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They both have nightmares.
Shouto’s started first. Started well before they met. Because Katsuki got the white picket fence childhood. (Katsuki got so much when he deserves so much less than Shouto did, back then.) But after everything back during first year at U.A., after all that mess and hurt and ache—
Shouto started it. Crawling into Katsuki’s bed like he belonged there. Without an excuse. Just with a spare pillow hugged his chest and his head tilted the slightest bit to the side and the expectation that Katsuki would let him in. Would fall to his knees for him like the pathetic idiot that he very much was (is, he still is) when it came to Shouto’s pretty face.
It’s not just that, though.
It’s about belonging. Being someone’s. Knowing that it’s easier to breathe a solid weight on your chest, sometimes. That’s how Shouto likes it. Having Katsuki too close. All around. Everywhere.
And—
It’s not like Katsuki minds. God, of course he doesn’t mind. Who would, when having Shouto close and getting breathe him in and complain about how his hair is grown out and keeps tickling Katsuki’s face is the best respite Katsuki could ask for at the end of a long day?
Who would, when Shouto’s—
Well. Katsuki’s. Really, that’s all there is to it. Because they still have nightmares. Because you can scrub blood and dirt off the skin, but memories are stubborn like that. Because Shouto wakes up screaming and clutches at Katsuki’s shirt and says don’t leave don’t leave don’t leave me— until it dissolves into just sobs.
(Therapy helps, but not every day. That’s what Katsuki’s for. To hold his favorite person through the hard days. And Shouto will kiss his scars one by one when Katsuki’s the one who can’t figure out how to get out of bed. When he starts hating himself for it. Tells him sappy shit like you taught me how to love mine, it’s only fair.)
When it first started, them sharing space and secrets in the dark, Katsuki would draw out the inevitable loss, would try to stray awake no matter how heavy his lids felt just so holding Shouto didn’t have to be something he slept through. Didn’t want to sleep through, honestly. Who cared about getting a 97% instead of a perfect 100% on a training exercise because his reflexes weren’t as sharp? Who cared about their dumb friends flicking rice grains in his hair during lunch because Katsuki was too busy resting his head on his forearms to blast them to bits? Shouto mattered more. And Shouto would purse his pretty mouth and tell Katsuki to take care of himself and rub comfortingly between his shoulders anyway.
That’s the thing. The part that always gets Katsuki. Punches him in the throat. That there probably isn’t a thing on this earth Shouto wouldn’t do for him.
Katsuki wonders if he’s selfish, sometimes. If he reached for too much and got it just because Shouto thought he owed him for making a bit of space for him to settle into. For holding him. For breathing out into the back of Shouto’s neck and pressing up against him too tightly just to make sure he wouldn’t flee in the middle of the night.
That’s how they fucked, the first time. The rapid heartbeat of you’re gone you’re gone you’re gone it hurts don’t leave me sharply giving away to the rapid heartbeat of oh you’re hard and being too close and Katsuki giving in. Licking a stripe from Shouto’s neck to the back of his ear, too close and—for once—unashamed of openly wanting.
Maybe that’s the terrifying bit. The thought that Shouto nodded and held him close while Katsuki whispered everything that he had ever thought about doing to him in his ear and rutted against him only because Katsuki was there already. Had made it easy. But—
Shouto was the one who chose his door to knock on in the first place. Who chose Katsuki first. That means something, right?
(Don’t let go.)
And now—
“You okay, sweetheart?”
Shouto’s got a leg thrown over Katsuki’s hip. Is wearing one of Katsuki’s old shirts to bed. Old old. High school old. Because he was broader than Shouto even back then. And Shouto’s the kind of sap who cherishes small things like this. Who remembers the shirt Katsuki wore on their first date and the jacket he let the pretty idiot borrow when he proposed and—god. The underwear he let Shouto borrow the first time he made him come in his pants. Because he’s sensitive. Soft and sweet and sensitive all over.
Katsuki’s. Has he mentioned that yet? That having Shouto is the best part of his life?
Shouto stretches. Carefully. “Bad dream,” he whispers. “I’m—I’m glad you’re here.”
Katsuki huffs. “Where else would I be?”
“Working,” Shouto says tentatively. “Dad worked all the time. Before—well, you know. Before we resolved some of that stuff. I used to like it. When he wasn’t home. I could sneak treats from the fridge and everything.”
It makes Katsuki’s chest hurt, still. When Shouto says shit like this like there’s still a small part of him that thinks it was normal, or, even worse, is nostalgic for the only kind of childhood he got to know. Katsuki doesn’t blame him for it, he just—
Wants to help. Wants to kiss him everywhere where it still hurts. Because even scar tissue feels frail sometimes. Katsuki knows that too well.
“Poor baby,” Katsuki says. Too soft. He knows that too. That Shouto has made him fuckin’ soft. “Who’d take care of you then? Might find you going through my dirty laundry 'cause you miss me or something.”
“That’s gross, Katsuki.”
“We’re gross, in case you haven’t noticed,” Katsuki points out. “Deku won’t even sit next to us anymore after the shit you pulled at that last hero gala.”
“I mean,” Shouto says, “in my defense, I was a little drunk. I didn’t mean to grab his dick.”
Katsuki snorts, can’t help it. “Yeah,” he says. “Don’t worry, that happens. Oops, not my fiancé’s penis, sorry.”
Shouto’s laughter feels like spring sunlight. Fills up the room and the cracks in Katsuki’s chest all at once. “To be fair,” he says, “I touch yours a lot. Maybe I’m desensitized.”
“Brat,” Katsuki says. It’s hardly an accusation, at this point. More like I love you. More like you know, right?
“Yours,” Shouto says, like he’s comfortable right where he is. Like there’s no place more comfortable than in Katsuki’s arms for him. He needs it like that. Tooclose tootight toomuch. It’s why they fit. Because they get needing a little less space to breathe lighter. Pulling too tightly instead of letting go.
Their first fight wasn’t even a proper fight. Because when Shouto tried to leave Katsuki just. Couldn’t let him go. Felt his heart cracking right down the middle with each step Shouto took away from him. Too far. Grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him to his chest and said you’re mine, got that? and Shouto didn’t even—
Didn’t even protest, just pressed his teary face into Katsuki’s chest and, after a handful of steady breaths, whispered okay, I’m yours.
“Damn right,” Katsuki says, pressing his lips to Shouto’s forehead. “So no more touching other guys’ dicks. Even when they’re your friends. Especially if they’re your friends.”
“Don’t worry,” Shouto says evenly. “I like yours best.”
Spoiled princess. Like he’s got any empirical comparison data in the first place. “I know,” Katsuki says, smug still. It’s an arrogant sort of pride, being bestowed freely with all of Shouto’s most vulnerable parts. His heart and his soul and the tears that clump his eyelashes together. Being trusted to make it all better, to hold his hand while the storm passes. To hold him. To have him.
“Katsuki?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you like me?”
“Nah, not at all.”
“Mean.”
Katsuki wants to pinch him, a little bit. “I love you,” he says. “That’s bigger.”
“Mm.” Shouto laughs. “Yeah, I know.”
It’s quiet, for a bit. Just the sound of Shouto’s steady breathing and the warmth of his body and the steady thrum of Katsuki’s heartbeat in the shape of his name. Shouto’s. Because he’s Shouto’s too. Belongs to him.
“You okay?” Katsuki asks, eventually.
Shouto pecks his mouth. All shy like it’s the first time. “Yeah,” he says. “I have you.”
Yeah, he does. That’s the point. That they have each other. That no one’s letting go.