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In truth, Izuku didn’t know how he ended up in this situation, in the pitch black basement of a house that wasn’t his, camera strapped to his chest and another in his hand, staring at his childhood friend, mouth open in horror.
“You heard me, didn’t you? Fucking useless demon.” Katsuki yells, stomping a foot along the outline of the pentagram that was still seared into the cement of the basement floor. “You’re not even going to try and stop me? You must be weak as shit.”
Izuku knows that he should stop Katsuki lest he anger the demon they’re meant to be investigating, but he can’t quite drag his jaw off the ground to do that. “Kacchan! Don’t antagonize the demon!”
“And why the fuck not?” Katsuki growls, prowling around the outside of the pentagram, glaring daggers into the middle of it as if the demon were trapped there, just past the realm they could see in— as if the demon would fear him instead of it being the other way around.
The basement is barely lit by their two flashlights, the shadows dancing around them and making Izuku jump more than once. No matter how many times he tells himself that it’s just his eyes playing tricks on him, Izuku can’t deny the fact that the shadows in his periphery are making shapes that look oddly human-like, can’t deny that they seem to follow him no matter where in the house he moves. The hair on the back of his neck had stood up the moment he’d walked through the door and watching Katsuki taunt the demon that was said to terrorize the inhabitants of this house— and many of the previous inhabitants, too— was not doing anything to calm his nerves.
Izuku’s heart was thundering in his throat, in his fingertips, all the way to the soles of his feet. The only thing he could feel over the overwhelming fear that flooded his whole body was the pounding of his pulse. It was a good thing he had his phone secured, otherwise he would’ve dropped it a long time ago, the trembling of his fingertips making it near impossible for him to get any sort of steady video.
“What if it—“
“What?” Katsuki challenges, his flashlight shining just over Izuku’s shoulder so as not to blind him. He, too, has a camera strapped to his chest and another in his hand, not that the footage Izuku ever gets from his camera is worthwhile. Katsuki spends so much of his time antagonizing the ghosts and calling them jackasses , assholes , and motherfuckers alike, he rarely remembers that his camera is supposed to be pointing at something other than his shoes on the ground. “What if it attacks me? Fucking great! I’ll take it on if it decides to come for me! It won’t though because it’s not real! And if it is, it’s a fucking coward .”
Izuku sighs and turns to carefully skirt around the pentagram.
Some battles aren’t worth fighting and this is certainly one of them. Izuku can say that with absolute certainty because it’s a battle he’s fought— and lost— with Katsuki many times already. No matter how many of these they do, Katsuki never heeds Izuku’s begging to be polite to the ghosts, to just ask them gentle questions to confirm that they exist. No matter how many times he begs Katsuki so that he can get even a wink of sleep overnight, Katsuki marches into every place they visit like he owns the place, throwing threats out at all the invisible inhabitants and making his presence both known and entirely unmovable.
Honestly, Izuku had never intended for this to become his life. He really hadn’t. When they’d made their first video, it had been on the tail of a dare that had been issued to both of them by their mutual friend. Izuku had only agreed if he could have a camera because something about it made him feel just the tiniest bit safer. There was a reason paranormal activity was rarely caught on film, he reasoned. He wasn’t sure if ghosts feared video or if it was just proof that they didn’t exist at all, but it gave him that tiniest extra bit of guts he needed to be able to step into the haunted house, promising to stay the night.
Katsuki, of course, had taken the challenge at face value. He didn’t care about cameras or flashlights— he was happy to march into the abandoned house in the pitch black and stand there until the sun came up. It was Izuku who had filmed the whole thing, who had clutched the flashlight to his chest with at least three sets of extra batteries in his pockets. It was Izuku who had whispered to the ghosts in the middle of the night, pleading with them to please just leave them alone until the sun rises.
It had gone— well, it had gone about as terribly as Izuku had expected it to go, even if it hadn’t gone the way he’d expected it to go. He didn’t see a ghost, though he did hear a lot of banging sounds and he swears he heard footsteps on the floor below them in the middle of the night but Katsuki insists that it was just his mind playing tricks on him. So that had been about as awful as he had expected but better than he had hoped. The part that hadn’t been better than he was expecting was the part where Katsuki had stormed into each room, demanding that the ghost show themselves or he would refuse to believe they existed. Izuku had scrambled around behind him, camera in hand, apologizing to the ghost and begging Katsuki to stop. He hadn’t, not until he had seen every room and claimed it to be his house and dared any ghost to dispute him. When the ghost hadn’t, Katsuki had promptly sat down on the couch and started watching videos on his phone until it was time for them to go to sleep.
The next day, when they had successfully survived the encounter— with very little sleep, but that wasn’t important— Izuku had shown the footage to his friends. They had gotten such a kick out of Katsuki’s attitude that they had insisted, rather forcefully, that Izuku upload the video online. He had, thinking very little of it. And it had blown up . It had gone viral in only a few hours and suddenly people were requesting more, suggesting places for them to go, pouring out encouragement and love for both of them. Strangers on the internet were insisting that they continue and Izuku didn’t know what to do with that.
And he still wasn’t sure how he had gone from that moment to this one. This one, where investigating ghosts is his literal profession. This one, where he has a bunch of high tech equipment and a whole crew behind him and Katsuki, catching their every move and editing their adventures together to be shared with the world. This one, where—
“Hurry your ass up, we have to go check the next room!”
Izuku blinks, focusing on Katsuki who had mercifully decided to leave the pentagram alone and was standing in the doorway that led to the next room on their investigation.
This was a location that Izuku had tried pretty staunchly to avoid. This house wasn’t said to be haunted by a ghost but rather to be possessed by a demon. And that— that was something he didn’t like messing with. Not that he actually liked messing with any of this, not that he didn’t question what on earth he was thinking every single day now, but there was a difference between demons and ghosts. Because Izuku swears on his future grave that one of the nights when Katsuki was asleep, he’d heard the humming of a lullaby from the corner of the room, trying to coax him to sleep. It had been surprisingly comforting instead of terrifying, especially considering that location was said to be haunted by a mother who had lost her child. None of the stories that came out of that location were particularly scary, they were just unusual . But the demon stories? Those were nightmare fodder and Izuku wanted to stay as far away from those as humanly possible.
With a deep breath, Izuku tightened his grip on his camera, raising his flashlight higher and crossing the room to stand in the doorway with Katsuki.
“This is the room where the daughter was said to have been killed.” Izuku explains. It’s always him who explains. Katsuki— a stern disbeliever in ghosts, demons, and most things paranormal— refuses to do any research on their locations ahead of time. Instead he chooses to just listen to whatever information Izuku is willing to provide him and then go in guns blazing. “It’s said to be the most active room in this house.”
Izuku, on the other hand, can only convince himself to even enter the premises after he has done extensive research. He needs to know every story of every haunting, needs to have notebooks upon notebooks of information so that he’s prepared for anything that they might find inside. His fear is only tameable with a wealth of knowledge, so he does more than enough research for both of them before they get to any location.
There’s a long moment where Katsuki just stares at Izuku, his dark eyes even darker in the almost nonexistent light of the basement. Finally, when Izuku makes no moves whatsoever— he’s still not sure if the ghosts can see him if he stands perfectly still or not— Katsuki reaches out to clap him on the shoulder. “Get in there, then.”
Izuku lets out an undignified noise and pulls back, stumbling a step back into the room with the pentagram. Izuku may not like the pentagram, but if it didn’t react to Katsuki stomping on it, it certainly shouldn’t react to him just being in the room. The next room, though, they haven’t been in there yet. Whatever is lurking in those shadows could be malicious, could be waiting for him. There’s stories of people coming out of their with scratches on their arms, an indescribable feeling of rage—
“Kacchan!” Izuku stumbles a second step back just to force Katsuki’s hand to fall off of his shoulder, attempting to take away his ability to shove Izuku into the room ahead of him, a metaphorical snack thrown to the demons.
“What?” Katsuki asks, an evil grin spreading across his lips. “Don’t you—“
Whatever Katsuki is about to say is cut off by the sound of loud, solid footsteps on the floor above them. Izuku doesn’t even think, doesn’t even breathe before he’s pressed to Katsuki’s side, gripping his bicep so hard that it nearly hurts his fingertips, His eyes are wild as he stares up at Katsuki, his heart beating so hard it may actually be able to break through his ribs and leave his body completely. That would probably be more painless than whatever this ghost had planned for them, especially now that Katsuki had pissed it off.
“Did you hear that?” Izuku breathes, eyes fixed firmly on Katsuki’s face because he’s unreasonably terrified of what he’ll find if he looks literally anywhere else.
“Of course I fucking heard it,” Katsuki grumbles, but he doesn’t look scared in the slightest. “Let’s go see what it was.”
“What?” Izuku reels back again, not far enough to let go of Katsuki, but far enough to brace his feet in case he has to try and hold Katsuki in place to prevent him from going to search out whatever made that noise. “No!”
“That’s the whole reason we’re here.” Katsuki replies easily with a shrug, his dark eyes finding Izuku’s. “We’re ghost hunters, Deku. Which means we have to go hunt whatever made that noise.”
Izuku takes in as deep of a breath as he can manage. It’s not particularly deep, and it burns the entire way down his throat and into his lungs, but it also settles something in him, just the slightest bit. Or maybe it’s the weight of Katsuki’s gaze on him that settles that thing inside of him, the knowledge that he’s not actually here alone.
“I don’t want to be a ghost hunter.” He said feebly after a moment, shaking his head just the slightest.
His curls are damp with terrified sweat and sticking to his forehead, barely moving as he shakes his head. Katsuki takes a second to transfer his flashlight to his camera hand, holding it with just two fingers so he doesn’t let go of the camera either, and then he reaches up to gently ruffle Izuku’s hair, as if he realized this too.
“Deku,” He murmurs. It’s quiet enough that their crew following them can’t hear, but they’re each equipped with at least three microphones, so there’s no way his words will go entirely unheard by anyone but Izuku. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay?”
It should be comforting— and it is, it definitely is to some extent. Because Izuku knows that Katsuki means it, knows that Katsuki would stand between him and a ghost if a ghost— or god forbid, a demon — ever bothered to actually show itself to them. But on the other hand, it’s not at all comforting because if an entity did something to Katsuki, Izuku would have no choice but to fight the entity himself and that’s his greatest fear. There was no saying that Katsuki wouldn’t piss the ghost off further and just make the situation that much more terrifying.
Katsuki’s hand moves down from the top of Izuku’s head, settling on his shoulder and then dragging down his arm, past the crook of his elbow, over the hammering pulse of his wrist, and then settles against his own palm. It leaves sparks in its wake and suddenly Izuku’s arm is trembling from something completely unrelated to fear. Katsuki’s hand squeezes his own as he ducks his head to meet Izuku’s eyes.
“If there’s really a ghost—“
“Or demon!” Izuku supplies, unhelpfully.
“If there’s really anything up there— which there isn’t —“ Katsuki continues. “Then we’ll get a picture of it on our cameras and then we’ll turn and get the hell out of here, okay?”
“You’re not going to fight the demon?” Izuku asks quietly, holding Katsuki’s gaze as steadily as he can. “Even though you’ve been threatening to do that since we walked through the door?”
Katsuki hesitates for just a moment, “No.” He finally answers. And then he adds. “Not unless it tries to fuck with you.”
Izuku doesn’t even try to stop his fingers from wrapping back around Katsuki’s hand and returning the squeeze. “What if I don’t want you to fight a demon for me?”
Katsuki’s serious gaze softens just a little as he huffs a laugh, “Too fucking bad.” He watches Izuku for one second longer to make sure that they’re on the same page and when Izuku does nothing more than let out a shaky exhale, he tugs on their conjoined hands. “Now let’s go before the bastard goes back into hiding or whatever the fuck ghosts do.”
Izuku relents, allowing himself to be pulled back towards the stairs, barely managing to avoid tramping on the pentagram as Katsuki walks over it with absolutely no care in the world and also maintains a steady hold of his hand. Izuku nearly trips as he tries to step to the side while still maintaining his point of contact with Katsuki, but he makes it to the other side without falling.
In the back of his mind, he knows that he’s going to have to be the one to do the preliminary editing of this episode because it’s practically impossible that there’s an angle right now that doesn’t have him and Katsuki holding hands. He’s also going to have to take out the audio of Katsuki promising to fight a demon for him. Because there’s a lot of his life that he shares with their fans— that he loves sharing with their fans— but that isn’t part of it. Whatever it is that’s blooming between them in these dark places, whatever light it is that keeps him afloat when there’s nothing else but fear— that’s something that is too precious and fragile for Izuku to allow others to see. It’s surprising that their crew hasn’t commented on it yet, but Izuku is thankful for it. Maybe they fear Katsuki’s wrath as much as a ghost apparently should, or maybe they just know something special when they see it, Izuku tries not to dwell on it much.
They make it up the stairs and Katsuki finally lets go of his hand to transfer his flashlight back into it, pointing it at the ground around where the footsteps had sounded to be. The moment he does, Izuku’s blood runs cold.
“There’s footprints in the dust.” He whispers, horrified, but still remembering to point his camera at what he sees.
Sure enough, there in front of them are the outlines of shoes, moving across the floor.
Izuku only has about two seconds to panic about what he’s seeing, his hand shaking so bad that the footage he’s taking will most likely be completely unusable, and then Katsuki just sighs as he turns to look at him.
“Those are our footprints, dipshit.” He says, but there’s a level of exasperated fondness in it that has Izuku able to take in a breath again.
He tries to steady himself a little, moving his own flashlight in that direction so he can get a better look at what he’s seeing. There are multiple sets of footprints in the dust, most of them leading towards the basement where they had just come from. If Izuku can get his mind to focus enough, he can recognize the pattern of his shoes in the mix of footprints, as well as the print of Katsuki’s shoes, too. He doesn’t know what kind of print their crew member’s shoes make, but there’s enough options.
Izuku stares at the prints for a moment longer, counting how many he sees.
“There’s six different types of shoe prints here.” He says after a moment, his hand suspended in the air in front of him, finger extended as he finishes his count.
Katsuki raises his eyebrows at Izuku in question. “So?”
Izuku tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. “There’s only five of us in this building.”
There’s a muffled gasp from one of the crew members who is still standing on the stairs, filming the interaction, but Izuku can barely hear it over the increased rush of blood in his ears. Katsuki glances back down at the ground again, eyes scanning over the different sets of prints. Izuku holds his breath— partially out of anticipation of what Katsuki is going to say and partially because he doesn’t feel like his throat is open enough for him to get a breath in.
Finally, Katsuki glances up again and offers a casual shrug, like his blood hasn’t run so cold that it’s threatening to freeze his bones. “I’m sure someone was in the house before us.”
“Kacchan!” Izuku nearly whines. “There are more footprints than there are people in this house! And that’s all you have to say?”
“What?” Katsuki challenges. “You expect me to have a list of every fucking person that’s entered this house? I don’t know, Deku! But it’s a hell of a lot more likely that someone else was in this house earlier today than it is that a ghost left those footprints.”
“Don’t you think we would’ve noticed footprints if they had been here before us?” Izuku replies, a little hysterical. “We walked all the way around the first floor and nobody ever pointed out footprints!”
Truthfully, Izuku can admit to himself that he hadn’t been looking closely at the floor as they had done their investigation of the first half of the house, but he’s certain that he would’ve noticed footprints. He knows himself and the only reason that he didn’t look at the floor the first time through is because there was nothing on the floor to look at .
“Tell me how a ghost left these footprints,” Katsuki says instead,
“What?”
“Tell me how the fuck a ghost is supposed to leave footprints when it doesn’t have a body?” Katsuki gestures wildly at the prints on the ground. “Did it just pick up a pair of boots and smack ‘em into the ground a few times?”
Izuku opens his mouth to respond but finds that he doesn’t know what to say. How would a ghost leave footprints? He’d heard of it happening a million times, had heard the footsteps pounding on the floor over their head just a few minutes prior to this. But on the other hand, Izuku can’t deny that Katsuki has a point. If a ghost doesn’t have a physical body, how does it leave evidence behind?
“See?” Katsuki says when izuku continues to stare at him, mouth agape but no words coming out. “Ghosts aren’t fucking real.”
“You—“ Izuku clears his throat, finding that it’s suddenly dry as another fear nestles alongside the familiar fear that he knows so well. “You heard the footsteps.”
“I heard something .” Katsuki agrees. “Probably shutters banging against the house or something.”
Izuku tries desperately to wrack his brain and remember what the house looks like. Despite the fear filling him, he can picture little baby blue shutters perched alongside all the windows of the house, framing them and giving the house a much friendlier appearance than the descriptions of it suggested.
Izuku looks down at the footprints again.
It’s true that their crew usually goes in before them to get some establishing shots of the premises that they can use when Izuku does his voiceover later to explain the layout and the history of the house. So it’s very likely that there were people in the house prior to him and Katsuki. But usually the crew who gets those shots are the same crew who comes in with them to film the whole episode, so it still doesn’t explain why there’s an additional set of prints.
“I’m going to use the spirit box.” Izuku says after a moment of consideration, reaching for the tool as Katsuki groans loudly and rolls his head back onto his shoulders.
He doesn’t give Katsuki time to make one of his usual remarks about the spirit box— it’s stupid, it doesn’t work, it’s too damn loud— instead just flipping the switch and drowning the room in white noise.
Despite the fact that he goes through this every episode, Izuku turns the camera in his hand to face him as he explains how the spirit box works. By now they have such a loyal following that everyone knows that the spirit box scans rapidly through different radio frequencies— rapidly enough that any word or phrase formed can only be done by an entity manipulating those frequencies to communicate. One word is iffy, but two or more words would be very convincing, especially if those two or more words were an intelligent response to the questions that were asked.
“Is there anyone in the room with us?” Izuku asks after his explanation is finished, panning the camera over the Katsuki to catch his usual displeased look and an eye roll. “Someone who left that sixth set of footprints, perhaps?”
“Someone who wants to answer quickly,” Katsuki adds, “So we can shut this fucking box off sooner.”
The static flares in Izuku’s hand, a few garbled sounds coming out that he could probably delude himself into believing is a word if he listens to it enough times in editing— but currently it just sounds a little bit like a garbage disposal.
“My name is Izuku,” He tries again before gesturing to Katsuki. “And this is Katsuki. Can you say either of our names back to us?”
Again, the spirit box garbled a few sounds before spitting out something that sounds suspiciously like asshole .
Katsuki laughs next to him, “It called you an asshole!”
“Hey!” Izuku reaches out to swat at him, spirit box still in hand. “How do you know it wasn’t talking to you? You’re the one who disrespected its pentagram!”
To that, Katsuki offers nothing more than a shrug.
“Would you please clarify?” Izuku asks the room as a whole, holding up the spirit box as if gesturing where the entity was supposed to direct its response to. “Which one of us were you calling an asshole?”
“What would you do if it said it was talking to you?” Katsuki asks as the seconds tick on and the spirit box does nothing more than rotate through frequencies like usual.
The truth is that Izuku would probably throw up. His heart would leap out of his chest, his brain would melt out of his ears, and he would probably throw up and then immediately faint. Maybe cry a little, too, just for good measure.
“I would—“
The spirit box crackles in his hand, the sound suddenly spiking and cutting off the end of his sentence. Izuku glances down at it as he waits for it to say something. It seems to take a second and then, suddenly, loud and clear, he hears the word boots .
“Boots?” Katsuki says at the same time that Izuku yells the word almost in triumph.
“Boots! So you’re saying that you are the one who left the extra set of footprints?”
It’s equal parts triumph and fear that he feels at this seeming confirmation of his worst nightmare. Because it’s amazing and cool that the spirit has directly— or pretty directly, anyways— answered his question, but it has effectively confirmed its existence in this same moment. And considering the thing that is said to exist here is a demon instead of a friendly neighborhood Casper, Izuku wouldn’t go so far as to say thrilled is how he feels at the confirmation that it not only exists but is also somewhere in this room with them.
He’s back to feeling like throwing up.
“If that’s the case,” Katsuki challenges, “Why don’t you leave us some more?” He glances around, tracing the beam of his flashlight across the floor until he finds a spot that’s untouched. “Right here. Go ahead and leave another print right where my flashlight is if you want me to believe you.”
Izuku stares at the spot on the floor that is illuminated by Katsuki’s light with more intensity than he thinks he’s ever given to anything before in his life. He can feel every individual beat of his heart like a beat of drums against his very skeleton. He feels so lightheaded that just the anticipation of what could happen might be enough to make him pass out. His fingers tremble, his camera shakes in his hand, and there’s a pretty good chance that his knees are about to give out on him.
Five seconds tick by.
Ten.
Fifteen.
After thirty seconds of pure silence, everyone in the room holding their breath and staring at the untouched ground, Katsuki calls it.
“Weak ass demon.” He mutters before crossing the room to the place he had been pointing his flashlight and dragging his own boot through the dust to make a line. “See? That’s all you had to do. Wasn’t fucking hard but you couldn’t do it! So you’re either not real, or so fucking weak that there’s no point in being scared of you.”
The spirit box crackles in response to Katsuki’s taunts, but nothing coherent comes out.
Now, when Izuku feels like his knees are going to give out on him, it’s out of relief instead of fear.
“You know,” He says, addressing the demon that still may be there— maybe it’s just adverse to Katsuki and his attitude, Izuku has no way of knowing, “If you still want to prove to him that you’re here, you could just say his name. Or, better yet, call him Kacchan .”
Katsuki whips around so fast, it’s surprising that his flashlight doesn’t go flying out of his hand. “If you even fucking think of calling me Kacchan—“
And despite the situation he finds himself in, Izuku can’t help the warm laugh that bubbles up inside of him at the lethal look on Katsuki’s face.
The absolute truth is that Izuku wouldn’t keep doing this if he didn’t have Katsuki here with him. Katsuki made him feel brave, made him feel safe, made him laugh to take the edge off when things were getting too serious. If Izuku had to ghost hunt with literally anyone else, he simply wouldn’t do it. It was really that straightforward and easy. He was only willing to keep subjecting himself to this repeated nightmare fuel because he had Katsuki at his side, sharing the moment with him. Because Katsuki took it from just being a job to making memories. In a few days, when Izuku no longer feels the threat of a demon looming over him, he’ll remember the way Katsuki taunted the ghosts, the way he petulantly drew a line in the dust. He’ll remember it all fondly and with a warmth that he can’t currently feel but knows will underscore this interaction just like it underscores every interaction he has with Katsuki.
It’s with this thought that Izuku is able to turn the spirit box off and continue with the investigation. They make their way back to the basement, pull out the mag lights, and Izuku only considers crying a little bit when the light flicks on as Katsuki asks if there’s a demon in the room. He asks the demon to turn the light off if it’s going to harm them when they’re sleeping tonight and the light flickers but never completely goes out, and Izuku holds onto that with every fiber of his being as they’re unrolling their sleeping bags in the room one of the family members was said to be murdered in.
The crew never has to stay the night in the house with them— they always just set up the stationary cameras and check all the footage is being filmed before they head off to a hotel somewhere. Izuku envies them more than he can possibly say.
“Please don’t kill us,” He says to the room as a whole as he slides all the way into his sleeping bag, pulling it up so that he can tuck it tightly under his chin as if that could provide him some sort of protection. “I’m sorry for everything Kacchan said to you today.”
“I’m not sorry for it.” Katsuki chimes in from next to him and Izuku sighs heavily, working one arm out of the sleeping bag cocoon he had created to reach over and smack Katsuki who was curled up in his own sleeping bag just a foot or so away.
Katsuki catches Izuku’s hand as it hits him, his palm finding Izuku’s and holding on. It’s warm— Katsuki is always warm, always solid and comforting. Izuku doesn’t even spare a thought to the way his fingers curl back around Katsuki’s hand, holding on tightly.
They lay in silence like that for a few minutes, Katsukis’ breathing starting to slow a little bit. Izuku stares wide-eyed at the ceiling, making up horrible stories for every shape he sees dancing above him and convincing himself that if he were to close his eyes and then open them again, the shapes would be closer than they were before.
“Shut the hell up.” Katsuki mumbles as the minutes drag on, his fingers slotting through Izuku’s as if to draw his attention back.
“I didn’t say anything.” Izuku whispers back, still unwilling to turn his attention away from what he has definitely convinced himself is the outline of some demon with horns on its head plastered in the corner to his right.
“You’re thinking too goddamn loud.” Katsuki says around a yawn, shifting besides Izuku. “Turn your brain off and go to sleep.”
Izuku huffs out a humorless laugh at that. “You know I’d love to.”
“Fine,” Katsuki shifts again, flipping onto his back if the tug on izuku’s hand and the rustling of his sleeping bag is anything to go by. “This is your fault, then.”
Before Izuku has a chance to ask what , exactly, is his fault, he’s being yanked across the foot-or-so of distance that was separating them. He yelps in surprise, finally tearing his eyes away from the horn demon as he’s pulled into Katsuki’s space. Katsuki maneuvers him easily and without hesitation, shifting until Izuku finds himself on his side, pressed up against Katsuki, with his head resting on the junction between Katsuki’s shoulder and his chest. One of Katsuki’s arms wraps around his back and settles on his hip, an iron grip that tells Izuku that he wouldn’t be able to turn back to look at the horn demon if he wanted to. Katsuki’s other hand stays entwined with his, both of them resting on top of his stomach.
And just like that, Izuku finds himself completely trapped and completely safe.
“There.” Katsuki says as Izuku tries to remember how to breathe, how to get the blood to go anywhere else in his body that isn’t his cheeks. “Now you’re protected from the super scary boot demon. Can we go the fuck to sleep now?”
Despite the continued shifting of the shadows, despite the millions of questions that are now flooding his mind, Izuku can’t help but smile. Add it to the list of footage he’ll need to bury, he doesn’t care. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, letting the tension drain from his body as he relaxes into the warmth that is Katsuki.
“Sorry,” He mumbles into Katsuki’s shirt sleeve. “You know how my brain works.”
Katsuki doesn’t reply verbally, but he does turn his head and press a gentle kiss to the crown of Izuku’s. It’s as much a confession as it is an acceptance of Izuku’s apology, a million and one words that can’t be whispered into the darkness when there are cameras all the way around them. Izuku squeezes Katsuki’s hand in his own, presses his head more firmly against him.
It’s something they’ll definitely have to talk about sometime— sometime when there aren’t demons and cameras listening to their every word. It’s something they’ll have to address because this— this is something Izuku would like to keep doing.
But now isn’t the time for any of that, so he simply allows himself to enjoy what he’s being given, allows himself to be excited for what things he’ll be able to get in the future.
“Good night, Kacchan.” He mumbles as he finds himself relaxed enough for sleep.
Katsuki presses another kiss to his mess of curls.
—
When the sun rises the next morning, Izuku finds that the demon did not murder them while they slept, did not leave any more mysterious boot prints, and did not separate them. He wakes up with his head still on Katsuki’s shoulder. And if this time Katsuki presses the kiss to his lips instead of his hair, well, Izuku is the only one to know that because he takes his camera home with him and hides that part of the video somewhere only he will ever have access to, a permanent smile on his face.