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Izuku is happiest on days off, and it has nothing to do with any sort of desire to ever be away from work. His job is still a job, and he can appreciate freedom from it just as much as the next person, for the sake of resting an aching body, and the time and space to catch up with any other areas of his life he’d been neglecting.
It’s not a reprieve from an existence he hadn’t ever wanted for himself. It’s just that days off bring more precious, untradeable moments, not least of which include the days where Kacchan is off, too.
Rare and treasurable, those mornings where Izuku wakes earlier than most, and knows he’ll soon lure Kacchan to consciousness with him, in search of the relocated warmth of his body and the brew of a pot of coffee Izuku will have started for them.
Even if Kacchan doesn’t often drink it. The smell of it means morning, and morning means the two of them quiet in the kitchen.
Izuku avoids the chill of ceramic tiles by way of a pair of house slippers Kacchan bought for him. The warm mug in his hands chases off the rest of it, and Izuku sips cautiously from the rim, mindful of the steam heating his face. Patience is a valuable virtue when he’s trying to avoid dealing with a burnt tongue for the better of the morning.
How he misses Kacchan. He would have traded in a few hours more in that bed for him, if not for the impending caffeine headache, and the fact that Kacchan actually does prefer to be awake these mornings, despite his own difficulty in getting out of bed. It’s best that Izuku tempts him there, his own body the incentive for Kacchan to wake properly.
Izuku, an incentive for Kacchan. He’s so grateful to live a life where he knows himself as that.
Even from down the hall, he can hear the evidence of Kacchan beginning to stir. The creak of their bedroom door, and quiet footsteps over the hardwood. Kacchan is dragging his feet, on his way to the bathroom. The soft rumble of the pipes, and the sound of running water. Kacchan has begun his morning routine, and that means soon Izuku will have an armful.
Eyes closing, he sips at his coffee a little deeper. It cools quickly, and will soon be abandoned in favor of other things, anyhow.
He’s sure Kacchan will look just how he left him. Face eased and sleep-soft, deep creases from their shared pillow etched into the curve of his cheek. Mornings bring a gentler quality to a usually-angled face, sharp cheekbones softened through the course of the night, until time will return its near-severity again.
Warm, and clothed in something that drapes over his body. It’s no small feat to love Kacchan as much as he does and refrain from stealing him up to hold, when he’s not yet gathered any fight in him, and will go easily into Izuku’s arms like it’s the only place he’s ever wanted to be.
From a small distance down the hall, the sink shuts off. Slightly stronger footsteps carry Kacchan’s body down the hallway, and Izuku breathes out as he finally feels his presence in the kitchen. It’s a tangible thing, something he could reach out and grasp if he tried for it. Lately, there isn’t a place Kacchan goes that Izuku isn’t acutely, wholly aware of.
Izuku lifts the arm not holding his mug as Kacchan comes in closer. Kacchan’s body slumps, and he breathes out heavy as he melts into Izuku. There are so few stronger comforts than to feel Kacchan’s arms wind around his waist, Kacchan ducking his way into the curve of his shoulder to be held steady. Kacchan clings in tight to him, releasing the weight of his own body once more for Izuku to take, rather than their bed.
Izuku winds his fingers fast into Kacchan’s hair. His mug is soon abandoned to the porcelain, in favor of holding up Kacchan properly. Let his coffee cool on the counter, let it run cold. Caffeine pales in comparison to having Kacchan warm and contented in his arms.
Izuku sighs, shoulders lowering just that bit further. “Good morning,” he whispers, turning his face to where Kacchan’s hair meets his forehead. He brushes a soft kiss there, and Kacchan breathes slow against him, an inhale and exhale that don’t quite form sound. Those clinging hands fist tightly into the fabric of Izuku’s sleep-shirt, and he squeezes his whole body closer.
It’s not effort, holding up Kacchan’s body weight. Izuku loops his arm to hold at Kacchan around the small of his back, and it’s the most pleasant experience in the world, feeling Kacchan lean so heavily into him. He scratches gently there into his scalp, taking up strands between his fingers, chest swelling with a satisfaction so physical, he has to pull in deeper breaths to get any oxygen around it.
Kacchan will sleep here again, if he’s tired enough and Izuku lets him, and he often — always — does. It’s far too welcome a sensation to have Kacchan contented and quiet in his hold, breath evening into something more reminiscent of moments had in bed together at night. But Kacchan is increments more conscious than he tends to be on mornings like this, and Izuku bites back a smile to himself, feeling Kacchan squeeze around him tighter, dragging his face in a slow, steady back-and-forth against the collar of Izuku’s sleep shirt. Izuku pets down to the nape of his neck, to trace his fingers around the shell of his ear, and Kacchan sighs for it, leaning ever-so-subtly into his touch.
It’s like a balloon filling somewhere in his chest. Izuku cups around the curve of his jaw, and holds his weight there as he tips Kacchan to kiss at his temple. The bubbling affection spills over, and reprieve only comes in the form of expressing it, holding Kacchan right where he likes him to press his mouth to the warmth of his cheek.
The muscles in Kacchan’s face tense up, then fall slack again. Izuku kisses where they lead over, and over again, tracing the curve of his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose, the space just under his eye. Brushes his bangs back just to give attention to his forehead, and quietly delights in the quick raise, and drop of Kacchan’s shoulders as he’s kept there.
The corner of his mouth pulls. Izuku kisses over it, then brushes closer still to his mouth. Kacchan’s lips part easily into his kisses, and he tries so hard not to be so openly pleased with Izuku’s affection, but it’s so wonderfully ineffectual. Izuku can taste all the happiness in the swell of his lower lip, the curve of his teeth as he smiles without will. Trying so hard to be grumpy under Izuku’s attention, but too sleep-eased to muster any of it. Izuku squeezes his arm around the expanse of Kacchan’s ribcage, and lower, and Kacchan melts for all of it.
He’s so happy. Izuku might be the luckiest person in the world, getting to be the source of that happiness. To obtain his own from Kacchan in return.
Kacchan’s voice may come back to him soon, or it won’t. He won’t extract himself from Izuku until they’ve both had their fill of the morning, until energy returns to him in time. In some ways it’s like his recharge comes from Izuku’s own overflow. Izuku enjoys this balancing act so thoroughly, time slows to something ineffectual and meaningless on the days where Kacchan has nowhere to be but with him, and Izuku’s situation is the same.
He loves days off. Not for the absence of work, but for Kacchan.