Work Text:
The week started off perfectly fine.
That Sunday, late into the night, Katsuki and Izuku were splayed on top of Izuku’s bed studying for their English exam the following Monday. Well, to put it more accurately, Katsuki was yelling out answers to Izuku, while the other boy kept begging Katsuki to quiet down because he was being too loud and that he’d wake up their other classmates.
He was perfectly fine then. No sign of illness or injury. Just dandy. His usual overly sociable self.
But when Katsuki shows up to Aizawa’s class Monday morning rubbing his tired eyes with his fists, with Present Mic’s booming voice sounding from the back of the class as his de facto alarm clock, Izuku is nowhere to be found.
Five minutes before the bell rings. The bell rings. Five minutes after the bell rings.
Izuku’s never late. Ever. He always gets to class exactly a minute after Katsuki and tells their class "Good morning!” in a voice that’s way more fucking cheery than what should be socially acceptable before nine A.M.
“Where the hell is he?” Katsuki demands to Aizawa-sensei, slamming his hands down on the teacher’s desk after what he determines to be a sufficient amount of time waiting.
The entire class starts to snicker. He doesn’t have to specify—they all know exactly who he’s talking about. They also know exactly why he’s yelling. They’re used to it.
Katsuki ignores them.
Aizawa throws him a flat look, used to Katsuki’s seemingly random outbursts of anger after three long years of them but still having just as little patience for them. “Sit down, Bakugou. You have an exam to write.”
He doesn’t even explain. And the finality of his tone indicates that it’s the end of the conversation.
Katsuki stomps back to his seat and slumps into his chair, glaring at Aizawa.
When English class begins and Present Mic-sensei replaces Aizawa, Katsuki glares at him too.
When they’re in class, it’s always impossible to ignore Izuku’s ever-present voice behind him. Whether it’s mumbling the process for solving a particularly hard calculus problem under his breath, or animatedly speaking to one of their classmates next to him, it’s always there and therefore Katsuki’s attention is almost always never on the teacher in front of him.
On normal days, it’s a problem and Katsuki would try not to curse its existence because they’re supposed to be friends now and he’s pretty sure friends don’t antagonize each other’s voices for being too distracting.
Today, the space behind him is unnervingly silent and it pisses him off. Despite the silence, he still doesn’t get any work done that day.
Of course, just his luck—when he wants the day to go by quickly, it seems like years go by before they’re released back to the dorms to get ready for dinner.
Katsuki can’t fathom what the hell could have happened between the hours of four A.M. to seven A.M. for Izuku to have gotten hurt, again, which is the only reason he can think of as to why he wasn’t in class. Except that it’s literally happened before, which is completely ridiculous. And since somebody refused to tell Katsuki what happened to Izuku, he’s forced to raise his own blood pressure stressing out about it instead.
That stupid fucking idiot never learns. Always going around and getting himself hurt for no reason, leaving Katsuki to deal with the aftermath. It seriously gets old after three years of the same damn thing.
Katsuki’s already prepared to say all of this to the dumbass as he stalks toward Recovery Girl’s office, but when he gets there, he doesn’t get the chance.
“He’s not here,” the old lady says. Then, under her breath, “Thank God. I have my work cut out for me when he’s around.”
Katsuki doesn’t agree with a lot of people on a lot of things, but this is something him and Recovery Girl have in common. The last thing he expected was to relate to an old lady about something, but here he is.
“Right,” he says. He makes sure to slam the door on the way out, just because he can.
On the way to Izuku’s dorm, he ends up running into Todoroki. Instead of continuing on, the other boy stops.
“What do you want?” Katsuki snaps.
Todoroki cocks his head in confusion. “Nothing,” he says, as if that were obvious and Katsuki’s just delusional. “Are you looking for Midoriya?”
Katsuki’s tempted to just tell Todoroki “No!” angrily and stomp off. But he resists the urge.
“Yes,” he grits out. “Where is he?”
“Oh,” Todoroki says. “He’s in his dorm. In bed.”
“And how do you know that?!”
“He told me,” Todoroki says simply. “I ran into him as he was leaving Recovery Girl’s office this morning. He, uh, said he had the flu and couldn’t go to class.”
“And why the fuck didn’t you tell me?!”
“Oh,” he says. “Well, you didn’t ask me.”
Katsuki, not for the first time, resists the urge to punch the asshole’s little smile off his stupid face. Instead, he continues his trek toward Izuku’s room.
The dorm happens to be on the top floor because of course, and waiting in the elevator is hell because his patience has already been worn thin.
He’s also pretty sure his steps are loud enough to alert Izuku to his presence even before he throws the door open.
“What the hell?” Katsuki says. “What. The. Hell.”
“I'm in bed, Kacchan,” Izuku says from, well, the bed.
The other boy is tangled in a mess of All Might-themed blankets. One of his feet has a sock on it while the other one seems to be missing. He has a horrible case of bed hair and there is a pile of tissues on the floor beside his bed that never made it to the trash can.
Something in Katsuki’s heart aches at the sight, even though at least the idiot isn’t in a fucking coma or something. But the stupid lump inside his chest doesn’t want to listen.
He rolls his eyes. “Well yeah, stupid, obviously I know that. Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? I thought you’d gone out and broken all your fucking bones again or something.”
Izuku sighs. “You know I don’t do that anymore.” Which is true—it's been a long time since he’s lost control of his power. But it doesn’t mean the idiot's stopped throwing himself headfirst into danger just for the fun of it. That still happens on a weekly basis.
Izuku starts coughing up a storm, and Katsuki immediately rushes to his side.
“Don’t come close, you’re gonna get sick too.” Izuku says between coughs, waving Katsuki away with a hand—the one that’s not covering his face.
He grabs the chair beside Izuku’s study table and rolls it beside the bed, getting close anyway. He clenches the All Might blankets in his fist, relieving some of the stress in his arm.
“Seriously. I’m fine. I swear,” Izuku says.
“Yeah, and we both know those we've heard plenty of empty ‘I’m fines,’ so stop with that bullshit, alright?” Katsuki snaps.
It’s miniscule and hardly noticeable unless you’re paying attention, but Izuku flinches, and Katsuki immediately regrets saying anything at all.
“You could have texted me, or something,” Katsuki says quietly instead of continuing that line of conversation.
Izuku shrugs. “Iida-kun took away my phone so I wouldn’t try to do the assignments when I’m supposed to be resting. I couldn’t have even if I wanted to.”
“So even four eyes knew? Isn’t that just great—everyone knew what had happened to you except for me.”
Izuku sets his own hand on Katsuki’s that’s fisted in his blankets. “What’s the matter, Kacchan? I’m telling you that I'm fine. I promise.”
Katsuki looks away. “Tch,” he says. “Whatever.” But he doesn’t move Izuku’s hand away. It’s feverishly warm, definitely not normal, but somehow Izuku’s the one comforting Katsuki when it should probably be the other way around.
But he’s never really been the best at doing that kind of thing. He’s at a loss for where to proceed.
“Tell you what?” Izuku smiles weakly. “You can make me some miso soup. You’re better at cooking than you are at worrying for no reason, anyway.”
“Asshole,” Katsuki says, wrinkling his nose, but there’s no heat in the word. “I’m not your servant.”
Izuku laughs, and then he immediately starts to cough. He continues to cough for a few more seconds.
Once he’s done, he gathers himself and raises an eyebrow at Katsuki. One single, silent, judgmental raise of the eyebrow. Really? It says.
“Oh, fuck you,” Katsuki says, then still leaves Izuku’s dorm to make him soup. He’s done worse for the other boy without question before, anyway. Why should this time be any different?
It doesn’t take very long, and when Katsuki returns he thankfully sees Izuku in the same place he was before. He sets the tray on the other end of the bed and hands the bowl with the steaming hot liquid into Izuku’s hands.
Izuku takes small sips with the spoon. Katsuki knows this will take a while, so he decides to make himself comfortable. He leans forward in the chair until his upper body is resting on the bed, on top of the other boy’s legs that are under the blanket. Laying his head on the side in his arms, Katsuki stares at Izuku silently as he drinks his soup.
“This is really good,” Izuku says.
“I know,” Katsuki replies.
The silence between them is comforting. But it makes him want to put words into the air. Ones he’s not exactly ready to say, and ones he’s not sure Izuku is ready to hear.
Many minutes pass by in a flash. The words continue to build up on Katsuki’s tongue. If he waits any longer, they may leave his mouth not of his own accord.
“What are you thinking, Kacchan?” Izuku asks.
It’s something Izuku has started to ask a lot. They’ve both been working on their friendship, and they’ve realized communication was the way they went wrong. So it’s become a habit for Izuku to ask the question and Katsuki to answer.
Regardless of what he may be feeling, he still answers.
“Is this too much?” Katsuki asks.
Izuku’s eyebrows furrow a little in confusion. “What do you mean?”
He pauses for a second, thinking about it. “All of this,” he says eventually. He gestures with a hand between them. “Making you soup. Raising my own blood pressure over whether you’re dead in a ditch or not. Do friends even do this shit?”
The words left unsaid: I haven’t been a very good friend in the past. I don’t really know what they’re supposed to do. Am I even doing it right?
“I don’t know,” Izuku says after a moment. “I mean, we’ve been through a lot. We’ve sacrificed our lives for each other numerous times over. I think we’ve already crossed that bridge. Of too much.”
The words stick in Katsuki’s head and refuse to leave. He turns them around, over and over again until he loses track of time. Until his heartbeats have basically synchronized with the rhythm of the other boy’s breathing.
Before he knows it, Izuku’s finished his soup and his eyes are closed. Katsuki can’t tell whether he’s awake or asleep.
Impulse taking over his decisions isn’t something new. For all the training he’s done to think before he leaps when fighting his enemies, sometimes his brain refuses to apply the concept to other aspects of his life. Sometimes, he says things without thinking, and sometimes they’re good things. Other times, they’re bad. It’s impossible to know which until after the fact—which is part of the fun.
“I think I like you,” Katsuki says.
He doesn’t regret saying the words. Sure, his heart is doing little flips in his chest and is threatening to plunge into his stomach. It all makes him feel a little silly. But he knows when things have to be said, whether he wants to say them or not.
“Well, I sure hope you like me by now, Kacchan.” Izuku has one eye cracked open and he’s smiling, a little amused and a little fond.
“Shut up, asshole, you know what I mean.”
“Do I?” the other boy asks innocently.
The little shit. Even when he’s sick, huh? Can’t help himself.
Katsuki gets up from the chair and crosses to the other side of the bed.
“Scooch,” he says. Izuku does.
He climbs onto the bed and settles into the blankets right next to Izuku. When he’s situated, Katsuki gets close, directing a piercing stare into Izuku’s eyes. Strands of his unruly hair fall in front of them and Katsuki resists the urge to brush them away.
“I like you,” he says. He tries to be as intimidating as possible when saying it. It doesn’t work.
Izuku smiles anyway. “Okay.”
For some reason, it enrages Katsuki that “Okay” is the only thing Izuku has to say. So, impulse takes over again and he decides to cross that bridge again. Too much is what he’s good at, after all. It’s habit at this point—taking the absolute most dramatic way possible to express his thoughts instead of just using words like a normal person.
The blankets and the sheets rustle under him as he sits up. It’s too easy, now.
His hand finds the line of Izuku’s jaw and Katsuki kisses him.
It’s supposed to be a demand, a forceful truth, proving a point, but it ends up being more like a question. Under him and the blankets, Izuku is too warm and Katsuki probably shouldn’t be doing this, but he can’t help himself.
Something in him unravels from the heat when Izuku kisses him back. His heart feels like it's burning with a fever now, too.
It lasts for two seconds—then Izuku’s pushing him away frantically.
“Wait—Kacchan! Don’t do that! You’re gonna get sick too, oh my God,” Izuku says.
Katsuki glares at him. “What makes you think I remotely give a fuck?”
Izuku blinks at his words. Then, after a moment, he shakes his head in disbelief. “What is wrong with you.” It’s not even a question, it’s a statement.
“A lot of things. Now shut up, already.”
The other boy doesn’t even bother saying anything in response. His smile seems to light a match. Their faces are both flushed for vastly different reasons, and Katsuki's starting to feel dizzy, and everything’s feeling like too much, but it’s okay.
Katsuki pushes him with a hand down onto the pillows and Izuku smiles against his mouth and it’s okay.
It’s okay, at least until Katsuki wakes up the next morning with a fever and gets yelled at by Aizawa for his irresponsibility. Sure, he’s about to miss a week's worth of classes and assignments and tests, but he doesn’t mind.
Sure, Aizawa warns him that he’s practically on house arrest, and that he’s going to get a week of detention if he’s caught even standing outside the door to his dorm room.
But it’s okay, and it was worth it because he sneaks back into Izuku’s room when nobody’s looking and falls asleep on his shoulder, anyway, because it’s not like anybody in their class is expecting anything different.
It’s just routine.