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Ash falls from green curls, sprinkling like snow along the corridors as Izuku drags his feet along the hard floor, his footsteps accompanied by heavier thuds beside him.
The scent of sweat and gunpowder still rises off Katsuki in a thick cloud, blond hair messed up in blood-clumped tangles, maroon clotting at his scalp. His suit is torn beyond repair, a slim red line cutting across his abdomen, ripped edges of his suit peeling aside from the stitched wound.
A weary ache grows in Izuku’s shoulders beneath the festering layer of dirt and grime, streaks of blood running like exposed veins across his arms. When he wipes at them, it smears traces of red over his skin, mingling with dark soot. His suit is beyond repair, too, the only casualty of an exhausting battle that left them fighting a villain who tossed him into buildings so many times that Izuku can still feel the ache of hard walls against his ruined shoulder blades.
When they reach the door at the end of the hallway, Izuku looks at Katsuki, who looks back at him, the fight extinguished from his tired eyes.
Izuku reaches in his own pocket until his torn gloves meet cold metal, then guides the key into the slot until the door clicks open. The simple motion of twisting his wrist starts up a new cramp.
Bracing an arm against the door, Izuku lets out a gush of air through his teeth as he keels over to take off his shoes, feeling a sharp sting from the gash in his side. When his shoes thud to the floor, he straightens up, touching the wound. His fingers come away dry.
Beside him, Katsuki is still struggling to take off his boots. Immediately, Izuku holds out a hand in a wordless warning for him to stop so he can help, but Katsuki manages to tug them off, leaving them by the door.
Katsuki speaks first, voice flat and tired. “I’ll run a bath.”
When he trudges to the bathroom, Izuku’s eyes lock onto the trail of ash that follows behind him. The floor will need cleaning, but they can do that later.
Katsuki calls to him from the bathroom. “We’ll take a shower first. The bath is useless if it’s filled with rubble.”
Pressing his fingers to his shoulder to feel along the joints, Izuku winces when the jut of bone beneath swollen muscle meets his fingertips. The medics did what they could, but it will take time to heal.
Letting his hand drop, he follows Katsuki to the bathroom. A pile of orange and black cloth lies by the bathtub like shedded snakeskin, too tattered to be recognizable. Izuku wriggles out of his own costume, tearing apart the fabric over his wounds so as to not irritate them, until Deku is discarded on the floor beside Dynamight.
Now, there is only them. Izuku and Katsuki.
A burn in his protesting muscles, Izuku steps into the bathtub alongside Katsuki, joining him under the stream of water. The humid tiles are already warm against his feet, hot steam rising up from the shower floor.
Silently, Katsuki hands him the bar of soap, and Izuku runs it over his own arm. The bar comes away coated with black so he holds it under the stream of water until it turns white again. He lets the barrage of water fall over his shoulders until the water runs gray instead of black.
“Turn around,” Katsuki says.
Izuku does, and a moment later, the warmth of Katsuki’s hands grazes over his back, slick with shower gel. Closing his eyes, he relaxes into the touch, letting Katsuki smooth his palms between Izuku’s throbbing shoulders.
“Does it hurt?” Katsuki says quietly.
Izuku’s lips part for the first time in almost twenty minutes. His mouth feels like a desert. “Just my arms.”
“Should have used your legs for the final blow instead of your arm.”
“That might not have ended the fight.”
Katsuki nudges a knee against the back of Izuku’s leg. “This thigh? Not a chance.”
Finally, he cracks a weak smile. His face feels like shattering marble. When the water finally runs white, Katsuki switches it off. Carefully, they both step out of the shower, and Katsuki kneels down by the tap to turn it on again, adjusting it to the right temperature.
As Izuku is deliberating whether he should search for some candles, Katsuki glances up at him. “You want candles, don’t you?”
Izuku smiles. “How did you know?”
“You love that romantic shit,” Katsuki says, his tone a little lighter. “Go find them, then. I’ll set this up.”
He points at a basket in the corner of the bathroom. “They’re in here.”
Katsuki gives a nod of acknowledgment and turns back to the bath, reaching for the bottle of bubble bath. Izuku sits on the covered seat, wincing, and lets his eyes fall shut. His hair still leaves smudges of black on the wall behind him, accompanied by the fainter scent of smoke and burnt caramel lingering around them.
When the bath is ready, Katsuki climbs in first, sitting down. Izuku joins him in the water, leaning his back against Katsuki’s chest. The heat of the water is a hot sting against his wounds, but he gradually begins to adjust to it, allowing the pain to wash over him in waves that melt into the water.
The scent of lavender rises up from the water, soft and light, a welcome relief after the gunpowder clogging his senses. With the lights switched off, the candles provide a calm, flickering glow, orange flame leaping in the soothing darkness.
Slowly, Izuku tilts his head back to rest it on Katsuki’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of Katsuki’s breath in his hair. His vision bleeds out into orange behind his eyelids as they flicker shut again.
In these quiet moments after battles, it feels like a different Katsuki with him, more quiet and contemplative, softened with weary exhaustion. Izuku feels different, too, like the heat of the explosions around him in the fight melded him into something new. A stranger in his own skin, taken over by his hero persona until he doesn’t know what to do when he is himself again.
He does nothing. Relaxes into the embrace when Katsuki tentatively circles his arms around Izuku’s waist, careful not to press on his injured abdomen. Inhales to breathe lavender into his lungs, replacing singed ash.
When Izuku finds it in himself to speak, he says, “You worried me today.”
“I can take care of myself fine.”
“I know. I still don’t like seeing you hurt.”
“Neither do I.” Warm lips press against Izuku’s hair. “I’m here.”
Izuku exhales. Breaths start to come more easily to his abused lungs. “Yeah.”
“I’m never gonna die,” Katsuki tells him, and it makes Izuku let out a short huff of laughter at the same time as it makes his heart burn. “We’ll always make it together, yeah?”
There is a tight knot in his chest that is slowly melting away. “Right.”
Katsuki nudges him forward, then reaches for the shower gel again, working it up to a lather between his palms before he smooths it over Izuku’s back, washing away a deeper level of grime.
A quiet sigh slips out of Izuku as Katsuki circles his thumbs into the grooves around Izuku’s shoulder blades, working out the knots with an unusual tenderness he reserves for these post-battle moments. Taking care of each other in calm silence. Sometimes, they talk, snippets of conversations, but never about the fight, discarded with the destroyed remnants of their costumes.
It is worse when there were casualties, but Izuku doesn’t think about that. Cannot afford to let it dwell on his mind when there are so many people to save with a smile, even if it means that he cries into Katsuki’s chest for hours afterward.
Katsuki’s hands slide up to Izuku’s hair, massaging pine-scented shampoo into the darkened curls. His touch is gentle, soothing the ache in Izuku’s head and his chest. A routine so familiar that Izuku sinks back into the comfort of it, letting Katsuki take care of him.
When Izuku’s hair is lathered, Katsuki cups his hands to scoop up the water, pouring it over the shampooed locks. Warm water trickles down his face, making his hair stick to his forehead and the back of his neck. Occasionally, Katsuki presses light kisses to his shoulders. Each sparks a blossom of warmth that eases the knot in his chest further.
With a deep breath to prepare himself for the pain of moving, Izuku turns around in the bathtub so he is facing Katsuki and reaches for the bottle of shower gel, pouring it into his own hands.
Once it froths into bubbles, he leans forward to guide his palms over Katsuki’s chest, streaked with soot. He takes care not to press on the stitched wound, moving past it to trace a path over Katsuki’s arms up to his shoulders.
In the dim glow of the candles, Katsuki’s hair is a golden halo around his face, his features almost angelic in his serenity as he closes his eyes, giving himself over to Izuku’s care.
“Turn around,” Izuku says.
As Katsuki maneuvers himself around to face the opposite wall, Izuku takes some more of the scented shower gel into his hands to wash Katsuki’s back, massaging his shoulders like Katsuki did for him.
Slowly, he feels Katsuki relax under his hands, his head drooping forward as the tension melts out of him. Affection swells in Izuku’s heart for him at the affirmation of how much Katsuki trusts him, a steady constant in their lives after so many years together.
He rinses his hands in the water, then takes the shampoo and pours a dollop on Katsuki’s head, working it into the clumped strands. The blood sticking to his fingers as he ghosts them over Katsuki’s scalp makes his ribs clench at the memory of the rough hit Katsuki took.
Izuku makes sure to be as gentle as possible when he combs his fingers through Katsuki’s hair, teasing the blond strands apart as the candle ignites them into molten gold.
“Feels nice,” Katsuki mumbles.
He lightly taps the swelling lump on Katsuki’s scalp. “This doesn’t hurt?”
“As if something like that could hurt me.” He pauses, as if he feels the reproach radiating off Izuku. “No. Not anymore.”
“I’m glad.” He kisses the back of Katsuki’s neck, then nudges Katsuki’s head backwards until his pale locks fan out in the water, shampoo seeping into bubbles on the rippling surface as Izuku washes it out.
Once his hair is clean, Katsuki turns around so they are facing each other again, Izuku settled between his legs, resting his head on Katsuki’s chest. Quietly, he breathes, letting it pool into drops of humidity, soft draws of air the only sound in the quiet bathroom, along with occasional splashes of water.
When they finally have enough, they step out of the bathtub again, wrapped up in dry towels.
“I’ll make hot chocolate,” Izuku offers. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep now anyway.”
“Alright,” Katsuki agrees. “I’ll find a decent blanket if you want to watch a dumb All Might movie in the living room or something.”
This is another part of their routine, when they are too battle-worn to find sleep easily. Izuku nods, and busies himself with preparing two mugs of hot chocolate in the kitchen, accidentally spilling a dusting of cocoa powder over the pristine counter. It takes a few seconds for him to muster the energy to clean it up.
He comes out into the living room to find Katsuki already there, setting up a movie on the television. Izuku places the mugs on the coasters Katsuki insists they use for hot drinks, then takes his place beside him on the sofa.
Katsuki throws an arm around Izuku’s shoulders, both of them wincing when it irritates their injuries. All the same, Izuku shifts in as close as he can to Katsuki’s side, ignoring the dwindling pain in his body. It will fade, as it always does.
“I love you,” Izuku says. Another key staple of the routine; say they love each other as often as possible, because despite what Katsuki says, any day could be their last.
“Love you, too,” Katsuki says, laden with quiet affection, as the film starts.
Today, they move on from another battle as they always do. As always, ash floods down the shower drain and disappears. Here, it never leaves traces.