Work Text:
When the days get shorter, the nights colder and the trees officially shed and get naked, it’s Katsuki’s least favorite time of the year.
Winter slows everything down. Patrols feel longer. The air bites at his skin. Even explosions don’t warm him the way they should. He hates how quiet the city gets, how the cold makes people retreat inward, bundled up and distant.
Except Izuku doesn’t retreat.
Katsuki waits outside the school most afternoons, leaning against a streetlight like he just happened to be there. Hero coat zipped up, scarf wrapped halfway to his eyes, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His nose is always red by the time Izuku finally emerges, bag slung over one shoulder, papers tucked messily under his arm.
“You didn’t have to wait,” Izuku says, like he always does. His breath fogs immediately, words disappearing into the cold. “I told you, I still had grading to finish. You’ve probably had a long day too-”
“Tch,” Katsuki cuts in, already turning to walk. “You done or not?”
Izuku smiles anyway and falls into step beside him.
They walk silently, side by side. Katsuki’s stride steady and sure, Izuku’s a little too fast when he gets excited and forgets where he’s going. He talks about his students, about lesson plans, about the way they grow tighter together as a team by now and Izuku can see progress. Katsuki listens. Pretends he’s not listening. Knows exactly which students Izuku is talking about anyway.
Sometimes, more often lately, Katsuki stops by the school earlier in the day or after patrol. Shows the kids what hero work looks like up close. Lets them ask questions. Lets Izuku watch from the back of the room with that look on his face, like he’s witnessing something precious.
“Okay, listen up,” Katsuki says, arms crossed, voice sharp enough to cut through the room. The students snap to attention instantly. “Hero work isn’t flashy twenty-four seven. You don’t spend every day punching villains and posing for cameras.”
A hand shoots up. “But you’re Dynamight.”
He scoffs. “Exactly my point.”
The class laughs nervously.
“Half of hero work is paperwork, patrol routes, and knowing when not to fight,” Katsuki continues. “If you don’t think before you act, you get civilians hurt. Or teammates.”
He pauses, eyes flicking briefly to Izuku standing by the teacher’s desk, hands folded, watching him like he’s saying something profound instead of obvious.
“You don’t win by being the strongest,” Katsuki says, quieter now. “You win by paying attention.”
When the bell rings, the students swarm him with questions.
“Have you ever been scared?”
“What’s the worst injury you’ve had?”
“Is it true you once beat a villain in under ten seconds?”
Katsuki answers them all. He’s gruff, honest, surprisingly patient.
After they leave, Izuku beams.
“That was incredible,” he says, gathering his papers. “You explained situational awareness better than I ever could.”
“You talk too much,” Katsuki replies automatically.
Izuku laughs. “Maybe. But they listened to you.”
Outside, the cold hits them hard. Katsuki’s scarf is already pulled up over his mouth.
“You really didn’t need to come today,” Izuku says, breath fogging. “I know Tuesdays are rough for you.”
“Was in the area.”
“You say that every time.”
“Yeah.”
It’s Friday, and when they pass the familiar bar on the corner, Katsuki slows without thinking. Izuku notices immediately.
“We could-” Izuku starts, hopeful but careful.
“Yeah,” Katsuki says, already opening the door. “One drink.”
Sometimes they do stuff like this. Go out. Just the two of them. As friends, of course.
Inside, it’s warm and dim, music playing low enough to blend into the background. They sit close, shoulders brushing. Katsuki nurses his drink. Izuku wraps his hands around a glass like he needs it for warmth even now.
There’s a pause. A comfortable one. Then, Izuku laughs softly at something, nothing, really, and Katsuki watches him over the rim of his glass. The song on the radio is old, crooning, familiar in a way that makes his stomach twist.
And suddenly, winter doesn’t feel quiet anymore.
It feels loud. Too loud. Full of all the things Katsuki never says because saying them would change everything.
“And then I realized,” Izuku says, leaning in, eyes bright, “they weren’t misunderstanding the concept. They were overthinking it. Just like I used to.”
Katsuki snorts. “You still do.”
Izuku grins. “Okay, fair. But you should’ve seen their faces when it clicked.”
He laughs, too loud, a little unrestrained, and Katsuki feels it in his chest. He lets out a short, involuntary chuckle before he can stop himself.
Izuku notices immediately.
“Oh! I got you to laugh.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“But you did.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes, cheeks warming. “You’re drunk.”
“I’ve had one drink.”
They’re both laughing now, louder than they should be. Over nothing. Over everything. The kind of laughter that only happens when you’ve known someone a long time and don’t need to explain yourself.
Izuku wipes at his eyes. “God, we’re ridiculous.”
Katsuki watches him, smile lingering, heart pounding way too fast for such a stupid moment.
Izuku always looks at him like that. With too much adoration in his eyes. As if Katsuki cast some kind of crazy love spell on him.
He sighs. “I really miss working with you, Kacchan,” Green eyes stare into the liquid in the glass, index-finger tracing the rim of it gently. “It’s… just not the same without you.” He hesitates, avoiding eye contact.
Katsuki shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. Whatever’s in his stupid brain right now, whatever Izuku has on him that makes Katsuki always go mush in seconds, needs to disappear right now.
“Yeah.” Katsuki mumbles. “I miss it too.”
There’s another beat of silence.
“But you will come by my classes anyways, right? Give me something to hold on to?” He asks with a soft smile. Ah, now he does look up at the other. Katsuki thinks Izuku has never looked prettier. “Hell yeah I will,” he chuckles. Izuku snickers before laughing gently.
The laugh is contagious. A little too much.
It's stupid, really. The things he’s thinking, the way his eyes scan over Izuku’s charming freckles, his hair a mess, tie loose around his neck. He really shouldn’t.
But right in the middle of it, mid-laugh, mid-sentence, Katsuki blurts it out.
“I love you.”
The words crash into the space between them, sudden and unguarded. Katsuki doesn’t have a chance to suck the words back in where they came from, staring at the man sitting next to him in horror, almost.
Izuku freezes. His big smile falters. Just for a second. Then his eyes soften in a way that makes Katsuki’s heart slam against his ribs.
“Oh,” Izuku says, smiling slowly. “I was wondering when you’d say it.”
Katsuki scowls, but he doesn’t look away. He feels warm all over. Fuzzy, even.
Winter can do whatever it wants now.