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It’s the first break in days of grey. The clouds part for a blue sky on a quieter morning. Izuku hadn’t been expecting it, imagined a day more like rain until he caught the rays peeking over the kitchen sink.
It’s not something they do. Most things aren’t.
Kacchan pulls on his left shoe, makes a face, and pulls it off again. Shaken out, the rock clatters against wood.
Bit by bit, they work human activities into their lives again.
“I want to go the way we went last time,” Izuku tells him. He pulls the door closed behind him, and Katsuki fidgets with a bit of metal looped through his ear.
He shrugs. His nose twitches. “Anywhere’s good.”
When they walk, it’s quiet. Silences with Kacchan used to be non-existent — words or not, the space filled with sound.
Lately, they don’t always have something to say anymore.
Some trees hold precarious beginnings of leaves. It’s nice, knowing the flowers always come.
Birds sit in the between. The sun on Izuku’s face feels like a return-to-something. There’s a stiffness in his right knee, but it loosens as they keep moving.
“Slow,” Katsuki mutters, and Izuku pulls up half a step. At a crawl-pace, his body wakes up.
“Okay.”
It’s not a bad thing. The silence, that is. This activity in particular makes him feel grounded. When it’s quiet enough, still enough, the time solidifies into something tangible.
Like he could hold these moments with Kacchan in the hand.
“How does your hip feel,” Izuku checks, and Katsuki’s mouth pulls flat. From the corner of his eye, he sees Kacchan watching him, too.
“Fine,” he says. “How’s your knee.”
“Fine.”
There’s a rock in the middle of the sidewalk. Izuku kicks it, and Katsuki shoves his hands in his pockets.
It rolls, and stops. When Kacchan gets to it, he taps it further.
Kacchan says, “I’m thinking pork for dinner.”
Just barely, their shoulders brush.
Izuku’s stomach swoops. Just a little bit — only a little.
“Are you,” he asks.
“Might be.”
In the sunlight, his hair lights golden. There’s a flush to his cheeks, not quite from exertion. This weather looks good on him.
How lucky, Izuku thinks, even as they work out the ache in odd muscles. To be here with Kacchan, headed the same direction. Nowhere but then home.
He tips his head back, and the sun shines down.
“It’ll be nice tomorrow, too,” Kacchan says.
Izuku nods. He thinks that’ll be true, no matter the weather.