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He was trying to hold still. He really was. But the pain almost instantly overtook him and without any conscious thought behind it, Izuku jerked his arm away from Katsuki, a strangled whine caught in his throat.
“Stay still y’fucking dumbass.” The blonde grumbled under his breath around the pins he held between his lips, grabbing at his partner’s arm not unkindly. He didn’t quite yank it back toward himself, but it was obvious he wanted to; the restraint he showed would have been admirable in their youth and still was now.
Izuku smiled at him, a strained thing, and tilted his head to one side as though to subconsciously imitate his sunshine-on-a-deep-blue-sky smiles. “Sorry Kacchan,” he supplicated passively. “I had no idea a Quirk that intensifies pain existed but I guess it makes sense, huh.”
Katsuki just grumbled again in response, winding a bandage around the green-haired young man’s upper arm. Though his expression was tied into a scowl and his voice was gruff and raw as ever, his movements were so soft they hardly hurt Izuku in ways he couldn’t handle. The pain was there-because oh boy was it there—but it was as minimized as it was going to get while the wound was being dressed.
While out on a joint patrol they’d run into a young boy who had been throwing a temper tantrum outside of an ice cream shop, likely because he hadn’t gotten a frozen treat; or so passersby likely concluded. Izuku had, of course, stopped to try to comfort the boy, but the lad’s mother informed them that he was autistic and having a meltdown, and that she was trying to gently lead him to somewhere quiet and dark so he could deescalate. Izuku had lit up in understanding, and made to back off to give them space so as not to further overwhelm them both, but managed to trip as he took that step and crashed to the ground. On hearing one last loud noise he couldn’t handle, rocketing into sensory overload, the kid had accidentally used a burgeoning Quirk he couldn’t quite control yet. It apparently severely intensified pain (and thankfully didn’t itself cause any harm to others or to the child), and when Izuku scratched his arm in the fall it was suddenly one of the most unbearable things he’d ever experienced.
The mother for obvious reasons was incredibly distressed, but Katsuki just quietly picked his boyfriend and fellow Hero up and quietly, in a gruff but soft voice that didn’t further upset the young boy, told her of a small painter’s studio down the street. He said to take the kid there, tell the proprietor she needed to use Deku’s room, and they’d get her sorted. Then he’d carried said man home down a few back alleys as he whimpered and wept in agony.
After calling it in to the Hero association he himself was affiliated with and relaying that they needed to tell Izuku’s, too, Katsuki had taken him into the bathroom and rolled out their Hero-issue first aid kit, getting to work just as quietly as he’d carried him home. He was just now finishing the wrapping and was securing the bandages with some pins and making sure there was enough pressure on the wound itself to eventually staunch the bloodflow.
The pain was already starting to diminish by now. It almost felt like running into a sharp corner with the fattier parts of your arm or inner thigh; the pain was intense and had a slow burning fade, but fade it indeed did. With Katsuki messing with the laceration—a bleeder to be sure—it had only prolonged the suffering, and thankfully it was gradually leaving his exhausted nervous system.
Still, all said and done, Izuku was bandaged handily and before he could protest or even thank the blonde, Katsuki scooped him up like a sack of potatoes and deposited him wordlessly onto the couch, tossing a blanket at his face unceremoniously. Although he was still in costume, he dropped down onto the couch with his freckled partner, shucking his gauntlets somewhere off to the side and sliding his mask off before tossing it too. Then, likely in a nonverbal state he grabbed the PS4 controller and turned the console on, navigating to their preferred streaming service before he tossed the controller gently into Izuku’s lap and left into the kitchen of their apartment where the latter could hear him clattering around in the mug and tea cupboard.
Their day to day was a loud, bustling, busy sort of affair. It wasn’t that either of them had issues of sensory overload on the job very often (although it did happen, hence the painter they knew who let them use his dark room, an absolute savior). But seeing him in pain, Izuku knew, was something Katsuki couldn’t handle. Not anymore, not now after years of growth and struggle, near-death experiences and therapy. It wasn’t uncommon for them to have “quiet time” after a grueling battle or altercation with a dangerous villain and he was certain his own moans of pain and the tears must have triggered that same reaction. It was something he understood very well and was always willing to accommodate for; goodness knew he needed just as much accommodation.
So, a soft smile on his grateful lips Izuku clicked through the options to a movie they’d both watched a hundred times over each (Katsuki would never admit that; that’s the shit nerds did. Special interest who?) and got the introductory credits playing as he heard his boyfriend pouring the hot water for their tea.
Quiet was good. Quiet he could do, even while he waited out the rest of the pain.