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Lounged on the couch on his day off, feeling only mildly on edge, Katsuki watched the fight go down on live TV. Watching Shouto kick ass and own his element never gets old, even a decade into their careers. But something you do get used to—get better at— is handling the aftermath.
Each of Shouto’s moves against the shitty villain and the collapsing bridge was acutely calculated and executed to perfection. With the years shared between them on and off the field, Katsuki could follow every one of his thought processes even from this side of the screen. So it just sucks that the only real option for the majority of the fight was for Shouto to avoid his flames and only use his frigid ice.
While the chaos dwindles down at the scene and Shouto staggers around checking on the civilians individually, sternly avoiding reporters until he is ready to speak to them, Katsuki gets to work.
He’s got about forty minutes, an hour max, before his husband comes back home caked in grime and dust and sweat. Still high on that rush of adrenaline, fully convinced that he’s fine. That is, until that adrenaline drops and the effect of such extensive quirk use in a fight hits him like a fuckin’ boulder.
Shouto turns into a bit of an asshole baby when that happens but Katsuki can’t blame him. It’s a little endearing if he’s honest, even if it does piss him off sometimes. He gets all snotty nosed and sleepy. Yet somehow his snarky remarks get sharper, but only if provoked.
His temperature regulation goes outta whack for a bit and Katsuki does not need yet another incident of their couch catching fire. The shivering is sad as fuck, though. Until Katsuki’s managed to help warm him up back however he can. He’ll even put up with the icy feet stuck under his thighs for the greater good.
All the shit that the public doesn’t get to see—the aftermath. The recuperating and the rest that comes with being Number Two.
Smiling, Katsuki heads to their bedroom and pulls out a pair of flannel pajama pants and underwear from Shouto’s drawers, and then a chunky crew neck sweater of his own. A pair of fuzzy socks, thick wool mittens, and the blue winter beanie that Rei knit for her “sweet baby boy” two years ago.
Everything gathered in the cradle of his arms, Katsuki heads over to toss the items into the dryer. He backtracks to get a fresh towel to add to the load and then he’s on his way to the kitchen. He’ll draw the warm bath once he’s done prepping some food.
The reality is that if Katsuki had witnessed any real injuries, Shouto wouldn’t even be allowed to step foot into the house. Straight to the goddamn hospital it is. But he knows for something like this, it would turn into an immovable object versus unstoppable force situation. So, Katsuki will let him come home.
And pamper the absolute shit outta him.
In the kitchen, Katsuki clicks his tongue as he peers into the fridge. There’s still come cold soba from last night that Shouto will absolutely want to eat. Even if he’s got chattering teeth and blue fuckin’ fingernails. So, fine. Some comfort food won’t kill him. Especially not once Katsuki slides him some fresh stir fry chicken and veggies and a steaming bowl of miso soup after.
Game plan in mind, Katsuki works on auto-pilot, peeling and chopping and stirring with ease. A quick glance at the TV shows that Shouto’s off the scene. A look at his phone shows Shouto’s little location dot at the agency.
Perfect.
Mid-stir fry toss, his phone rings and Katsuki answers to Izuku’s ramble about the battle. He hums and nods at the analysis of Shouto’s fight, the ways Izuku’s planning to incorporate some of the tactics in his next lesson with his students. Katsuki offers a couple words of his own input. By the time the nerd’s got it all out of his system, said his “take care of Shouto-kun, bye Kacchan!”, the food’s set and ready to go.
Heading back to the bathroom, he turns on the tap. Throws in some of the scented epsom salt while he’s at it. Katsuki decides to add two of the throw blankets from the couch to the dryer load, because why not.
The tub is just past halfway full when keys jingle in the lock and the front door opens. Shouto’s voice sounds weary when he says, “Tadaima”. Katsuki pads over to greet him.
“Okaeri. You look like shit.”
Shouto huffs when Katsuki leans up for a kiss. He gets a nip to his lower lip for the remark which, yeah, fair.
“It smells good in here,” Shouto says, peeking over Katsuki’s heading into the kitchen.
“‘Course it does, I just cooked. But—ah, ah bath first, motherfucker,” Katsuki sets his jaw as Shouto pouts at him, glancing down at the hand on his chest holding him back.
“Join me?” Shouto asks hopefully.
“If we do that, you’re gonna fall asleep in there and I’m gonna have to carry a giant naked prune out of the tub, so no, not tonight.”
Shouto’s pout deepens with a hint of annoyance in the lines between his brows. Katsuki kisses him again, less chaste.
“But I’ll help wash your hair. C’mon you big baby.”
The smile is instant and Katsuki rolls his eyes fondly.
Once in the bathroom, Shouto strips quickly. Katsuki makes note of the new bruises across one thigh and the side of his ribs but it’s nothing serious. Shouto steps in and lowers himself into the tub with a drawn-out exhale while Katsuki gathers his dirty hero suit and steps out to chuck it straight into the washing machine while also getting the towel.
Katsuki laughs when he returns to Shouto, to find him with only the top half of his face visible above the water. He seats himself on the closed toilet lid, reaching to cup some water to pour onto Shouto’s hair. He gets some indignant bubbles blown at him when it drips over his eyes.
He lets Shouto soak for a bit and enjoy the sensation of it. They don’t really talk, don’t really need to. Between hums and looks and the smallest of eyebrow movements, they converse enough.
When Shouto groans suddenly and leans back, thumping his head lightly and sinking even lower into the water, that’s when Katsuki knows it’s all hitting him.
“Alright, enough stewing. Shampoo time.”
Shouto just groans again in response.
Katsuk makes quick work of it, lathering the shampoo in nicely. He unplugs the drain stopper and massages Shouto’s scalp as mismatched eyes begin to droop lower and lower.
It takes some effort to get Shouto on his feet but he manages. Closing the curtain halfway, Katsuki flips on the shower and has him rinse the suds. Conditioner can wait for an easier day. Body wash is acquired and between the two of them, they’ve got Shouto feeling squeaky clean.
Katsuki’s t-shirt is drenched so he strips it off and even half-dead, his husband has enough energy to let his gaze roam. Katsuki throws the warm towel in his face and marches out to the bedroom.
After managing to snag a new hoodie for himself, Katsuki slips out to grab the warm clothes. Shouto’s out when he returns, towel wrapped around his pale, nearly colorless, shoulders as best as he can while standing there shivering. Katsuki’s heart hurts just a little at the sight.
“C’mere.”
Shouto shuffles over to the bed where Katsuki’s dropped the pile of clothing. He sighs in bliss when Katsuki sticks the warm sweater over his head, quickly working his arms through before slipping on his underwear and pants. He looks ready to protest when Katsuki offers him the mittens and socks and beanie but a single eyebrow raise is all Shouto needs to accept them.
Katsuki is surprised with a lingering kiss when he reaches to adjust the hat.
“My mouth was cold too,” Shouto says cheekily.
“I made you soup for that.”
Shouto pokes a finger into Katsuki’s cheek for grinning too big.
Together, they move into the living room. Shouto waddles sideways until he’s collapsed onto the sofa. Katsuki piles the warm blankets on top of him before going to get the food for them both.
With some coaxing and the reminder that Katsuki’s brought his cold soba too, Shouto drowsily straightens back up to eat. The first bite is slow and careful but after that he’s practically shovelling it all into his mouth. Katsuki has to nag him to slow down every few bites.
“If only your crazy fans out there saw you like this,” Katsuki comments, teasingly. They finished eating about a half hour ago and Shouto has collapsed back into a lump curled on his side, legs on Katsuki’s lap. “But it’ll probably just earn you more points with ‘em. Cute fuckin’ bastard.”
Shouto mumbles something unintelligible in response, lifting his head briefly to look at Katsuki. At least, Katsuki thinks he’s looking. His eyes might very well still be closed under the beanie now pulled over them. The sweater has also been pulled up to cover his mouth, so only his nose pokes out. Affection floods Katsuki’s chest and he pats Shouto’s ankle.
“Bed?” Katsuki asks after a few more lazy minutes, stifling a yawn. “S’late, might as well. C’mon.”
Shouto doesn’t move or reply. Just lies still, pretending to have fallen asleep for real. But Katsuki knows better. Knows his breathing pattern and the way his limbs rest in slumber. Knows this fucker like the back of his hand.
It may be funny to think about the public seeing Shouto like this but Katsuki doesn’t ever want that to happen. Because this Shouto is his and his alone. Meant only for his eyes.
Rolling off the couch and giving his back a few quick cracks, Katsuki gets ready to carry his lump over to their bedroom. Shouto starts awake when he’s hefted into Katsuki’s arms but hums contently, curling his long-ass body in some more. Katsuki shakes his head to himself, smiling.
Over the years he’s learned that under the right conditions, the immovable object can be moved. Especially when carried to bed, princess-style.