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Katsuki isn’t stupid, or unobservant. He’s had an eye on Shouto since the beginning, although for differing reasons over the years. Maybe he didn’t care so much in the beginning, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t notice. In much the same way that coming to U.A. mellowed Katsuki out a lot, it warmed and softened Shouto.
At the start of their first year, Katsuki was barbed wire and Shouto was solid ice. And while Katsuki didn’t like Shouto, or even tolerate him most times, that coldness was a perfect counter to Katsuki’s sharpness. Because fifteen-year-old Katsuki needed people to hate, to fight, to yell at. Who better than the drop dead gorgeous, silver-spoon, perfect quirk nepotism baby?
All of it seemed so important back then. Being the best, the strongest. Safe to say that a few things happened that put things into perspective for not just Katsuki, but for Shouto and even the rest of class A. Katsuki isn’t going to deny that the nerd was a catalyst for change in both of them, even before all hell and an actual war broke loose.
A lot of things changed, after the dust settled. Shouto had a brother, for one, and his entire traumatic family history was exposed, in full, to the world. Katsuki had to grapple with the fact that he both looked different, and saw things differently now. The right side of his face so marred with scarring that his skin drew tight around any expression he would make, and the damage to his eye enough to blur a portion of his field of vision. The two of them spent a lot of time on the couch in the common room at Heights Alliance back then, just sitting there quietly and letting things sink in.
Katsuki wouldn’t say that it harmed either of their progress, but it definitely changed them forever. Second year is a blur of trying to find his way back to even wanting to be a hero with his new disabilities, sleeping poorly because of nightmares, and greying out in the middle of lectures because someone got too close or said the wrong words.
Katsuki knows he and Shouto spent a lot of their time on that couch in year two dissociating. He at least likes to think that wherever they went, they went together, in a sense.
Third year was by all accounts better. Class A was mostly back to their usual selves, just with another mess behind them. Katsuki did eventually find his way back to heroism, and in no small part thanks to looking at Shouto and the way he bounced back not only from the war but from his entire upbringing. The first time Katsuki kissed him was after a training exercise in the hallway. Shouto was wearing a plum-colored cardigan and the fabric was soft against Katsuki’s neck when he wound his arms around it.
Shouto still has that cardigan, and whenever he wears it Katsuki knows to make sure to serve his tea in his favourite mug and kiss him extra slow. It always makes Shouto smile, and he pulls the worn sleeves over his hands before cupping Katsuki’s cheeks very gently.
These days, they have a little menace of a cat. Her name is Mochi, and she crawls her way into their bed every morning without fail. There’s a section of their bookshelf in the living room that’s entirely dedicated to Shouto’s Gacha machine prizes, and the rest of the shelf is about 50 percent manga that he’s collected over the years. The rest are various art books and novels that Katsuki has deemed worthy of having in his house.
The life Katsuki has now is so far from what he would have imagined for himself when he was younger. For so long it was just ‘ be number one’. His home life would have been a big expensive house that he didn’t even spend time in, and would have been married to some random girl that his mother set him up with. It didn’t matter, really, because all that mattered was him being the best hero and anything else was secondary.
He isn’t displeased with his life now. Quite the opposite. Katsuki has a wonderful husband who — yes, fine — he is madly in love with, and whose happiness he cared deeply about. Previously, he would have seen that as a weakness, valuing someone else’s happiness not necessarily more than his own, but at least as much. Now, corny as it sounds, Shouto’s happiness is his. That’s why they live in a 2LDK filled with knickknacks and furnished as much for their cat as them.
Shouto hums in his sleep before turning over in Katsuki’s arms. The worn fabric of his sweatshirt is soft against Katsuki’s bare chest, and he snuffles as he presses his face to Katsuki’s neck. Katsuki’s fingers travel up his neck and settle in the wispy hair at his nape. Shouto hums again.
“You awake, halfie?” Katsuki mumbles, and gets no answer. He snorts. Trust Shouto to sleep like a log on their first day off after ten straight days of work. Katsuki digs his fingers further into red and white strands, messing the part up even further. “C’mon, we gotta have breakfast. I know you haven’t properly washed your hair in a week, nasty fuck.”
Those seem to be the magic words, because Shouto grumbles like he always does before blinking his eyes open. “It’s healthy, I’m training it,” he rasps into Katsuki’s shoulder.
“We’ve already established that your hair type doesn’t benefit from spacing your wash days out too much, don’t try to play me.” Katsuki drops a kiss into Shouto’s quote-unquote nasty hair. He has washed it, just lazily and without conditioner after and— yeah, it’s time for a proper hair care routine. “I’ll take a bath with you, since you can’t take care of yourself properly.”
Shouto shuffles a bit higher on the bed so he’s face to face with Katsuki. His eyes are half-lidded still, and shining bright in the morning sunlight. Katsuki feels a sudden wave of warmth and affection flood him that he aggressively pushes down in favor of giving his husband a disappointed glare. Shouto sees through it immediately, because his lips stretch into a lazy grin. He leans in and places a soft kiss on Katsuki’s lips. He pulls back only a little bit after, and their noses are still touching when he speaks.
“If you wash my hair, I get to massage your arms.”
Katsuki huffs a laugh against his lips. “You just want to fondle my biceps, don’t you?”
“Mm, guilty,” Shouto says, molasses slow. “You have very nice biceps. I just want to make sure they’re properly appreciated.”
Katsuki is the one who leans in this time, kissing Shouto like he has all the time in the world. Shouto adjusts his position in the bed a little bit, so he can free one of his hands to place it on Katsuki’s cheek and brush his thumb slowly across his cheekbone. They part with a quiet sound. “Yeah, well,” Katsuki rasps, “you can’t properly appreciate me from here, can you? Get up, lazy.”
Katsuki wrangles himself out of Shouto’s octopus hold, and the skin where they were touching prickles with goosebumps when it comes into contact with the morning air. When Katsuki is standing up properly, Shouto holds his arms out like a baby asking for a hug. “Help me up?” he says, eyes big and shiny.
“I swear to god,” Katsuki grumbles. He takes Shouto’s hands in his own and pulls him up and out of the bed, after which he immediately finds himself enclosed in a hug. “Hey, dumbass, we gotta take a bath.”
“Mmh.”
They both manage to make it into the bath eventually, after cuddling their poor neglected cat for a while, and Katsuki washes Shouto’s hair thoroughly. Shouto returns the favor by helping to dry Katsuki off afterwards. He sends him off with orders to get dressed and sit down on the couch. Shouto stalks into the living room carrying a small towel and a massage bar. Katsuki immediately recognizes it as his favorite, the one with the ginger and eucalyptus.
Shouto sits down next to him on the couch and holds out his left hand expectantly. He holds the massage bar in his left and rubs it up and down Katsuki’s forearm until there’s an even layer of oil distributed over the skin. He switches so his right hand is the one rubbing the tension out of the muscles, fingers gently heated with his quirk. He’s always particularly focused when he does this, falling into a sort of trance. Katsuki lets it happen, a) because it’s nice and b) because as much as Shouto’s wellbeing and happiness affects Katsuki, the opposite is also true.
Katsuki feels the itching in his palms and arms gradually lessen, until he no longer feels like a lit fuse with no room to blow. He exhales deeply, and a private smile plays on Shouto’s lips. When he’s satisfied with Katsuki’s forearms, he moves up to his biceps and deltoids. This particular part of the massage has less to do with any aftereffects of his quirk and more to do with the fact that Shouto likes his arms. It still feels nice, so Katsuki lets him.
Finally finished, Shouto wipes the residual oils from his hands and holds Katsuki’s face between his palms. “All done,” he whispers and kisses him.
Katsuki smiles. “Good. Can I make breakfast now?”
Shouto bites his bottom lip. “Only if you make grilled salmon. We still have cucumber pickles.”
Katsuki pushes him off and stands from the couch. The cat immediately lays down in the spot previously occupied by him, and Shouto immediately starts cooing over it. Katsuki stops in the doorway to the kitchen to look at them, and thinks that even if he’s number two in the rankings he won anyway. He knows there’s someone he’ll always be number one for.