his stomach turns at the thought of what could’ve happened if that guy had pressed charges against Kacchan.
Katsuki exhales sharply. “I don’t give a shit about my career.”
Izuku’s stomach drops. Kacchan is clearly still drunk. That’s too much.
He shakes his head roughly. “Kacchan,” His voice catches, barely above a whisper. “Yes, you do.”
Katsuki clicks his tongue. His grip tightens for a fraction of a second, and his mouth parts like he’s hesistating. “Not more than I give a shit about—”
“Yo, guys!” Denki hollers.
Katsuki goes rigid.
“Food’s, like, tragically cold now.”
Izuku groans, pinching his nose. He wants to choke him. Just one good second of his hands around Denki’s throat. That’s all he needs. Denki, still staring at the TV, doesn’t even look at them.
“Seriously, what are you guys doing in there?” he whines, stretching his arms over his head like he hasn’t just shattered whatever the hell was about to happen.
Kirishima suddenly shoves Denki hard enough that he nearly faceplants onto the couch.
“Dude.” Kirishima glares, exasperated. “They were talking, dumbass.”
Denki yelps, flailing as he catches himself. “What the hell?! How was I supposed to know?”
But the moment is already over.
Katsuki shakes his head sharply, expression snapping back to something closed off, like he’s actively deleting whatever just happened from his memory. Then, without another word, he storms out of the kitchen.
Izuku sighs, rubbing his temples, as they all move to gather their food.
***
It’s chaotic.
Denki immediately grabs someone else’s burger by accident, resulting in a heated three-minute debate about whose is whose.
Kirishima finds an extra pack of fries at the bottom of the bag, which somehow turns into a game of survival of the fittest as Denki tries to claim them and Katsuki physically blocks him with a well placed elbow to the ribs.
“You already have fries!” Denki whines, rubbing his side.
“Don’t care. Mine,” Katsuki grumbles, shoving an entire handful into his mouth.
Izuku just shakes his head, grabbing his own food before retreating to the couch, still feeling the weight of everything that happened in the kitchen.
Denki flops down next to him, fiddling with the remote. “Alright, what are we watching?”
Kirishima, already halfway through his burger, perks up. “Superbad.”
Denki gasps dramatically. “Oh my god, yes.”
Katsuki mutters something under his breath about how stupid that movie is but doesn’t argue when Denki presses play. Izuku tries to focus, tries to let the dumb background noise of the movie drown out everything else.
But he can’t. Because he knows exactly what Katsuki was going to say. His eyes flick over. Katsuki is already looking at him. Not glaring. Not scowling. Just looking. Izuku’s breath catches, something curling tight in his chest. Then, just as quickly as it happened, Katsuki looks away, grabbing another handful of fries like nothing happened.
Izuku forces himself to exhale, looking back at the screen, pretending his pulse isn’t suddenly too fast.
***
Izuku, now with a full stomach and exhaustion settling into his bones, tugs a blanket over himself and sinks into the couch. But his arm still aches. It’s familiar. Expected. Something he’s learned to ignore.
Denki is completely wrapped up in the movie, laughing occasionally. Kirishima already looks half asleep. Katsuki is scrolling on his phone sitting next to him, legs on the coffee table looking completely disinterested.
They are close. Sitting right next to each other. Probably closer than he should be. Izuku stretches out his right arm, not much, just slightly trying to ease the tightness. Pain shoots from his hand to his shoulder again, sharp and intense. Its normal. Its familiar. Its something that will never leave him. He exhales, flexing his fingers slightly to test it again but as soon as he moves again. Izuku barely has time to react before a warm, calloused hand wraps firmly around his forearm.
Oh god, he cannot do this again.
Izuku blinks, startled, turning slightly to face him. Katsuki isn’t even looking at him. Just frowning at his arm, fingers pressing lightly, like he’s trying to find the problem.
“Where?”
Izuku swallows, feeling absurdly warm all of a sudden. “It’s fine,” he mutters.
“That isn't what I asked.”
Izuku hesitates. Then sighs, shifting slightly. He knows he wont win this argument. So he relents. “…Lower.”
Katsuki hums, thumb sliding down, pressing into a new place. “Here?”
Izuku winces. “Agh. Yeah.”
Izuku barely has time to register what’s happening before deep warmth floods through his arm, sinking into the muscle. The heat spreads slowly, methodical, as Katsuki rubs firm, slow circles into his forearm, thumb working deep, melting away the tension with a pressure that is too much and not enough at the same time.
Izuku physically reacts. His fingers twitch, stomach flipping at the sensation, because it hurts. But it also feels good. And Katsuki is warm, and his hands are nice, and Izuku has to bite his tongue to keep from making an inappropriate sound.
Katsuki keeps his grip firm, lets his quirk pulse beneath his palm, shifting slightly to press deeper. “You takin’ anything for this?”
Izuku tries not to visibly shudder. “Uh. Sometimes.”
Katsuki grunts, unimpressed. “What’s ‘sometimes’?”
Izuku clears his throat, forcing himself to focus. “When it’s really bad.”
Katsuki grip tightens slightly. “You should’ve said somethin’ earlier.”
He doesn’t want to talk about this. Doesn’t want to sit here and explain why he never mentions it. Because Katsuki doing this, is already too much. Too much physically. Too much mentally. He can’t deal with this right now.
“Why wouldn’t you tell me?” Katsuki asks.
That’s a loaded question. He swallows, inhales, and says the only thing he can. “…Didn’t know you’d care.”
Katsuki pauses. Then he huffs, rolling his eyes like Izuku just said the dumbest thing in the world. “Yeah, well. You’re a fucking idiot.”
He keeps going. The warmth settles deep. His quirk pulses slow sinking into the muscle, unraveling the tightness in Izuku’s arm with every slow, deliberate pass of his palm.
It’s too much. Izuku blinks sluggishly, sleep creeping in at the edges of his mind, his body finally relaxing in a way it hasn’t in a long time.
Katsuki must feel it, the way his breathing evens out, the way his body starts to melt into the couch, because his grip shifts, lighter now, thumb tracing slow, lazy circles into Izuku’s forearm.
The heat dials down, but his touch doesn’t stop.
Izuku exhales, barely aware of the way his head tilts slightly, barely aware of the way he’s leaning now, sleep pulling him down, down, down.
Katsuki fingers press gently, a slow, pressure that Izuku’s body responds to, something deep in his chest unwinding. He huffs. “Dumbass.”
But his hand lingers, his palm still resting warm and steady against Izuku’s skin.
Izuku drifts.
***
Izuku stirs, warmth heavy around him, his body sluggish with sleep. Something solid presses against his side. Something warm. Something slowly moving against his arm. Tracing light, absent minded circles against his skin.
Oh god.
His head is resting against Kacchan. Kacchan’s hand is on him. His thumb is still rubbing slow, easy circles, like it’s nothing, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
Izuku jerks away so fast that he nearly falls off the couch.
Katsuki flinches hard, phone slipping from his fingers and clattering against the coffee table. “The fuck?”
Izuku’s heart slams against his ribs, heat crawling up his neck, face burning. He’s already pushing himself upright, fighting the exhaustion in his body, scrambling to get away from whatever the hell that just was.
“Sorry, I-I didn’t—” He swallows hard, trying to ignore the way his hands are shaking, how his skin still feels warm.
Katsuki stares at him, like he’s trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Izuku’s pulse is pounding. He forces himself to breathe. “I should go home now.”
Katsuki rubs his face like he’s trying to wake himself up more. “It’s late,” he mutters, voice gruff, still recovering from the shock of Izuku nearly launching himself off the couch. “Just sleep here.”
Izuku hesitates.
He should argue. Should make up an excuse, should get himself up and leave, should do anything other than stay here and let anything else happen. But he’s so tired. Too tired to fight. Too tired to think.
Its one night.
“…Okay,” he mutters, sighing quietly.
He shifts slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around himself, sinking back down into the couch.
“The hell are you doing?” Katsuki asks.
Izuku blinks, confused. “Laying down…?”
Katsuki scowls deeper. “Not there.”
Izuku furrows his brows. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” Katsuki mutters, already shifting, already pushing himself up, already grabbing at Izuku’s blanket like he’s about to physically drag him up. “Get up.”
Izuku groans, slumping further into the couch out of pure stubbornness. “I just got comfortable.”
“I said get up.”
Izuku glares at him, barely keeping his eyes open. “Kacchan.”
Katsuki doesn’t budge. Just stares down at him, waiting. Izuku is too tired for this. So he exhales hard, rubbing his face before begrudgingly pushing himself upright.
“Fine,” he grumbles, voice thick with exhaustion. “Where do you want me to go then, huh?”
Katsuki tilts his head toward the hall. “My bed.”
Izuku’s brain stalls. The weight of those two words snaps through him like a shock to the system. His bed. Kacchan wants him to sleep in his bed.
“What?” His voice is rough, thick with exhaustion.
Katsuki huffs, clearly already irritated. “You heard me.”
Izuku shakes his head. “I’m fine here.”
Katsuki scoffs. “No, you’re not.”
Izuku glares. “It’s your apartment. I’m not taking your bed.”
Katsuki clicks his tongue, already looking like he’s done with this conversation. “Not up for debate.”
Izuku squints. “It kinda is.”
Katsuki levels him with a look. “It isn’t.”
They stare each other down for a moment, exhaustion dragging at both of them, tension in the air. Then, Katsuki shifts. And Izuku recognizes that shift immediately.
“Oh, don’t you dare!”
Katsuki lunges toward him and Izuku yelps, scrambling stand quickly because Katsuki is not above throwing him over his damn shoulder.“Fine.”
From the recliner, Kirishima groans, shifting slightly. Katsuki turns toward the sound. “Oi. Shitty Hair.”
Kirishima stirs, groaning, rubbing his face as he blinks himself awake. “Huh?”
“Lay on the couch,” Katsuki mutters. “That chair’s gonna fuck up your neck.”
Kirishima grunts, still half-asleep. “M’fine.”
“You’re not,” Katsuki snaps. “Just move.”
Kirishima frowns, shifting slightly, gaze flicking toward Izuku, who is still frozen in place, standing up. Kirishima glances back at Katsuki, then sighs. “Where are you gonna sleep?” he mutters.
Katsuki barely hesitates. “I’ll take the floor.”
Izuku’s stomach drops. “Where?”
Katsuki just shrugs, casual as anything. “My room?”
Like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t weird at all to put Izuku in his bed and take the floor himself. Like this was just normal. And, somehow, Izuku goes along with it. He just follows Katsuki toward the bedroom, still not entirely sure how this happened, how any of this happened.
Katsuki stops at the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck. “Takin’ a shower,” he mutters. “Go the fuck to sleep.”
Izuku watches as he disappears down the hall, the sound of running water soon filling the quiet. For a moment, he just stands there.
Then, slowly, he steps into his room. The bed is warm, the sheets soft, the scent of him lingering in the air. He hesitantly lays down, and tries to get comfortable. The moment he does, something settles in his chest.
It’s too much. This is Katsuki’s bed. His space. His room. Everything smells like him. The sheets are soft, the pillows plush, the entire bed was made but slightly rumpled like he’d left in a rush that morning. There’s nothing overly personal. Kacchan isn’t the type. but Izuku can feel him everywhere.
It’s overwhelming. Izuku hates that it feels safe. That it feels right. His hands curl around the blanket, something stupid and useless settling in his chest. He forces himself to close his eyes. At some point, exhaustion wins.
He drifts.
***
Sometime later, Izuku stirs at the sound of the door opening.
He barely cracks his eyes open, his body still heavy with sleep, and sees Katsuki step inside, rubbing a towel through his hair, fresh from the shower. Izuku watches, not quite awake, as Katsuki moves through the room, tossing the towel in the hamper, grabbing a spare pillow, settling himself onto the floor with a sigh.
Izuku wants to say something. Wants to tell him, just come up here, the bed is big enough, but the words never make it past his lips.
His mind is too clouded.
A shift.
A pause.
For a long moment, there is silence. Izuku doesn't hear him lie down. Just a couple of soft steps against the carpet and a small sigh. Then he feels it. Katsuki’s hand brushes on top of the blanket over Izuku's arm as he feels him yank it higher, where it had fallen.
Izuku’s chest aches. The touch is so light, so brief, that Izuku almost convinces himself it didn’t happen, but then Katsuki exhales again, low and deep, something like resignation settling in his breath.
And finally he pulls back.
Izuku, still barely awake, feels something hot curl in his throat, thick and helpless.
He doesn’t know what he wants. But right now, he doesn’t want this distance between them.
Izuku lets his eyes slip shut, but sleep doesn’t come easily. Not with the way his chest feels too tight. Katsuki is right there. Just a few feet away, lying on the floor when he doesn’t have to, when Izuku would’ve let him stay.
Izuku swallows hard. There’s a pull, deep in body, something telling him to move, to shift closer, to reach out just once. To say something.
But he doesn’t. Because that would change everything. Instead, he just listens. To the quiet sound of Katsuki’s breathing, steady. He lets himself sink into the warmth of Katsuki’s bed, lets himself breathe it in. And before sleep takes him, one thought lingers in his chest.
He loves him.
And god, does it fucking hurt.