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The rain taps on the roof, louder with the window open to let in a little fresh air. Realistically, Izuku should close it; now that he’s sitting on the ground, though, he can’t bring himself to get back up. It’ll be fine while they’re awake. He’ll just remember to close it before they fall asleep so their house doesn’t get broken into.
“Hey.” Katsuki taps him sharply on the forehead, getting him to whip his head forward to face him. He’s scowling, but the divot between his eyebrows is shallow. It’s performative instead of actually angry. “Head out of the clouds, Deku.”
“Sorry.” He smiles at him. “I’m here.”
“Then stop squirming.”
He tries to quiet the energy still thrumming through him, putting conscious effort into not tapping his fingers or toes against the ground, and faces Katsuki as he dabs at the angry cut on his forehead. It’s not big enough to require stitches and not painful enough to necessitate a trip to the hospital, so he’ll just let Katsuki take care of it. They’re close in the low light of the living room—the bulb burnt out a few days ago and neither of them have found the energy to change it yet—and sitting on the floor only a short distance away from each other.
Normally, they keep out of each other’s spaces; on nights like this, after long patrols that scratch at painful memories, neither of them go very far. He sits between Katsuki’s legs outstretched on the floor, Izuku’s knee nudging his ankle on one side, close enough that they can reach out and touch each other.
It’s a rare gift, this closeness. He had to earn it, one drop of blood at a time, and he’s still strangely proud of that. He’s the only one, still, who knows how careful Katsuki’s hands are when they press against his skin, how attentively his eyes glance around his face to find more cuts that he needs to clean up.
“You’re covered in dirt,” he says, which means he didn’t find anything else that’s substantial enough to need help.
“You’re covered in ash,” Izuku retorts. His chest feels tight, still, from close adrenaline, and he shifts his knee so that it brushes Katsuki’s leg. “How’s your ankle?”
“Covered in ash,” Katsuki says, deadpan, and lets his head fall back to rest on the couch behind him. “And fine.”
“You landed on it wrong.”
“I didn’t land on it wrong, I was dodging.”
“Kacchan.” They can bullshit all they want, but when it comes down to it, he needs to know if he’s hurt.
Katsuki huffs, moving his other leg to kick him softly in the side. “Kind of sore. Not sprained, I don’t think.”
“So you need ice.”
“Mm.”
Neither of them moves. The rain picks up a little more, and then subsides in the next instant. Izuku glances at Katsuki curiously, but he doesn’t seem to have heard it. His ears must still be ringing from the explosions so he can’t hear quiet details yet.
“Feel you staring,” Katsuki mumbles.
“What about your arm?” Izuku asks. His fingers are still almost-twitching at his sides. He hasn’t gotten an excuse yet to touch him and it’s making him antsy.
For a long moment, Katsuki doesn’t say anything. Izuku would almost think he’s asleep if not for his fingers drumming on the ground.
“A small scratch,” he says, but shifts his arm so Izuku can reach it.
Izuku pushes up the jacket he had thrown on the moment they got home and prods carefully at the scratch. There are flakes of dried blood, so he grabs a swab and dabs at it to clean it.
Katsuki hisses through his teeth. Izuku softens his touch. “Sorry.”
“It’s nothing.” His eyes are sharp in the dark, still analyzing, unable to wind down yet. He leans forward and motions for Izuku to lean in. “The dirt on your face is bugging me.”
Another excuse. Izuku doesn’t call him on it and listens without argument. Katsuki’s fingers are gentle and slightly warm from using his quirk for so long, wiping at the dirt on his cheeks with only a whisper of a touch. It feels fond. It makes Izuku’s throat tight. Earned, that voice in the back of his head whispers, you bled for this moment.
He should tell him that, maybe. One of these nights. How much it matters to him, not just living together but being together like this. Quiet like he didn’t think Katsuki was able to be before he changed, soft as he wasn’t certain he was capable of after a war.
“Breathe,” Katsuki reminds him, tapping on his cheek. “Come back.”
Izuku’s smile comes a little easier, this time. “Sorry. It’s… going to be a bad night, I think.”
Katsuki narrows his eyes at him, thinking, and then drops his gaze back to Izuku’s chin. “So sleep on the couch.”
He shouldn’t push, he should be satisfied with this closeness and nothing more, but… “There’s a special on the origin of the Hero Commission that I recorded.”
Katsuki laughs a little. “That’ll make us fall asleep for sure.”
Us. Izuku feels the prickle start to subside, just a bit, and puts a bandage over the cut on his arm and smooths it down. “I’ll get ice. Help me up?”
Katsuki pulls on his arm, and he’s able to lever himself up into standing. That Katsuki doesn’t immediately follow him means the ankle hurts worse than he’s letting on. He’ll get a big ice pack.
Izuku hesitates at the window. It’s still raining. He should close it, but it also relaxes the tension and adrenaline out of his shoulders. It’s not safe, for Pro Heroes to sleep with the windows open…
But he and Katsuki, together, are safe. At least for until they go to sleep. Then he’ll close the window.
He grabs the ice, a couple cookies that Uraraka sent them, and a towel, and makes his way back into the living room. “Here. You can roll it up to elevate your ankle.”
“Thanks.” He yawns, leaning back against the couch, and pats the ground next to him. “I need to lean on you.”
It’s a peace offering, a transparent one, but Izuku is too grateful to call him on it. He sinks down next to him and flicks on the TV, passing him a cookie. “Let me know when you need a new ice pack.”
Katsuki glances at him—transparent, the look says—but lets it lie. Their shoulders brush, and the special starts up in a low monotone that immediately makes his eyes heavy, and Izuku lets his head fall back against the couch too.
The rain taps a steady rhythm against the roof, and a breeze brushes the back of his neck like a gentle hand, and he exhales. In, out. He’s safe, and Katsuki is safe.
They survived another day, and that’s all that matters until the sun comes up tomorrow.