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Katsuki’s nightmares were bad. He would wake up screaming, silent tears running down his face. They’d been happening for years, and Izuku had witnessed it all. Katsuki liked to pretend he could handle everything himself, but Izuku could see right through him. He used to listen to the sounds of Katsuki screaming from his own room, and he would hear him get up and out of bed, resigning to sitting on the couch to watch TV until Izuku woke up in the morning. He would claim that he slept well, but Izuku knew the truth. He just wished Katsuki would ask him for help.
But one day, Izuku couldn’t bear it any longer, and that’s when a new, almost nightly, routine started.
Izuku woke up with a start, only questioning what woke him up for a split second. He knew. He could hear Katsuki in his room, and so Izuku got up quietly in just his boxers and made his way across the hall. He pushed the door open lightly, because Katsuki always keeps it cracked now, and he went inside.
Katsuki was sitting up in bed and didn’t actually acknowledge Izuku when he walked in, just kept staring at the sheets in front of him. Izuku sat down next to him, not touching him, but close enough that Katsuki would know he was there. He didn’t say anything for a few minutes, letting Katsuki regroup before he tried to get him to move.
“Want to make tea?” Izuku asked. Katsuki just nodded so Izuku pushed himself up off the bed, offering a hand to Katsuki. He took it, and Izuku guided him out to the kitchen and sat him down at the island while he went to grab the kettle and two mugs. He filled the kettle with water and then had to wait for it to boil, so he grabbed the two tea bags from the cupboard. Lemon ginger, Katsuki’s favorite. Calming, with a little bit of spice.
Izuku sat next to Katsuki at the island, waiting for the water to be hot enough to pour. They sat in silence, which Izuku learned is what Katsuki needed to calm down and relax. It was a lot of trial and error, and Izuku used to constantly want to fill the silence with his words, but he’d learned to be more comfortable in ambiguity. Silence didn’t need to be awkward. Izuku had even started to like the quiet. He was more in touch with his thoughts, instead of just saying everything out loud.
Once the water was boiling, Izuku got up and poured the hot water into both mugs over the tea bags. The smell of lemon was almost immediate, and he brought both of their cups with him to the couch, motioning for Katsuki to follow. He placed them on the coffee table and curled up in the corner of the couch. Katsuki joined him shortly after, so close to him that they were pressed completely against each other. Izuku wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. They still didn’t speak, but actions spoke louder than words. Izuku wiped the still drying tear tracts from Katsuki’s cheeks and then leaned forward to grab Katsuki’s mug.
“Here,” he said, quietly. Katsuki took the mug and sipped the tea, not as bothered by the heat as Izuku would be. Izuku grabbed his own and just held it in his hand, soaking in the warmth. It was cold in their apartment at night, and their heating wasn’t always cooperative.
“Want to talk about it?” Izuku asked.
“Nah,” Katsuki said, his voice rough and gravelly from screaming.
“Alright.” They continued to sit in silence, both sipping their tea, and Katsuki burrowed into Izuku’s side. It was usually around this time that Izuku would suggest going back to bed, but Katsuki moved to put his mug back down on the coffee table and curled up against Izuku again. Izuku decided he didn’t want to pass this moment up. He put his mug next to Katsuki’s and grabbed the TV remote, flicking it on to Netflix and put on the show they were watching together. Izuku tossed the remote aside and shifted so he was half lying down, half sitting up with Katsuki practically on top of him.
It was moments like these where Izuku wished he was more confident. He ran his hands through Katsuki’s hair, combing it with his fingers, and he breathed in the vanilla that Katsuki always smelled like. If he was confident, he would lean in and kiss Katsuki on the forehead, and maybe on the cheek, and then maybe on the lips. But Izuku wasn’t confident, yet.
Katsuki didn’t talk about his nightmares often. It was probably once a week that he would actually want to open up about what his dreams were about. Izuku couldn’t blame him. He wouldn’t want to relive any of his nightmares; they always left him shaking and terrified. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how Katsuki felt.
They continued to watch TV, neither saying a word. Izuku was stroking Katsuki’s hair, and Katsuki had his arms wrapped around Izuku’s torso. It was peaceful. There was no arguing, no teasing, no talking. It was just them, together.
“God, it’s fucking cold in here, Izu,” Katsuki grumbled. Izuku stalled, scanning the room for a blanket.
“The heat must not be working again,” Izuku said, “do you want to go to bed?” Please say no.
“Yeah.” Izuku honestly wished he hadn’t asked. He wanted to stay here, Katsuki in his arms, forever.
“I don’t want to be alone,” Katsuki said. He looked so vulnerable, and Izuku just wanted to hug him and make everything okay.
“You can come and sleep with me? I mean, in my bed,” Izuku said. Katsuki shot him a half-assed smile, getting up off the couch and making his way into Izuku’s room, Izuku himself trailing behind.
When Izuku stepped into his room after putting the mugs into the sink, he found Katsuki already curled up under his comforter, the only visible part of him being his hair sticking out of the top of the blanket. Izuku just smiled and slid in next to him, doing his best not to disturb him.
Katsuki rolled over once Izuku got in bed and wrapped his arms around him again, and Izuku almost short-circuited. He’d assumed Katsuki would want to be on the other side of the bed, no contact, and they would just sleep. He didn’t expect to cuddle . He wanted to cuddle, but he didn’t think Katsuki did.
Once he finished having an existential crisis, he relaxed into Katsuki’s hold. He wanted to stay like this forever. Fuck cuddling on the couch, he wanted to wake up to Katsuki in his bed every morning.
“Goodnight, Kacchan,” Izuku said, smiling against the top of Katsuki’s head.
“G’night, Izu.”