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It’s third year, and Katsuki and Izuku are… good. Really, truly, good.
It’s something of a shock to Katsuki, every so often, when he takes a moment to think about how he and Izuku are friends now. The realization hits him like a blow to the chest every time, the knowledge sweet and cool like a drink on a hot day. A relief, one he gets to enjoy all over again every time he takes a step back and lets himself get reacquainted with it. With the fact that he is Izuku’s closest person, and Izuku is his, and they both know it.
Everyone knows it.
The giddy re-realization hits him as such, for the millionth time, as the two of them sit just outside the UA dorms, homework on their laps and backs to the cement walls.
It’s pretty out, Katsuki notices absently. Izuku had insisted they work outside today, and it was far from the first time, so Katsuki had agreed easily. He liked how the breeze played with Izuku’s curls, anyway.
(Gentle, like every touch Izuku ever felt should be. Not that Katsuki had much experience with that. Not that he ever would deserve to— except Izuku got mad whenever he thought like that, so. Perhaps not.)
Izuku is currently chattering about the math homework, rambling about derivatives and handwriting and other things Katsuki isn’t listening to, because he’s just had that sweet realization again, and he’s taking the time to roll around in it like a little kid.
Izuku is his closest person, Katsuki remembers once more. And the nerd seems to gleam in the afternoon light, the sun’s touch on his skin and eyes and hair as gentle as the wind’s, a loving warm hand that paints him aglow.
He’s still talking. He’s endless. He’s Katsuki’s best friend.
There are no thoughts in Katsuki’s head as he encircles Izuku’s wrist in his fingers, pulling him closer the slightest amount.
Izuku is already facing his way. Katsuki kisses him.
It’s a soft press, over in a moment, and Katsuki lets go and turns back to his homework as casually as he can, ignoring his burning cheeks, the characters in front of him completely indecipherable while his mind spins with the flashbulb memory of heart-aching softness pressed to his mouth, plush and warm. He hadn’t seen Izuku’s face, must have closed his eyes, but Katsuki couldn’t see anything at all at the moment, heart performing circus leaps in his chest.
Izuku is completely quiet. It’s weird, to sit next to Izuku without the steady hum of his muttering or lilt of his excited tone, so Katsuki looks up without thinking about it, checking on him. His eyes widen.
Oh.
Izuku is redder than Katsuki has ever seen him be in their entire lives, cheeks flushed and eyes nearly watery with the force of it, mouth a trembly line. Be cool, Katsuki hisses at himself in his head, and he’s about to say something inane when Izuku—
Izuku fucking smiles, and it’s like Katsuki hadn’t known what love was, before, until this very moment, until day broke over Izuku’s face like that and Katsuki’s heart broke along with it, tumbled over the edge of a cliff and it was over, it was all over.
It had probably been over for Katsuki since the moment he met a tiny Izuku on the playground all those years ago, although he hadn’t known it then.
But he knew it now, chest falling to pieces at the sight of Izuku’s breathtaking smile on his flustered face, from being kissed by Katsuki. Fuck, he loved this boy so much, could hardly stand it, could hardly breathe from the enormity of it.
Izuku smiled, and Katsuki was helpless.
He took Izuku’s head in both of his hands and pulled him in as he leaned in again, their mouths meeting with a sigh, from whom Katsuki couldn’t tell. But Izuku made a delicious little happy noise as Katsuki kissed him, and Katsuki instantly decided it was the best thing he’d ever heard, heart flipping.
He had no idea how long they sat there, kissing under the slowly sinking sun, but when they pulled apart Izuku’s flush had gone down fractionally, replaced with a pink so sweet and happy Katsuki nearly fell into him all over again.
(He did, after a moment. His self control was only so strong.)
(Their homework lay unfinished for the rest of the evening. It didn’t matter; they’d been working ahead anyway. With Izuku, though, Katsuki wanted to savour every moment. He knew what the future held, and had always felt safe in that, in the promise of Izuku, Izuku, Izuku.)