Work Text:
Izuku knew he shouldn’t be sitting here.
The papers were stacked in precarious towers across the dining table, red pen in his hand, glasses sliding down his nose again and again. The heater hummed softly, filling the apartment with warmth, but it wasn’t enough to make him feel comfortable. His throat was scratchy, eyes tired from too many hours of reading essays and grading quizzes. But there were deadlines, and extra lessons, and Katsuki… Katsuki had been sick for the last three days, and now he was finally sitting upright on the couch with a blanket draped around his shoulders, looking much more like himself than he had in days.
Yet Izuku was still here, still going over every comment, every score, every careless grammar mistake that his students had made, because letting it slide, letting anything slide felt wrong.
Katsuki had been quiet, unusually quiet, and Izuku was beginning to notice a pattern. His husband didn’t complain anymore, didn’t snap or shout just trudged along, insisting he was fine while trying to force himself to finish exercises or go through hero reports. He was still coughing, still flushed, still moving slower than usual. And Izuku… Izuku had been trying to keep up with him, trying to be supportive, but had neglected himself in the process.
“Izuku,” Katsuki said from the couch, voice low, cutting into Izuku’s concentration.
Izuku looked up. His glasses were crooked, hair falling into his eyes, cheeks flushed from leaning too close to the table for too long. “Hm?”
“You’re going to get yourself hurt,” Katsuki said, the words harsh, clipped but not angry. Concern lingered beneath the edges.
Izuku froze mid-note. He hadn’t realized Katsuki had been watching him so closely. His husband’s gaze, normally sharp and piercing, now softened slightly, worry flickering in green eyes. His hand twitched at the table as if to reach for Izuku, but he stayed seated, blanket pulled tight around his shoulders. “I… I can handle it,” Izuku said, voice quieter than he intended. He waved a hand toward the papers. “These are just grading… I can finish—”
“You can’t,” Katsuki interrupted, finally pushing himself up with effort, blanket slipping slightly. His tone was more forceful now, and Izuku could feel it hitting something deep inside him. “You’ve been doing this for hours. You’re exhausted. You’ve barely eaten. Look at you.”
Izuku’s eyes flicked down, and for the first time he truly saw himself: pale, hunched, sleeves rolled up, hair sticking to his damp forehead from the faint sheen of sweat. He felt exposed in a way he hadn’t expected—like Katsuki wasn’t just scolding him, but seeing all the little ways he’d been neglecting himself. “I… I just wanted to make sure everything was ready for tomorrow,” Izuku said, swallowing hard. His voice shook slightly, not from fear, but because he felt caught. Caught in the act of caring for everyone else before himself, as if he had to prove he could do it all.
“You’re not doing anyone any favors if you collapse,” Katsuki muttered. He stepped closer, taking a seat on the edge of the table across from Izuku, hands on the wooden surface, leaning slightly forward. There was a firmness in his posture that demanded attention, and Izuku felt himself yielding immediately.
“I…” Izuku exhaled slowly. He wanted to argue, wanted to insist that he was fine, but the truth landed like a weight on his chest. “I guess I… didn’t realize…”
Katsuki reached out, one large hand brushing against Izuku’s forearm. It was gentle, almost hesitant, but Izuku felt it like a lifeline. “You’re not Superman,” Katsuki said. “I know you’re trying to be responsible, but you’re still human. You need to rest. You need to eat. You need—” His words faltered. He swallowed. “…need me sometimes.”
Izuku blinked, heart thudding, throat tight. He had been so busy, so focused on caring for Katsuki during his fever, that he hadn’t stopped to acknowledge the care that was now being returned. He realized with a pang that Katsuki wasn’t fully recovered yet but here he was, worried about Izuku anyway, putting his own discomfort aside.
“I—I’m sorry,” Izuku whispered, feeling the sting of tears he hadn’t had time to shed. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” His voice cracked, faltering as he finally let the exhaustion he’d been hiding pour out.
Katsuki shifted closer, blanket falling around him, and rested a firm hand on Izuku’s shoulder. “You’re pushing yourself too hard,” he said quietly. “And I won’t let you get hurt.”
Izuku laughed softly, a trembling, relieved sound. “You’re still sick,” he said. “You should be resting too.”
“I’ll rest,” Katsuki said, voice softer now. “But not while you’re ignoring yourself.” His hand moved to cup Izuku’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly over damp skin, and Izuku leaned into the touch without hesitation. “We’re married, idiot. That means looking out for each other, even if it’s uncomfortable. Especially then.”
The words sank deep, wrapping around Izuku like a warm blanket. He closed his eyes, leaning into Katsuki’s hand, and felt his racing thoughts slow. The papers could wait. The lesson plans could wait. Nothing mattered more than the quiet, insistent care in front of him—the husband who had always been his fiercest, most stubborn protector, now protecting him in return.
“Okay,” Izuku whispered, voice muffled against Katsuki’s palm. “I’ll stop. I’ll rest.”
Katsuki smiled faintly, the corners of his lips tugging up in a way that made Izuku’s chest ache with affection. “Good. Now come sit with me on the couch. We’ll figure out everything else later. You’re not allowed to keep working until you pass out.”
Izuku let himself be guided, body heavy with relief, collapsing beside Katsuki under the soft blanket. Katsuki wrapped an arm around him, tugging him close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his still-recovering husband. Izuku rested his head against Katsuki’s shoulder, letting the exhaustion flow out of him with every slow, steady breath.
“See?” Katsuki murmured, nudging him gently. “Nothing’s going to explode if you take a break. You’ll survive.”
Izuku smiled faintly, closing his eyes. “I think… I will,” he whispered. And for the first time in days, he truly believed it because Katsuki was here, beside him, insisting on it, making sure he didn’t hurt himself.
The papers, the grading, the world outside, it could wait. Tonight, there was just them, the warmth between them, and the quiet, stubborn, unshakable love that had been carrying them both for years.