Work Text:
A string of tin bells clanged as the workshop door swung open. Golden rays spilled into the room, highlighting each speck of dust in the air. The well-loved gadgets and tools in the shop overwhelmed the open shelves and cupboards.
Katsuki strolled inside, scowling at the disorganization. His keen red eyes alighted on the man passed out on several sketches, still clutching his protractor and graphite.
Izuku’s freckled cheek pillowed against his wooden desk. Curly dark hair fell over his eyes, his dark lashes shifting as he dreamed vividly. About what, Katsuki could only guess. Probably something nerdy or rife with abnegation.
Maybe something about the dark alleys or lairs where the villains that haunted Ashepoint could be found.
He thought about kicking the chair out from under him.
He thought about it for a long time.
“Hey, shitty nerd!” He kicked the table instead. Everything on top jiggled and clattered.
Izuku jerked up, a sketch stuck to his face. “Wha?”
Katsuki grinned, satisfied with his wicked work. Izuku had a tough time hearing higher frequency sounds. The bells on the door made a low enough frequency that they were sometimes effective—at least, when Izuku was awake and wasn’t sleeping on his better ear. Birds, certain tones of mechanical whining, or the voices of children were tougher since the fever he had caught as a small child. Sometimes, exposure to higher sounds could put someone as patient as Izuku in a bad mood. It could trigger a serious headache.
Katsuki could not do much with one arm when it came to signing, so he just spoke a little louder and more clearly. “You’ve been open for an hour. You’ve probably lost some customers who walked in here and found you sleeping on the job.”
“Kacchan?”
A bandage on his jaw, more bandages around his knuckles. Those had not been there yesterday, but they had been making regular appearances without explanation the last few months.
“No. I’m your conscience, telling you to get your ass in gear.”
“I didn’t—um—” He peeled the paper off of his cheek, leaving behind a string of calculations. “I didn’t unlock the door. How’d you get in?”
Kacchan snorted. “You didn’t lock it. Dumbass. That’s how you get burgled. Not that anyone wants your weird shit.”
Izuku’s eyes were bloodshot. “Oh? No one?”
The corner of Katsuki's mouth curled up a little. He moved behind the front desk and leaned his hip against the worktable, so close that he could smell the machine oil on Izuku’s clothes. “No one important.”
He grabbed a clean rag—Izuku had a bucket of them under the worktable, mostly for cleaning off tools—and rubbed the graphite off of Izuku’s cheek.
“You gonna tell me what you were really doing all of last night, or…?”
“I-I was here. I just got caught up in my work.”
“Right. Right, of course.” Mud on Izuku’s boots, trailing across the floor. Izuku always swept and mopped after he closed, even if he planned to stay late and work on projects. The mud was too fresh.
Izuku’s mouth pursed strangely, a flush of red slowly rising to his ears. “I—Kacchan, it’s too early for me to understand your…jokes. Um—what did you do to my arm?”
Katsuki glanced down at Izuku’s arms. Finding nothing unusual—white shirt stained with machine oil rolled up to the elbows, canvas apron, calloused, scarred hands stained with graphite—he looked back up at Izuku’s suddenly fearsome green gaze. He had to admit the sight sent a jolt into his heart.
“Uh—nothing.”
“Sit down,” Izuku snapped, dragging a stool next to his own, then grabbing Katsuki’s shirt and pulling him into it.
Ah. Right. Izuku meant Katsuki’s arm—his prosthetic, actually. The mechanical masterpiece was intricate. Smooth steel caught the golden light coming in through the windows. Intricate gears and hinges fit together with the finest craftsmanship Katsuki had ever seen. He refused to say so out loud. He didn’t want to give the nerd a big head.
Last night, something had popped. It hung at his side loosely. He had removed it for sleeping during the night, and then reconnected it this morning so that he wouldn’t have to lug it around with his only free hand. He almost regretted doing that—the dead weight was making his already sore stump worse.
“Don’t call it your arm. It’s my arm!”
Izuku grabbed a screwdriver from his toolbelt and slid his glasses over his eyes, winding them so that they zoomed in conically on Katsuki’s prosthetic. “I put my blood, sweat, and tears into this thing. Don’t tell me what to call it. It’s my baby.”
Katsuki was not a fan of people viewing his prosthetic as an accessory or a toy. This was something Izuku never did. He treated the prosthetic like the vital extension of Katsuki’s body that it was. He listened earnestly to Katsuki’s requests and made them happen, regardless of whether they suited some sort of vague artistic vision.
The prosthetic was Katsuki’s, even if Izuku did have a lot of personal pride when it came to it. Whenever it broke, he gently chastised Katsuki like a doctor over their patient’s health.
Katsuki normally would have whooped someone’s ass for displaying even a hint of possessiveness. Izuku, for a few different reasons, was an exception.
“You sound like your mentor. Where’s she at these days?”
“Probably filing ten new patents at the capital,” Izuku muttered, pulling Katsuki in closer. “And making millions. What happened to this bolt? It just popped out?”
“It broke.” Katsuki almost leaned in to smell his hair. Izuku radiated warmth. “Picked up a, uh…steam carriage. No big deal.”
“Huh?”
“Picked up a steam carriage. Regular day of being a hero.”
Katsuki watched the gears stop in Izuku’s head. They clanked a few times before red flushed his face again.
“I told you fifty stone—no more. What the hell were you doing?”
“Well, there were these ladies—”
“You were showing off?” Izuku huffed.
“No! They were about to be hit by the carriage. It was rolling forward without a driver. Must not have had its brake on.”
“Oh.” Izuku’s eyebrows knit. He repressed a smile, his ears red. “Well, I’m glad you stepped in to save them. It just shows that I’ll have to step it up. So that you can carry two carriages if you need to.”
“Hell yeah.” Katsuki grinned. “But you’re right to assume I was showing off. I’m always showing off.”
Izuku’s expression was firmly schooled into the repressed smile. “Oh?”
“Yeah. My arm is the coolest shit in the city. Everyone better respect it or die.”
Izuku’s eyes brightened. Hell, they practically sparkled.
The only way Katsuki could stop his heart from fluttering obnoxiously was by grabbing a sketch and shoving it into Izuku’s face.
“Ow.”
“Uh. Sorry. Couldn’t handle it when you. Did that.”
“Smiled?”
“Yeah.”
Izuku rolled his eyes and shoved the paper back at Katsuki, then pulled his arm closer. Katsuki thought about just disconnecting the prosthetic so that Izuku could work on it, but their knees were pressing together, so he decided against it.
“Is this why you were up late?” Katsuki asked, glancing at the paper. His gaze narrowed. “What is that?”
Izuku designed hero gear for customers across the city. There were big names and businesses that were splattered across the Ashepoint Gazette and the Ivory Herald, but Izuku’s small workshop catered mostly to the new generation of heroes.
He was starting to make a name for himself—especially as Katsuki started to make regular appearances on the front page, brandishing not only his prosthetic, but also the gadgets and weapons that made up his heroic accouterments. He had a steam-powered cannon with massive firepower that released Hell itself. Izuku had also created a brass monocle that helped Katsuki aim and steam-powered boots.
Katsuki had pitched the ideas, to be fair. He and Izuku had spent countless hours in their childhoods fantasizing about the kinds of gadgets they would use when they would be heroes, filling up stacks of notebooks with dreams. Izuku’s ingenuity made them a reality.
Katsuki’s half of the dreams, anyway.
But this sketch was new.
A brass gauntlet with five points on the knuckles—but rather than fire, steam, bullets, or darts, they shot grappling hooks.
The notations on the exact weave and material needed for the ropes of the grappling hook in order to achieve perfect flexibility and durability made Katsuki’s mind spin. He was pretty savvy himself when it came to gadget design—it came part and parcel with hero work—but Izuku never failed to blow him away.
Changing to a brass-infused hemp - leather flexible but snaps under continuous strain - breaks under criminal struggle - leather = high friction
“Wow. Holding out on me?”
Izuku huffed, testing out the joints in Katsuki’s elbow. “Like I don’t spoil you with my best work nonstop. Ah—done. Looks good.”
“You say that like I don’t pay a pretty penny.” His eyes narrowed on the sketch. “Investing in the best gear means I kick the most ass. I don’t think grappling hooks work with my fighting style anyway.”
Last time I rescued civilians - high friction led to rope burn. Hemp = reduce civilian impact/harm
Izuku froze. He refused to meet Katsuki’s eyes, staring at the prosthetic like a deer facing down an oncoming steam carriage.
“Huh. ‘Last time I rescued civilians,’ it says.”
Katsuki couldn’t help the growing smirk on his face.
He fucking knew it.
“You want to tell me the real reason you didn’t go home last night?”
Izuku grabbed the paper from Katsuki, then stood up and crossed the room. “K-Kacchan. I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Cut the shit, ‘Zuku.”
Katsuki waited for Izuku to respond, his back to him. Izuku muttered to himself, sliding the sketch into a stuffed file cabinet.
“You gonna talk to me or what?”
Izuku did not reply, and Katsuki was certain by this point that Izuku must not have heard him either time. He stood and followed him across the room. Izuku paused and turned to him, his mouth pressed tightly.
[I’ve waited long enough. I wanna know.] Katsuki signed as he drew closer.
With Izuku’s hearing waning since they were children, they had prepared themselves by learning sign language together. It made communicating in chaotic markets, shops, across rooms, or just on Izuku’s bad hearing days easier, and it had opened up entire worlds for Izuku. He was able to communicate with other Deaf folks all across the city that way.
[No, you don’t. I don’t want you to be liable.]
Katsuki pressed his palm into Izuku’s shoulder and pushed him until his back hit the wall. Izuku stared up at him, eyes wide, chest heaving. Izuku’s eyes dropped to Katsuki’s mouth, then darted back up, the tips of his ears pink. Katsuki wanted to bite them.
“I’m already liable,” he rumbled. Izuku swallowed. “You’ve never lied to me before. Don’t do that shit to me.”
And then he pressed a kiss to Izuku’s lips.
Which had not been his intention. Katsuki had been meaning to do that for some time, of course. Maybe since they were twelve. More than a decade ago. He was never admitting that out loud.
Izuku froze, startled, like he had not expected it one bit.
And Katsuki could have kicked himself. This wasn’t supposed to go like this—Katsuki was supposed to woo him, ask him! He had practiced the question in sign language for hours so that his fingers wouldn’t shake.
When Izuku kissed him back, sweet and soft and warm, Katsuki nearly lost his cool and smiled against his mouth. He grunted in surprise, and then the sound softened into a timid, short groan that quivered between them. Even on his worst hearing day, Izuku would have felt that sound to his bones and known what it meant.
Izuku pulled back, his eyes bright with unfallen tears, smiling. Katsuki wanted to punch a wall. Izuku’s impossibly cute expressions had that effect on him. Instead, he cupped the man’s face and brushed back his hair.
“You’re a vigilante, right?” He asked.
Izuku was so relieved that Katsuki had said it first that he melted back on the wall. “God, that was so hard to keep from you that I almost told you every time I saw you! You have no idea! I’m sorry, Kacchan, I just didn’t want you to get in trouble if I got found out! I didn’t want you to be arrested or have your ratings drop!”
Katsuki was pretty sure he would normally be pissed off by this point if he wasn’t absolutely glowing from both kissing Izuku and being absolutely fucking right. “How long?”
“Since October.”
“That’s—that’s real dangerous and stupid, you know.” Yeah, still struggling to come down to earth.
“I know.”
“You’re gonna get caught. You come here injured all the time. That’s how I guessed.”
Izuku smiled a little. “Kacchan is a special case. No one pays that kind of attention to me.”
Katsuki kissed him again, then pressed smaller kisses on the corner of his mouth and cheek. “I am, but your inventions are getting you noticed. More customers are going to come. Bigger names, higher renown.” Lips whispering over his jawline, down his neck. Hot breath.
“K-Ka—” Izuku stuttered under the blond’s attention.
“And if you get in trouble, then I lose my gear. I have to start going to someone else. That can’t happen, can it?”
This made Izuku stiffen, his eyes focusing. “Right. That can’t happen.”
“You weren’t allowed to get proper hero training when we were kids,” Katsuki said, remembering the rejection letter from their entrance exams as teenagers. Izuku’s disability had ultimately been a barrier for him—the assholes in charge had decided that, despite all evidence to the contrary. Izuku instead enrolled in the program for weapon craftsmanship and found a new way to apply his genius, talent, and deep knowledge of heroes. He had abandoned his dream of being a hero. “That’s why you’re injured so often. Enthusiasm does not make up for a lack of technique and skill.”
Izuku was quiet, the gears in his mind turning.
Katsuki smiled. “What we need is a training regimen.”
Izuku slid back across the roof, his boots scraping against concrete. The pair of shields that fanned out of the forearm of his gauntlets closed with a shivering metallic scrape.
He smiled. The shields weren’t even dented after Katsuki’s firepower.
He didn’t know whether that meant he had done a good job on the shield, or he needed to turn up the heat on Katsuki’s weapon.
Katsuki didn’t give him time to run calculations. He charged in, leaping across the roof effortlessly with his steam-powered boots, and threw a punch at Izuku’s face. Izuku ducked under Katsuki’s arm and grabbed his waist, tackling him to the ground. His bones shuddered as he slammed into the concrete. He tasted blood and dust as he gasped for air.
Katsuki recovered first and locked his knees around Izuku’s hips and rolled on top of him, then grabbed his wrists and handcuffed him above his head.
“Won again,” Katsuki smirked, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The sunset blazed behind Katsuki’s blond hair, a halo that ruffled in the wind. The strings of his leather mask fell forward and traced Izuku’s nose.
The timer went off. A wind-up watch that vibrated in Izuku’s breast pocket.
Izuku closed his eyes. Damn. He had been so close that time. He was supposed to outrun Katsuki and keep from being captured for a whole minute. It was tough. There was a reason Katsuki had so many damn arrests.
Izuku had watched his friend’s potential only multiply since they were children, meeting every challenge with a confidence and determination that made Izuku want to follow in his footsteps. Losing his arm when he was seventeen years old had been merely a switchback in the trail to his dreams, where others saw a barrier. When the world had looked at Katsuki and seen a tragedy, a charity case, or some kind of self-flagellating inspiration, Katsuki had used his two good legs to kick their asses.
When Izuku saw the prosthetic options available to Katsuki at the time—clunky things meant to make Katsuki look abled rather than be functional—Izuku had spent the next year designing the badass gear and prosthetic the future pro hero deserved.
The euphoria from the project blossomed into a longstanding passion. Designing gear had fed his puzzle-hungry mind and hero-loving heart.
“Tackling someone is a risk, ‘Zuku,” Katsuki signed as he spoke aloud, which Izuku appreciated. His left ear roared and ached. He could hear Katsuki from the right well enough, but it took concentration. [Keeping your balance is key, and big moves like that can be useful to throw off your opponent, but you have to be able to follow through fast. You also need to tackle them correctly to avoid causing injuries.]
[If you’re punching me, and I duck—] Izuku signed. [I guess I didn’t know what to do next. Didn’t have time to think.]
His mind spun until he felt Katsuki’s hand press lightly on Izuku’s stomach for balance.
Right.
Kacchan was sitting on him, relaxed as he signed. [We’ll go through different moves until they’re ingrained in you. Muscle memory is damn helpful in a fight. You’re not always going to have time to think.]
Dear god, Kacchan was—ah. Uh-huh. Okay. Izuku was definitely not going to think about the friction or the pressure of Katsuki’s thighs on Izuku’s hips.
Izuku had been trying very hard to be normal about the fact that he and Katsuki had kissed the day before. They hadn’t kissed again yet, and he wanted to very badly,
[Kacchan, could we stand up?] The chilly wind had nothing on Izuku’s heating cheeks.
Katsuki’s eyebrow raised, as if he couldn’t understand Izuku’s fluster, but he stood up and reached out a hand.
“I’ll write out a daily training regimen for you, nerd. You’re going to need to be strong to carry equipment and armor around the city.”
Izuku took his hand, a smile growing on his face. He couldn’t help it—Katsuki taking the time out of his busy schedule to train with him was everything. Besides, seeing Katsuki like this, in his element, was making his heart race. “Thank you, Kacchan!”
Katsuki stared at him for a moment, their hands laced together between them. Izuku was torn between tearing his hands away to sign more flustered gratitude and keeping them right where they were.
Katsuki looked away, his cheeks beginning to match the sunset’s rosy pink. “Well, if you die, who else is going to fix my gear?”
Izuku thought about Katsuki locking his knees around Izuku’s hips during their fight and their kiss the day before. His palms were slick with sweat.
“We’re going again. This time, actually use Blackwhip,” Katsuki ordered.
“It’s not really—I don’t use it for combat—"
“Ugh, don’t make me repeat myself.”
Izuku swallowed. Oh, boy.
He resumed his position across the roof from Katsuki. Katsuki rolled back his shoulders, his blond lashes low as he took in Izuku’s stance.
The city of Ashepoint stretched out behind his old friend so far that Izuku couldn’t see the end of it, sprawling and painted in a sunset that had deepened into purpling twilight. The old clock tower stared at Katsuki’s back, towering buildings and arching churches rising to meet its height and age, but never quite outdoing its simple majesty. Billowing steam fled from trains, steam carriages, and chimneys throughout Ashepoint.
Izuku wound the watch to go off after one minute.
They charged towards each other. Izuku feinted a punch and ducked to the other side. He pointed his gauntlet at Katsuki’s ankle. A black rope ejected from his pointer knuckle and whirled around the ankle and retracted, yanking Katsuki off balance.
Katsuki grunted and stomped on the rope with his other foot and yanked Izuku in closer. He kneed Izuku in the stomach. Izuku groaned, but he didn’t stop—he grabbed Katsuki’s collar and used his other hand to eject Blackwhip again. Five ropes shot from his knuckles and wrapped around Katsuki’s arms and body.
Izuku miscalculated.
He had just adjusted the rope material the day before, and he underestimated exactly how long each grappling rope was.
It wrapped around him, lashing his waist to Katsuki’s, pinning his and Katsuki’s arms to their sides, their ankles tangled together, their stomachs flush to the other’s.
They collapsed and rolled on the ground, tangled in Blackwhip.
“Shit—” Katsuki hissed.
The teeth rattled in Izuku’s skull. His head swam. A wave of dizziness made his skull feel like a clock whose gears had been knocked loose, a ringing rising in his ears. There was a heavy pressure on his chest and legs—Kacchan, maybe?
Katsuki was probably talking to him—there was a faint warbling sound behind the high whine in the air that matched his cadence—but he had closed his eyes. White spots bloomed against the pink tones of his eyelids.
He had been having a good day, dammit, and now he was going to look incompetent in front of Katsuki.
“S-sorry, Kacchan. I’m—I can’t hear you right now. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
Was he ever going to be a hero if this was all it took to put him out of commission? What if he seriously hurt a civilian with Blackwhip like this?
Something warm and soft pressed to his nose.
He cracked open his eyes.
Katsuki was quiet, his eyes flicking over Izuku’s face with scrunched brows.
He kissed Izuku’s nose with such a gentle gaze. Unguarded. So different from the angry, irritated, or sarcastic expressions Katsuki usually bore like a shield.
Pretty, Izuku thought.
The ringing faded to a dull roar, and the dizziness settled into an equilibrium.
“Feeling better?” Katsuki muttered. “You were white as a sheet.”
“Um. Yes?” He was grateful he could hear Katsuki. They wouldn’t be able to sign like this, arms pinned. “Sorry, Kacchan.”
“No more shitty apologies. This is what training is for—wouldn’t want you to have faulty equipment in the field.” He moved his knees to shift his balance more comfortably, one sliding between Izuku’s legs.
“R-right!”
“Every hero in the field has something they have to work through. We just have to train and get to know your limits.”
Izuku took several deep breaths, grounding himself by focusing on the cold concrete pressed against the back of his head and the pressure of Katsuki’s body on Izuku’s.
Oh. Right. That was happening again.
“Kacchan?” They were so close. Less than a breath away. And the fact that Katsuki wasn’t griping about it had not escaped Izuku.
A bead of sweat rolled down Katsuki’s nose. Izuku was sticky everywhere, molten where their hips met.
“You’re getting some color back, now.” Katsuki snorted, something a little smug crossing over his expression. “A little too much.”
“Wh—what?” Izuku babbled as Katsuki leaned in, his breath warm against Izuku’s lips in contrast with the cool breeze that buffeted the roof.
“You better not be capturing any villains like this. That would piss me off.”
“Kacchan, I wouldn’t do this on purpose. I need to recalibrate Blackwhip and practice with it until it’s field-ready—”
He was cut off with a kiss. Izuku was happy to oblige, a bubble of joy and relief bursting behind his chest. Their last kiss had not been a fluke. A mirage. A trick of the universe.
Katsuki’s lips were soft and pliant. Izuku shivered as heat pooled in his gut. Katsuki adjusted his position to get a better angle, and his mouth was hot as it opened against Izuku’s. His tongue pressed into Izuku’s mouth. White heat roiled under Izuku’s skin and clouded his mind like steam.
Izuku pulled back to breathe, then kissed him back, goosebumps running down his arms and chest, their noses bumping as Izuku adjusted his head to kiss him deeper. He wanted to touch Katsuki, but all he could do was flatten his palms on Katsuki’s waist and sink hungry fingers into the fabric hiding muscles and skin.
He was pinned, and he couldn’t touch him, and he also couldn’t pull away from him to let the friction breathe.
“Izuku, if you don’t get this damn rope off of us—” Katsuki’s voice was rough.
They had to escape Blackwhip. Now.
“Yeah. Working on it.”
Katsuki huffed, and then his expression cleared.
“What?”
The blond hesitated. “Could you…disconnect my prosthetic?”
“Uh…yeah.”
He wriggled in the binds, then twisted the bolts and undid a latch near Katsuki’s armpit, and the prosthetic popped off. Blessed with newfound mobility, Katsuki squirmed until he was able to slide free of Blackwhip, and then Izuku was able to follow. Katsuki massaged his stump a little, then picked up the prosthetic and slung it over his shoulder.
Izuku snorted, then started to laugh out loud. The situation was ridiculous, and Katsuki’s deadpan expression as he had removed Blackwhip after so much struggle had been the cherry on top.
“Want me to put it back on, Kacchan?”
“Nah. I’m sore. The light is too low to keep training up here. Let’s head back to your workshop.”
Izuku pressed his lips together. “Will we…pick things up where we left off there?”
Katsuki’s ears were bright pink. “Obviously.”
Katsuki kicked the door to the workshop open, panting. He half-dragged Izuku inside, rainwater dripping down his soaked scalp. Brass shrapnel and loose gears dangled from his shattered prosthetic. He had been tempted several times to cut his losses and drop the prosthetic’s dead weight, but he figured Izuku would want as many pieces as possible.
Izuku’s curls pressed into his neck, his rapid panting tied all too closely to Katsuki’s beating heart. He was pretty sure that if one stopped, the other would soon follow.
“Fucking idiot. Heavy heroic asshole.”
“Nngh.”
“I heard that. No complaining after I carried you all the way back here.”
The workshop was comfort and chaos, the scent of ink and machine oil like a warm blanket. Izuku’s scattered blueprints and tools were a welcome sight after the long journey through cold, lamplit cobblestone streets.
Izuku’s head lolled as he began to slide to the ground, his face sheet-white and his grimace starting to slacken. Katsuki caught him and pulled him closer.
The workaholic-turned-vigilante kept a cot in the back of the workshop, along with medical supplies, food, and storage for tools and equipment.
“We’re so close, ‘Zuku, we’re so close. Hang on, I only got one arm right now. Almost to the cot. Come on, here we go.”
He draped Izuku across the cot and lit the oil lamp. Golden light spilled across the room, and Katsuki grimaced at the jagged, black wound across Izuku’s pant leg.
Their fourth patrol out together had been going so well—they had saved a pair of women from a mugger, stopped a bicyclist from being hit by a steam carriage, and remained completely under the radar the whole time.
However, Izuku had caught three figures sneaking into the clock tower in the wee hours of the night. Katsuki thought it was a couple of teenagers looking to cause mischief, but it had been four villains armed with weapons and explosives.
Even though Izuku and Katsuki were outnumbered, they managed to take them down and leave them to be arrested by the authorities. The villains made sure they would remember them, though.
Izuku had leapt in front of Katsuki to save him after the prosthetic was busted. The villain sliced through Izuku’s leg with a long dagger, and Izuku managed to continue fighting until the blood loss made him collapse.
In what world could anyone think Izuku couldn’t be a hero? Envious morons.
Katsuki patted Izuku’s pale cheek and brushed his hair back. His eyelashes fluttered.
“‘Zuku. ‘Zuku. I need you to stay with me, okay?”
“Mm…You…okay, K-kac...chan?” Izuku’s voice slurred, his eyes opening for a brief second before closing again.
Katsuki thought quickly, his heart squeezing. “No. My prosthetic is broken. I need you to stay awake so you can fix it.”
Izuku nodded. “Yeah. Awake.”
His mouth parted as he went completely slack from unconsciousness.
“Shit.” Helping with the injury would be a lot harder with one arm, but Katsuki knew he could manage it. He grabbed the medical kit and a pair of scissors and got to work.
Tears blurred his vision before he blinked them away fiercely. He would save Izuku. He would not fail.
Izuku had woken up with Katsuki in his bed the last few mornings. It was the loveliest thing in the world—something he had no idea he could love. His desire for personal space and routine was easily overwhelmed by his need to be with Katsuki.
He was very pleased to see that this morning was no different. Except that Katsuki was in a bloody hero costume and had bruises under his eyes, his hair wild. Katsuki’s blood-crusted hand clutched a shaking needle, thread pressed between his lips.
And…everything hurt. His head felt like it had been removed and shaken up in a jar before being screwed back on his neck.
His leg felt…weird. Numb. So much so that he had to lift his head to check if it was still there. He could wiggle his toes—a good sign. His pant leg had been cut open, and there was a long slice from his thigh to his calf. The stitches were neat, and the wound was clean.
“Wha…”
“Lidocaine topical cream. Momo Yaoyorozu makes the best on the market.”
“Kacchan…” Izuku’s chest shuddered. “Thank you.”
“Well.” Katsuki swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing. “Least I could do after you jumped in front of me to save my ass. Idiot.”
“I did?” Izuku’s memories slowly filtered in.
Ah.
He remembered Katsuki’s distress as his prosthetic was shattered by the villain’s iron hammer. The slight knitting of eyebrows and watery eyes as he looked down at the tumbling brass pieces, as if he had been betrayed.
Izuku’s fault.
The prosthetic hadn’t been good enough.
Izuku hadn’t been a good enough partner to stop it.
“Your prosthetic broke,” Izuku said. “I need to make you something sturdier. And…you wouldn’t have lost the prosthetic if I had heard the villains coming. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.”
Katsuki shook his head. “Stupid. You wouldn’t have needed to protect me if I had been faster.”
“Kacchan, they were tough villains! You couldn’t have taken on three of them at once by yourself! I should have—”
“Neither could you, no matter how smart and naturally heroic you fucking are, you dense nerd.” Katsuki pushed back the curls on his forehead and planted a kiss there.
Izuku blinked at him.
“I don’t wanna hear it from you. All I want to hear out of your mouth is a string of serious Z’s.”
“Kacchan—”
“Also, you gotta eat and drink something. You know, you’ve got a whole kitchen’s worth of shit back here.”
Izuku grit his teeth. His stomach flopped at the idea of eating.
“No whinin’.”
“Not hungry. Water, though?”
“Fine.”
Katsuki washed his hands at a dingy work sink and brought Izuku a mug of water.
Katsuki helped him sit up, scooting in behind him to support his back. Izuku’s vision clouded. He was swallowing the parched dryness out of his throat by the time he was able to swallow the cool water down.
Katsuki pressed a kiss to Izuku’s temple. Izuku smiled a little.
He found that he…he loved it. The tender way that Katsuki held him. The kisses, the gentle strokes from his shoulders to his arms and hands.
“Maybe getting injured on patrol isn’t so bad,” he joked out loud.
Katsuki scoffed. “You get hurt doing dumb shit again, and I’ll kill you. I had to carry you here with one arm.”
Izuku grimaced, his guilt rising again. “I’m so sorry.”
“You would do the same for me.”
“Obviously! But—”
“Don’t apologize, then. We got the bad guys, didn’t we? We won.”
Izuku smiled a little. He snuggled into Katsuki’s chest and kissed his shoulder.
“Yeah. We won.”
“Just like I thought we would.”
Izuku chuckled. “I’ll make you a new arm. We can spruce it up with some new design ideas I had.”
“I want bullets to come out of my pointer finger.”
Izuku rolled his eyes. “...I’ll do my best, Kacchan.”
Katsuki held up a pinky finger. [Promise?]
Izuku hooked it with his own. [Promise.]
Katsuki smiled and kissed Izuku, gentle and slow.
Izuku sighed against his mouth. He could get used to this.