Chapter Text
Chapter 1: New Mornings, Old Habits
Midoriya Izuku had always been an early riser. Old habits died hard, especially the ones shaped by years of nervous studying and silent breakfasts before anyone else in the dorms had stirred. Even now — with the war behind them, licenses earned, and pro-hero life in full swing — he still woke with the sun, quietly padding around his shared apartment while the world outside was still dreaming.
The apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of floorboards. He moved carefully, not wanting to wake the person still asleep in the other room.
Katsuki had crashed here again.
It wasn’t unusual. They were both busy, working cases that overlapped more often than not, and somewhere along the way it had just… made sense. Katsuki would come over, help review reports, argue about strategies, and then never quite make it back to his own place. Sometimes Izuku pretended not to notice how often it happened. Sometimes he caught himself hoping for it.
He was mid-yawn when the bedroom door creaked open.
Katsuki appeared, shirtless, hair a tousled mess, rubbing his eyes like a grumpy cat. He stopped when he spotted Izuku at the kitchen counter, coffee already brewing, toast on its second cycle in the toaster.
“You’re up early,” Katsuki muttered.
“You always say that,” Izuku replied with a soft laugh, pushing a mug across the counter toward him. “You’re just always up late.”
“Tch.”
Katsuki took the mug wordlessly, hands brushing Izuku’s as he grabbed it. It wasn’t the first time their hands touched, but it still sent a little buzz through Izuku’s chest. He pretended it didn’t. He was good at that.
They sat in silence for a while, drinking coffee as the sun peeked through the sheer curtains. It wasn’t awkward. It never really was. Even with all the weight of their shared history — the childhood, the rivalry, the pain, the growth — somehow mornings like this felt easy. Familiar.
Katsuki tapped his fingers against the mug. “You have patrol tonight?”
“Yeah. North district, with Uraraka.”
He grunted. “I’m taking west. Maybe I’ll swing by.”
Izuku smiled into his cup. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
They didn’t say much else. Breakfast was simple — eggs, toast, some sliced fruit Katsuki claimed he didn’t like but always ate when Izuku prepared it. There were no grand gestures, no declarations, just the quiet comfort of two people sharing a space they hadn’t named yet.
But as Izuku glanced across the table at the way the morning sun caught in Katsuki’s eyes — amber like wildfire — he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, something was slowly, quietly beginning to change.