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The first time he kissed her, she was barely conscious. They had partnered together for a patrol—one of the rarer days when Deku was out of commission enough that he actually took a break. Their patrol had been going well, and had even been boring, until a group of villains had attacked them out of nowhere and they'd been forced to go in the defensive. They'd made it out fine, of course—Ochako and Katsuki were a formidable team, no matter how many times the press made comments about them and their supposed rivalry. That didn't stop the exhaustion hitting her the moment the fight was done with, almost collapsing with the force of her nausea, Katsuki catching her just in time before she did.
"You okay, Cheeks?" he asked, his tone brusque, but eyes filled with a concern she knew was only reserved for the people closest to him. She'd always thought there was more to Katsuki, ever since the Sports Festival in their first year at UA, but the feelings she'd recently felt stir up in her was new—they'd been building and building ever since they'd partnered together more often than not, and Ochako didn't know what to do with them.
"I'm fine," she replied, her voice dry. Immediately, her words were belied by the way she leaned over him to puke her guts out, and. Well. Guess she was a liar too. Katsuki made a grunt—a concerned grunt, she realised belatedly—and barked something into his mic, sharp and urgent.
"I guess the villains took more out of me than I thought," she joked weakly, feeling the bile rise in the back of her throat, again, even before she could finish her sentence.
For the next few minutes, all they could hear in the silence were the distant sound of an ambulance—probably coming for her, she realised distantly—and her falling to her knees, retching with her knees digging into the concrete ground, cold and uncomfortable in the places where her costume had been ripped in the battle. Katsuki was rubbing soothing circles into her back, occasionally barking something into his mic that were littered with profanities before he was concentrating on her again, intense, concerned dark eyes pressing into her back. She would have felt embarrassed if she wasn't puking her guts out.
The ambulance arrived when Ochako finally had a moment to breathe, heaving great lungfuls of air, feeling faint on her feet. It was only Katsuki's grip on her shoulders that kept her steady. Even when she was being escorted to the ambulance, Katsuki's grip on her didn't relent, migrating from her shoulders onto her arm, holding tight as if afraid she would escape. I'm not Deku, you know, she wanted to joke, but she didn't want to call attention to his actions, if only to keep him within her grasp as long as possible. Even as sick as she was, she didn't want to break the strange spell that had fallen over them, Katsuki's concerned gaze falling heavily into hers.
The tests came back a few hours later, and she still hadn't stopped throwing up every ten minutes. Even the thought of her quirk made her nauseous, now—she hadn't even been able to touch anything with the pads of her fingers without doubling up in pain when the doctors had conducted their tests. Katsuki had been with her through it all, a constant presence that she found comforting, even though she had said nothing to keep him there.
"The police came over to talk to us," their nurse explained, his brow knitted as if he was about to deliver bad news. Ochako felt her heart sink. "The quirk one villain had—it's called Amplify, named himself that too —"
"Of course he did," Katsuki muttered, and Ochako couldn't resist the helpless giggle she let out.
The nurse looked at him in exasperation before turning back towards her. "His quirk is exactly what it means, actually—it can amplify the after-effects of your quirk for 24 to 48 hours, depending on how long he touched you for."
She remembered exchanging a look with Katsuki during their battle—they'd agreed, within a split second, for her to deal with the two villains to their left while he'd dealt with the ones to their right. She remembered wondering why the villain she'd knocked out had looked so satisfied, and now, with the bile roaring in the bottom of her stomach, she had a clear idea why. God. She fucking hated villains these days. At least the League of Villains had a cause.
"Of course it's something like that," she muttered, feeling the exhaustion hitting her all at once. Her eyes felt heavy, and she was close to falling back down into her bed and sleeping for a million years.
The nurse took one long look at her and nodded, as if confirming his suspicions. "The after effects won't be too unbearable—because of the nature of your quirk, it would be more like having the flu for a few days, than anything else. Now that you know not to use your quirk at all, the aftereffects will be mild—you'll feel more than exhausted for the next few days, but we think there won't be any more lasting harm."
She supposed that was better than what other people dealt with when hit with the quirk—she shuddered to think what would have happened to Katsuki if he'd been hit. Blistered skin was no joke. And he has such nice hands too, she found herself thinking, and forced down the blush she could feel rising.
"Since the injury isn't too strenuous, we can discharge you from the hospital," the nurse continued. "Your vitals are normal, and we’ve dealt with all the injuries. Though we strongly recommend having someone remain with you for the next few days in case of any adverse aftereffects."
"Oh," she blinked, trying her best to keep her eyes open. Unwittingly, her eyes flickered over to Katsuki's, who, for once, had said nothing at all. There was something assessing in his gaze that she couldn't read. She turned back towards the nurse, who seemed to be waiting patiently for her response. Though patiently seemed to be an understatement, if the way he glanced at his watch every few seconds was anything to go by. She felt a flash of guilt, prompting her to say: "I don't mind getting discharged, of course—I just—"
"I'll do it," Katsuki piped up for the first time. Both the doctor's and her glances swivelled towards them. He flushed under their stares, but continued: "You were gonna say you don't have anyone to look after you the next two days, right? I have the next few days off. Ain't like I was gonna do anything useful then anyway."
"That's settled then," the nurse said, relieved to get away from their conversation. He should really work on his bedside manner, Ochako thought, a bit uncharitably. She made eye contact with Katsuki and realised he was thinking the same thing, a shared joke between the two of them. She felt the warmth build in the bottom of her stomach, and it wasn't the nausea, this time. It was something much better and felt like the beginning of something. She wanted to hold it close to her chest and never let go.
When she finally fell asleep in the back of Katsuki's car, it was to a press of lips against her forehead, soft and featherlight.
When she woke up back in her bed, cosy and warm, she wasn't even sure if the kiss was her imagination, but she felt content all the same, as if some part of her had settled. She heard Katsuki curse from the kitchen, but quietly—and he was bad enough at being quiet that she couldn't resist the giggle she let out—and got more comfortable in bed, exhausted but somehow content. Her stomach still wanted to explode, but at least she was with someone who was bearable—who was more than bearable, really.
As if hearing the thoughts going through her head, or maybe hearing her giggle, Katsuki appeared at the doorway, holding a bowl in his hands, hot and steaming. She felt her heart flutter as she realised Katsuki had made food for her—something fond and aching and more than a bit hopeful.
"I made some chicken soup for you," he said, his face flushed. "I know the doctor said you could just sleep it off, and the soup might make it worse, but—"
She couldn't help the laugh she let out, at that. Katsuki looked so uncharacteristically flustered—and so comfortable in the hoodie he'd changed into, that she wanted to snuggle into him and breathe in his scent. She would take a few thousand versions of Katsuki, but she decided she preferred this version the best—the man he'd grown into, soft and caring and the one she could allow herself to fall in love with, bit by bit.
"I don't care," she said, smiling, feeling her cheeks ache from the amount of smiling she'd done. It had been a shitty day, but she realised she hadn't smiled this much in a while. That she hadn't felt this warm in a while. And it was all because of the man standing before her.
She made grabby hands towards Katsuki, and Katsuki brought over the soup, his gaze still a bit abashed and cheeks flushed. She wanted to eat him up. The bowl was warm in her hands, but their hands brushing against each other felt even more so. She looked over at Katsuki, and wanted.
"Katsuki?" she asked, her voice soft. He was instantly on alert, looking as if he was one second away from doing anything she needed. It was that, the whole day, just him, that made her take the chance. That made her look over at him, and say, gentle and tentative: "Do you want to join me?"
He looked at her in shock for a moment, his face flushing red, before he nodded, slowly, and clambered into bed, but mindful enough not to disturb the bowl resting in her hands. She couldn't explain the feeling she got—soft and warm against her chest, the butterflies rising in her stomach. Katsuki was warm against her as she took small sips from the bowl, the soup and the company warming her up from the inside. It wasn't long before he relaxed against her completely, enough to tentatively throw his arm around her, his face flushed red. She curled up against his chest, feeling the warmth seep into her soul, warm and content in his grasp.
Katsuki pressed a kiss into her hair, as if he couldn't help it. And Ochako smiled, helpless in his grasp. She felt more satisfied than she'd felt in a long time.
(The quirk wore off, a few hours later. Katsuki didn't leave until the end of the week.)