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Summary
He looks so young like this, so pretty like this.
The yellows of the morning sun are coming through their window, shining down onto Kacchan’s sleeping form. It looks as if the sun itself were crowning him with a halo, even though he’s doing nothing except lie there. The gold of his eyelashes casts shadows upon his cheeks, grazing the edges of a bruise underneath his left eye. Kacchan’s lips are pink and relaxed into his natural pout, showing no trace of the horrors that the two of them had gone through mere days before.
Izuku’s mouth lifts up at the edges as his mind drifts off into a daydream. It’s a fantasy world where Kacchan’s his ethereal guardian angel, armed with nothing but a bad temper and a lifetime of exasperation at Izuku’s inability to keep himself from getting hurt.