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Katsuki's favorite dream always begins on a Sunday morning.
It's a special niche of time tucked away into the obscurities of day-to-day life, often spent with either an excess or lack of care, and while Katsuki is notorious for his early bird tendencies, his partner is not.
Izuku is peaceful like this, lying next to Katsuki with half his face buried in the pillow.
Sometimes—sometimes, Katsuki gets into a certain kind of mood, the kind that unfolds and drops like cherry blossoms, light and soft and gentle. When he gets in this kind of mood, he anchors himself to the bed for a little longer than usual, letting his daily jog wait. There are perks to having a partner that sleeps in on Sundays, because it is when Izuku is still and silent that Katsuki becomes contemplative.
Izuku's constancy is comparable to the eternal return of the sun. Katsuki treasures his Sundays, because it's the only time when their hectic schedules dwindle down from fireworks to candlelight.
The only time he can spend his whole morning—if not the whole day—with Izuku.
They've always had a lot of lost time to make up for, and Katsuki would be damned if he missed chances like these.
Taking great care, he sits up as slowly as possible, feeling his weight dip the bed. Izuku jostles for a split second before settling back down, the quiet puffs of his breath the only sounds that Katsuki can hear. He leans over close, ever so slightly, and uses his fingertips to lift the sweep of wavy hair that curtains Izuku's forehead.
He's memorized it all by now, mapped out every part of his body.
The dips and curves of his spine when it arches, the cherry red of his bitten lips when they part, the sprinkle of stars that fall across his face and his shoulders, the smooth muscle that spans his abdomen.
Katsuki can never quite pinpoint exactly when he'd started looking at Izuku like this, but he supposes that it shouldn't matter too much, because his heart had already noticed back then what his eyes could not. Really, it was less a matter of trust and more of a sense of becoming.
Katsuki shifts when Izuku finally stirs awake beside him, his eyelids fluttering, blinking hard against the steady stream of rising daylight filtering in through the window. "Kacchan?" he murmurs, reaching out to rest his fingers against Katsuki's jaw, the drag of sleep still rendering his movements as slow as molasses.
Katsuki merely hums in reply, sliding a finger down and lifting up the hem of Izuku's shirt to gently poke his stomach. The reaction is immediate, Izuku emitting a low whine and instinctively curling into himself, the tips of his fluffed hair lightly brushing against the bridge of Katsuki's nose. "Kacchan, stop, it's too early—"
"No it's not."
"It is."
Katsuki tilts his neck to look at the wall clock on the other side of their bedroom. "It's almost 11 a.m., Deku."
Izuku promptly ceases squirming around. "What? We slept in?"
Izuku yelps when Katsuki flicks his forehead. "You did," Katsuki mutters. "I was awake since 7 o'clock."
"Really? That long? Then why are you still here in bed?"
Katsuki scoffs and stealthily pinches Izuku's cheek before the latter can bat his hand away. "I was busy watching you sleep."
"That's creepy, Kacchan."
"Shut the hell up."
"...creep."
"I won't make you your favorite omelette today, then, how about that?"
"No!" Izuku shoots up from where he lies, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "I'm sorry, Kacchan, so please make me that omelette, okay?"
This is the part that always strikes Katsuki the most, somehow. This playful banter that's only theirs, this domestic intimacy that he'd always secretly craved since their school days.
This is also the part when Katsuki goes off into a small headspace for a while, before Izuku scoots closer and leans his head on Katsuki's shoulder. "Kacchan," he sweetly croons. "You always get so thoughtful on Sunday mornings."
"Do I?"
"Yeah."
"Sorry."
"Don't be."
"Deku," Katsuki asks. "Can I see your left hand?"
"Sure," says Izuku, who readily lets his hand drop onto Katsuki's palm.
Hero work has worn Izuku's hands down, scars and callouses crisscrossing the surface of his skin. Katsuki turns Izuku's hand in his own, running the pad of his thumb over Izuku's knuckles.
He stops at the ring on the fourth finger.
It's a simple, white-gold band, inlaid with two small stones of emerald and ruby.
"What's going on in that handsome head of yours, now?" Izuku inquires. He laces his fingers with Katsuki's, giving a gentle and momentary squeeze of reassurance.
Katsuki squeezes back. "Just...tell me what you want to do today, Deku."
"What I want to do today, hm?" Izuku echoes. "Well, Ochako recommended this brand new parfait place that just opened up by the park on the other side of town."
"You and your sweets fix."
Laughter bubbles up from Izuku's throat, overflowing and bright. "You know it. What about you, Kacchan? Anyplace you want to go on this splendid day off?"
"Anywhere, I guess," Katsuki vaguely notes. "S'long as it's with you or whatever."
Katsuki doesn't even have to look to know how wide Izuku's smile is. "Okay, Kacchan."
And they melt into each other, sheets bunched up around them, leaning back against the pillows and the headboard. To Katsuki, Izuku is the most familiar thing he knows, and it's so easy to get entangled in nothing but him.
This is love, he thinks. He's never been so sure of anything else, regardless of the hills and valleys this life has seen. It's the only truth that Katsuki breathes because it always smells like home.
The atmosphere mellows and glitters all around them. The light from the window is starting to glow brighter and brighter.
"Deku," Katsuki says. For some reason, his heart feels a bit heavier now.
"Yes?"
Katsuki pulls Izuku closer.
Closer, and closer still.
"Deku, let's stay like this for a while, okay?"
"Okay."
"For a really long time."
Izuku presses his lips to Katsuki's shoulder. "I hear you."
Katsuki barely registers the dampness on his cheeks until Izuku reaches up to take Katsuki's face in his hands, and tenderly wipes the corners of his eyes. "Kacchan, don't be sad. We've got forever to stay like this."
"All the time in the world?"
"All the time in this life and the next, and then the one after that, and the one after that..."
Izuku's voice floats further away, but Katsuki feels a kiss like butterfly wings upon his temple, even as the presence beside him starts to disappear with the morning light.
I want you to stay here, with me, for as long as you'll have me.
Izuku understands, because Izuku always understands Katsuki in a way no one else can. He feels Izuku's heartbeat along with his own, a tuned melody of warmth.
"I love you, Kacchan. I'm so glad that I got to grow old with you."
The room is suddenly washed in white, blinding and tranquil, all pale pacific hues dancing and twirling in the corner of his vision.
The dream ends.
When Katsuki wakes, Izuku is no longer there.
"That dream, again," he grumbles, voice weary from disuse.
He sits up slowly, feeling a dull ache in his back.
In the present, old age has made Katsuki more sluggish and jaded. The residue of his days as a hero linger, though the days have long passed.
He stays there for a while, on his side of the bed, the other side neatly made and empty. Sleeping in a bed made for two is a lot lonelier than he'd imagined it would be.
His mind pulls him to look at the ring on his finger, which he absently twists and caresses with a melancholic disposition. The rings stands out against the wrinkles of his hand, still looking as brand new as the day he first put it on.
Suddenly, the telephone on his bedside rings.
Katsuki lets it sound off for another minute before answering.
"Morning, Bakugou."
It's Kirishima. Katsuki allows himself a tiny bout of laughter, because even after all these years, Kirishima sounds as energetic as ever.
"What is it, Kirishima?"
"Ah, sorry to call you on a Sunday morning, but my grandkids are asking if you're still planning on attending their graduation."
"I am."
"Oh, good!" Kirishima lets out a hearty chuckle before quieting down, his next words making Katsuki pause. "And after the ceremony, we can pay a visit to Midoriya, if you want. Bring him some nice flowers and everything."
Katsuki doesn't answer.
He feels like he's drifting on a sea of memory, his mind clouded with bygone days and hands to hold and eyes as green as springtime.
Kirishima's concerned voice soon trickles through the line. "Bakugou? Is everything alright?"
"Yeah," Bakugou croaks. "Everything's fine."
I was just having a really nice dream.