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Shouto enters their apartment and shuts the door quietly behind him. He leans against it for a moment, closing his eyes to take in the clattering in the kitchen and the aroma of oil, onions, and peppers. Something seems off, and he realizes it’s too quiet. Despite the sounds of pans and utensils, Katsuki himself is oddly silent. There’s no grumbling, no profanity. Nothing.
Shit. He must be in one of his moods. As if Shouto’s day hadn’t already been hell and a half.
With a sigh, Shouto drops his bag and bends down to take off his shoes. A bright slash of pain arcs from beneath his left shoulderblade and runs down his side. He does his best to ignore it, straightening gingerly and steeling his face into impassivity before walking through the livingroom and pausing in the doorway to the kitchen.
As expected, Katsuki’s at the stove, stirring something with a wooden spatula. His eyes flick to Shouto, face stony, then back to his pan. His movements are sharp, aggressive. The pepper smell is stronger in here, almost enough to make Shouto’s eyes water. He blinks them a few times, and the feeling subsides.
After a moment, still not looking at him, Katsuki says, “I saw the news.”
Shouto huffs and leans a shoulder against the doorway. “I texted you as soon as it was over. I told you: I’m fine.”
“Really.” Katsuki’s tone is flat. He tosses the spatula on the counter and stalks over to face Shouto. “Are you now?”
Before Shouto can respond, Katsuki slaps a hand onto Shouto’s injured side. Shouto stiffens, unable to stifle his quick intake of breath as pain shoots through him. Katsuki’s lip curls. “Yeah. That’s what I fucking thought.” He yanks his hand back and returns to the stove, muttering something that sounds like fucking asshole under his breath.
Shouto sighs. “Kats—”
“I told you that idiot was fucking incompetent.” Katsuki picks up the spatula again and resumes his stabbing at the vegetables in the pan. “How the hell did he even graduate? I thought UA was supposed to have fucking standards.” He reaches for a small cutting board and scrapes a pile of neatly diced chicken into the pan with harsh precision.
Irritated, Shouto folds his arms over his chest. “And I told you that Shibata has a lot of potential. Just because he’s new doesn’t mean that he’s incompetent.” He bites off the last word, not trying to hide his annoyance. “He’s smart, he has a solid mastery of his Quirk, and he doesn’t mind working extra shifts. Just because you—”
“He was supposed to be watching your back!” Katsuki’s glare is brief but palpable, a quick shot over his shoulder before returning to the pan.
“That wasn’t his fault. We were—”
“Like fuck it wasn’t! He’s your goddamn sidekick!” Katsuki flings the spatula down and braces his hands on the counter, shoulders stiff. “He’s supposed to watch your back.”
From where Shouto’s standing, he can see the way Katsuki’s throat bobs, once, as he swallows. Then Katsuki pushes himself off the counter and reaches up to open the cabinet. Shouto automatically crosses the short distance to reach over Katsuki to take the dishes off the upper shelf. Katsuki glowers at him, jaw clenched. Time seems to pause. Shouto becomes very aware of Katsuki’s proximity, close enough to feel the heat from his body, to smell his acrid sweetness mingling with the cooking peppers, to see the way the irises of Katsuki’s eyes glint different slivers of red.
Then Katsuki’s looking away, moving away, pulling the lid off the rice steamer to see if it’s done before going back to the stir fry. Shouto carefully places the dishes down next to the stove and closes the cabinet door. He watches Katsuki’s hands, one now rotating the pan as the other expertly wields the spatula, turning the chicken as it gradually loses its translucency.
He tries again, more quietly. “It wasn’t his fault. He just—”
“God dammit, Shou!” Katsuki drops the spatula, whirls, and shoves Shouto in the chest. Startled, Shouto falls back a couple of steps. “It wouldn’t have fucking happened if I’d been there!” Katsuki turns back, stirring their dinner a few last times before turning off the burner. He starts angrily transferring the food to the waiting dishes. “Should’ve fucking been there.”
Oh.
“Kats.”
Katsuki has moved on to the rice, scooping it into the bowls. “What.” Lid back on the steamer. Spoon flung in the sink.
“Katsuki, look at me.”
For a brief moment, Shouto isn’t sure he will. Then Katsuki turns to face Shouto, the back of his hips braced against the counter. He doesn’t say anything but crosses his arms tightly across his chest. His scowl is fierce, eyes wary and… vulnerable?
“Kats, I’m fine.”
The crease between Katsuki’s brows deepens, and his mouth moves in that way that Shouto knows means that he’s chewing on the little bit of skin below the corner of his lip. Shouto takes a step closer and continues.
“Yes, the villain got a hit in, but the footage made it look more drastic than it actually was. You and I have both had worse. In fact,” Another step, deliberately holding Katsuki’s gaze and lowering his voice, “maybe later, I’ll let you kiss it and make it better.”
Katsuki’s eyes widen, pupils flaring before he looks away, a slight flush creeping across his cheekbones. “Asshole.”
Shouto smirks. “Maybe later.”
Katsuki’s ears go red, and he pushes off the counter, shouldering Shouto aside to gather up the plates and head for the table. “Whatever.”
Shouto grabs the bowls of rice and pulls chopsticks out of a drawer and follows him. They don’t speak as they get settled and start in on the food. With the wisdom of experience, Shouto makes sure to consume a generous quantity of rice to counteract the heat of the peppers.
After a few bites, Katsuki says, “I still think he’s fucking incompetent.”
Shouto gives him a pointed look. “You think everyone is incompetent.” He takes a bite of chicken, scoops more rice.
Katsuki shrugs, not denying it as he shovels more stir fry into his mouth. His rice is still mostly untouched. Shouto kicks him gently under the table. Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Tch. He may not be as much of an idiot as the guy that Round Cheeks is babysitting.”
Shouto knows it’s as much of a concession as he can expect. He tries to hide his smile, focusing on chasing down a few slivers of onion. When he looks up again, Katsuki is staring at him, laden chopsticks half-raised to his mouth. Confused, Shouto quirks an eyebrow in question. Katsuki jerks slightly, color rising in his face. He quickly resumes eating, gaze dropping. Huh. At least he’s not yelling anymore.
*****
Later, after the table has been cleared, dishes washed and put away, the two of them are lying in near darkness, facing each other. Shouto’s glad the wound was on his left side as he lies on his right; it would have felt weird to switch their places on the futon so he could face Katsuki like this.
Katsuki’s face is pensive in the dim light coming through the window, curtains too sheer to block the moon and the ambient light of the city below. He reaches out to Shouto, fingers warm against Shouto’s skin and surprisingly delicate as he traces lightly next to the line of the wound, careful not to touch it directly. One of the EMTs had used a healing Quirk to take care of the worst of it, but it's still tender.
His voice is soft, gravelly. “I know it’s fucking stupid.” Shouto waits, patient. Katsuki sighs. “I know you’re strong. I know we get hurt. I fucking know I can’t always…. I can’t….” He trails off, brow pinched, fingers stilling their exploration.
Shouto leans in, bringing his own hand up to cradle Katsuki’s face. “Hey.” Katsuki looks up at him, eyes shadowed. “It’s okay.” He tugs lightly, and Katsuki shifts to tuck his head into the crook of Shouto’s shoulder. Shouto lets his arm fall around Katsuki’s back, pulling him close. “It’s okay.”
They lie there a long while, breathing. And as his consciousness starts drifting into the comforting fog of sleep, the last thing Shouto thinks is,
It’s perfect.