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It’s been a while since Katsuki retired from hero work.
It took all their friends and colleagues by surprise, that someone as ambitious and as competitive as Katsuki, who spent his entire childhood and youth declaring that he would be the number one hero, would seemingly be so ready to completely give up on his lifelong dream like that.
“I haven’t changed at all,” he’d said, although no one quite understood what he meant, still reeling from the news, “my dream is still exactly what it was.”
A scarce year after his graduation (and pro-hero debut), he had handed in his resignation letter with little preamble. He applied for university, took out a loan, and promptly fell out of everyone’s professional circles.
Shouto only found his way back into Katsuki’s life when he was on a surprise long-term mission in the area and had nowhere to stay. Kirishima heard of his sudden problem and hooked him up with Katsuki. It was technically illegal, what Shouto did: crashing with Katsuki in his uni dorm room, but Shouto can’t bring himself to regret those three years of avoiding campus security at all.
Now that Shouto is well on his way to being a regular in the top twenty pro-heroes, and Katsuki is a licensed and practicing nurse, it’s hard for Shouto to remember, sometimes, that his husband of two years was once the most fearsome of the up-and-coming pro-heroes, the one who placed first consistently in every combat trial.
It’s easy to forget that Katsuki in his teens could hold his own against four full-grown adults at once, that he’d stared his own death in the face multiple times and come out the other side grinning, that even as a nurse he deals with ugliness and violence with a simple grim determination on an almost daily basis.
It’s easy to forget that, even though he’s not a ‘hero’ anymore, his husband is still easily one of the most powerful men that Shouto has ever known.
Especially when Shouto comes home to see the smaller man puttering around their apartment in a little pink apron, snarking dryly at some silly drama serial on the television (alright who is Shouto kidding? It’s episode eighty-six of Tengoku Flower Boys, the latest one that hopefully finally offers some closure on Manami’s backstory and resolves that awkward love heptagon between those kids, and frankly he’s a little hurt that Katsuki started on it without him), idly tossing a fragrant bowl of couscous and salad in the crook of his elbow as he dances around their cats.
“I’m home,” Shouto calls, the burn in his tired muscles cooling and his heart instantly lighter at the sight.
“Hey,” Katsuki grins up at him briefly, before clicking his tongue and nudging one little meowing furball away with his foot, “welcome home, Sho.”
“Come here, babies,” Shouto coos, ignoring the unimpressed look Katsuki shoots him as he sweeps up their two fuzzy fur-babies in each hand, nuzzling kisses into their fluffy bodies, “let mommy cook in peace.”
“Go shower, you absolute embarrassment. You stink.” Katsuki huffs and rolls his eyes, not turning his reddened face aside. It’s been months since he last tried to hide his smiles and blushes, he knows how much Shouto loves seeing them anyway.
Shouto hums, and leans in to plant a chaste peck on Katsuki’s lips, laughing as Katsuki recoils in mock disgust at his smell, “sir, yes sir.”
He gently sets their children down on the couch (from which they immediately leap and begin streaking after each other through the apartment), and rips his shirt off over his head on the way to the shower, stretching out his spine and neck and rolling his shoulders.
He stops in the middle of the hallway after his casual display and sneaks a peek back to the kitchen, sighing when he’s greeted with Katsuki’s uncaring back. He’d been hoping for a little fun under the spray of the shower, but the blonde always had the better self-discipline of the two of them. Well, it’s for the best, Shouto supposes. This way he can have Katsuki’s wonderful cooking sooner.
After a quick rinse and making sure he no longer carries any offensive odors on his person, Shouto dons a simple white tee and shrugs on a shirt over that, padding out into the living room to wait for dinner. He tunes himself in to the drama, equal parts glad and exasperated that the plot is predictably slow-moving enough that he can easily figure out the main points of what he’d missed even though he was so late home.
The cats are scratching their posts, the room is filled with heavenly scents, and Shouto is gripping his mug to his mouth listening to Manami’s tearful monologue about her grandfather when Shouto hears it.
“Ow.”
His head whips around so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. Heedless, he lets his (thankfully empty) mug fall onto the couch and vaults himself over the back of the couch.
Blood , Shouto’s hero training honed over years kicks itself into overdrive, protect. Injured civilian. Protect civilian; protect Katsuki.
In a heartbeat, he has himself in front of Katsuki, both of his love’s hands grasped tightly in his own. The offending weapon has been discarded to the bottom of their deep kitchen sink.
“Katsuki!” Shouto cries, unable to stop the hopeless despair that wells up in his heart as surely as the blood wells up through the cut in Katsuki’s gentle finger, “You’re hurt!”
Katsuki blinks, expression blank.
It strikes Shouto like a bolt of lightning. What if there was some sort of chemical lingering on the blade? What if the cut was infected? Poisoned?! Dear gods, a single moment of carelessness and something like this..!
No, Shouto is a professional. He can salvage the situation. Step one: determine the state of the victim!
“Are you alright? Does it hurt?”
“I-”
“Are you bleeding anywhere else?!”
“Wha-”
Alright! So he’s determined that the victim is responsive, but his responses are distressingly non-exact, perhaps indicating a certain level of neural impairment? That is worrying indeed. But that shall need to be addressed later, for now…
Step two: clean and dress external wounds and minimize blood loss!
Washing the wound in the same basin that houses the weapon responsible is not Shouto’s idea of a perfect situation, but certainly! Shouto is a professional, and has performed field first-aid under much more distressing and unsanitary situations than this.
“What are you-”
He feels like striking himself across the face. Of course! How could he be so focused upon his own discomfort, that he did not even consider that Katsuki himself would be even more distressed by the proximity to this instrument that inflicted pain upon him? Careless! Shouto has harmed the man he loves almost as cruelly as the blade that pierced his flesh.
“Forgive me, my love,” he says, looking earnestly into Katsuki’s beautiful ruby eyes. And ye gods, do they shine with unshed tears? “This will all be over soon.”
“What.”
He binds the wound swiftly and with practiced ease, and makes to stand so that he can escort Katsuki to their room for some doubtlessly much needed rest and affection. But then Katsuki moves to stand himself, using his hand, his injured hand, to prop himself up against the table. Shouto nearly finds himself having a conniption as he hastens to re-seat his husband, fortifying the dressing of the wound three - no, four - no, five - times over. There’s simply no way to overestimate how easily one could re-injure an extremity like a hand, and the more padding the wound has the better.
Although the wound has been sealed (for now), with the uncertainty of Katsuki’s neural state, and with the blood he has already lost, it would probably be best if Katsuki did not attempt to stand on his own. Shouto nods to himself in determination, it was time for…
Step three: allow the victim to rest in a comfortable horizontal position!
“Hup!” Shouto says as he easily lifts his husband, one arm under his knees and the other under his back, cradling his injured hand close to his breast.
And hark! How small! How light and fragile! This life, entrusted to his keeping in love most pure, in passion most fiery. It near brings a tear to Shouto’s own eye, but he holds it in. To show weakness, here and now, when Katsuki needs him to be strong, would be to betray the trust bestowed upon him.
Swiftly he departs for their bedroom, easing his husband beneath their covers, thankful for the extra layers. It wouldn’t do for Katsuki’s body temperature to fall too much. Perhaps it would be safer to obtain a few more layers from their closet?
Step four: check the victim’s current temperature!
If he were running a fever, it might not be prudent to overheat his body excessively. To that end he lays his right hand lightly over his lover’s brow, and allows himself to indulge briefly in the dreamy way that blonde lashes flutter shut with a content sigh under his gentle touch, nuzzling up against his hand like an affectionate cat.
Hmm, slightly warm to the touch. But was it a fever? The thermometer was kept in the kitchen (with the rest of their general medicines), and leaving Katsuki’s side right now was out of the question. As a method of relative comparison, he lays his left hand upon his own forehead.
The difference is stark! Instantly, Shouto knows, even without an exact number, that Katsuki’s temperature is abnormally and unhealthily high. So an infection had set in... this situation needed to be monitored closely.
He heads into the adjacent bathroom and wets a washcloth with cool water, using his quirk to drop the temperature further, keeping an eye on Katsuki through the door just in case.
And it is good that he does! Because Katsuki attempts to rise from the bed. He dashes over and eases his husband back beneath the sheets (ignoring the prideful man’s aborted protests), plopping the washcloth over Katsuki’s fevered brow. Now all that’s left is…
Step five: watch for further developments!
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...
“Shouto.”
“Yes, my love?”
“What... In the actual fuck are you doing?”
“Making sure your condition does not deteriorate, Katsuki. Infections can be very serious.”
…
…
...
“...Why are you under the impression that I have an infection?”
“You have a fever. A common symptom of an infected- why are you laughing? Is it delirium?!”
“Oh my god,” Katsuki snickers, smiling fondly at his husband through mirthful tears, “Sho, my forehead felt hot to you because your right hand is naturally cold.”
“My right hand is-” he stalls, blinking owlishly at Katsuki’s amused smile as the statement registers, “oh. So it is.”
“And this?” Katsuki lifts up the bound finger and hides his mouth behind his other hand as he snorts at the sight of it, “is absolutely overkill, darling.”
“But it was-”
“A shallow flesh wound, a pinprick from a kitchen knife,” his smile is sweet and patient as he offers the bound finger back to Shouto for examination, “nothing more.”
He takes the finger, and gingerly begins to unwrap the bandages. It takes a while (there were a lot of layers), but the skin underneath is soon revealed. It is slightly pale from the recent washing and the tight bindings, but even the tiny incision of the skin has sealed over, all evidence of the wound gone.
“See?”
“I…”
“I’ll be alright, Shouto,” Katsuki says, extricating his hand from Shouto’s grip and laying them upon the sides of his head, bringing their faces close so that their foreheads touch, “I can take care of myself, you know?”
“I… I suppose-”
“Shouto, look at me,” at the hard tone, Shouto raises his eyes to meet fire-red, “don’t you dare forget who I am, you hear me? I know you’re prone to catastrophizing, and I can understand that, but I have had enough of people looking down on me. So don’t you dare start that shit on me again, okay? You did enough of it in high school when you didn’t use your fire during the Spo-”
“The Sports Festival, yeah. You’re never gonna let that go, are you?” Shouto laughs.
A bright, teasing grin answers him, “never in a million years, babe.”
“You’re strong,” Shouto affirms, taking in his husband properly, past the haze of melodrama and fear, “you always have been, still are.”
“Hell yeah, I am. I’m a hero , Shouto, and the very best of the best. Now you keep that in mind, chump. The next time you mistake me for some helpless civilian,” and here the grin goes sharp with promise , “I’m gonna show you just how strong I am. Got that?”
The corners of Shouto’s lips edge upwards, and he slides closer to his love, closing the space between them, kissing him sensually, “sir, yes sir.”
“Hmpf, good,” Katsuki huffs, breath hot… before he shoves Shouto off himself, hopping off the bed and stretching, “well then, we should get back to dinner.”
Shouto blinks, stupid with lust, “Dinner..?”
“Yeah, you know,” Katsuki smirks, “what I was making before someone so rudely interrupted?”