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    Summary

    Kacchan’s hair rarely looks softer than it does in the low light of their shared apartment, ducked over two mugs of tea.

    It’s a routine that isn’t his routine and yet it is, now, offered once and infringed upon a thousand times after — but it’s a continuous invitation in its own way. Kacchan wouldn’t make inquiring eyes and two subsequent cups every night if he didn’t welcome, or at the very least tolerate, Izuku’s company in the late hour. And there’s no question that Izuku would provide it — he would struggle to think of a part of Kacchan’s life he could ever offer that Izuku would hesitate to accept.

    Izuku keeps quiet on their kitchen counter, kicking his heels against the cabinet and trying his absolute hardest not to do something entirely devastating, like reaching out and running his fingers through strands he knows are well cared for — and he does know, because he watches, every night at the same time in the same shared bathroom. Another routine that isn’t his routine and yet it is.

    He seems to have a lot of those anymore.

    Language:
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