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Katsuki is in the middle of helping with a burning apartment complex when it happens. He pushes himself too far, too hard. Stupid, because he’s had three years of physical therapy and extra training to know just how to get to his limits without blasting through them.
The smoke too—
Katsuki had worked with both Endeavor and that damn Todoroki long enough to know how smoke affects him. Especially now. But he hadn’t wanted to slack; to miss something. He’d known just how long he could go with a respirator, how high his heart rate could go, and just how long he could take a call like this.
And he’d blasted through it anyway.
He didn’t regret it. Katsuki is the best. He’s part of the Plus Ultra generation, as the media had called his former class when they’d graduated. It’s not in him to buckle.
So he goes and goes and goes—
Despite the way his vision starts to blue at the edges. Despite the way his hands start to sweat, not because of his quirk. Despite how his explosions pop right on the edge of too much for such delicate work. Despite the way his heart thuds—
He manages to get to the last person to the ambulance before everything goes dark.
Katsuki wakes with bleary eyes. The nurse checks his vitals, the doctor scolds him, and his heart still has reduced pumping functionality.
He went too fast, too far, and too hard.
Just like he already knew he did.
There’s no lasting damage; beyond what’s already there and been repaired. He’ll have to go to another check up, probably several check ups, and might even have to get some more scans.
Katsuki is mature enough to let out the frustrated scream when the doctor leaves.
Catharsis doesn’t come and Katsuki is left grinding his teeth until there’s a knock on his room door.
“Yo,” says Denki from the door. He sidles in, shutting it behind himself. “Never going to get over the perk of a single bed hospital room. Heroism rocks.”
“Go away.”
“That was about five percent less volume than usual, you must be feeling pretty shit.”
Despite the flippant tone, Denki’s face is pinched. His hands are obviously tight fists in his pockets. The slope of his shoulders stays rigid.
Katsuki snarls. The thing they have going on is pretty new. Fragile, probably. They’ve been friends for way longer at this point. There’s a playbook to this sort of thing; gentleness, carefulness, and all the other crap Katsuki’s terrible at being. Rage boils over like lava, seeping through his veins and pumping through his traitorous heart.
“I said; get the hell out.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Denki says, rolling his eyes. He pulls his hands out of his pockets, flapping it loosely in Katsuki’s direction.
A part of Katsuki appreciates that Denki hasn’t fallen for his bullshit since they were kids. Another part wants him to actually get out and let Katsuki lick his wounds in peace.
Denki comes right up to the bed, ignoring all of the posturing. “They’re calling you a hero out there, man. I think you did a pretty fantastic job. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“I’m not being hard on myself, fuck off.”
“Oh? So…It isn’t like I haven’t made an ass of myself because of my quirk. There’s compilations online. You saved everyone, then swooned. Your reputation is fine.”
“That’s not the problem.” And he’s snarling again, against his will. It comes so easily. Denki just sighs.
“If it helps,” Denki says, while cramming his ass beside Katsuki’s thigh. It’s nice to have him close. Thigh to thigh, with only the thin hospital gown and even thinner sheet, Katsuki can feel his heat seeping through. He probably smells like blood, sweat, and ash; but Denki’s still as close as he can get. “The rumor is that your respirator malfunctioned and you heroically succumbed to smoke inhalation. You’ve done enough wild stunts that no one is even thinking about your heart.”
That helps, but that's not the root of the problem. Katsuki’s mouth pulls lower. Denki’s follows.
“Is everything okay?”
“There’s no damage.”
“See—”
“If something like this happens again, I…” Katsuki trails off. “It would’ve been a lot worse if I’d passed out earlier.”
“But you didn’t.”
“But—”
“But it worked out fine.” Denki lays down, his head on Katsuki’s chest. It’s an awkward angle. If he were even a fourth less flexible it wouldn’t even be possible. It’s probably still uncomfortable as shit. Heroes still get the same small hospital beds as anyone else. “Now, I’d like it if you took it the slightest bit easier, if only for my poor heart—”
Despite himself, Katsuki snorts. “I’m the one in this damn bed.”
Denki grabs his hand. Denki’s are slightly smaller than his own, and he runs his finger across a scar on the palm of it. Denki had gotten it trying to cut carrots while sick and half out of his mind. Heroes, as a whole, are pretty shit at taking care of themselves. It’d been a lesson none of them had needed to be taught, even though all their teachers led by example anyways. It took a certain kind of person to throw themselves in the flames over and over again.
“Look, I know you. You know you. It took me seventeen years to figure out how to get my quirk working at its best without wiping out all my cognitive thought. You’ve always known your limits. How is this any different?”
“Shut up.”
“Hah!”
It’s a pale imitation of Katsuki’s usual scoff. Denki’s not wrong, is the thing. Katsuki hasn’t had to push himself this far since he got his injury at the hands of All for One.
It’s just—
An adjustment.
Denki leans up, kissing him.
It’s nice to lose himself in Denki, even though the angle of everything makes it hard to hold on anywhere and they keep bumping up against his pulse oximeter.
The nurse chasing Denki away later, is much less appreciated. Katsuki hates hospitals.