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Izuku’s on the couch when Katuski gets home. There is a mop of green hair peeking out from the top of a blanket, which rises and falls with Izuku’s smooth, deep breaths.
He’s not asleep. Katsuki knows what Izuku’s breathing looks like when he’s actually asleep, versus when he’s just drifting…when he’s in too much pain or with too much on his mind to actually drop off. Still, Katsuki is quiet as he lowers his eyes and toes off his shoes. He pads lightly across the living room, sliding his hand into the top of Izuku’s curls.
Izuku makes a noise not unlike an awoken cat, three-quarters to the wind. Katsuki scratches at his scalp, and one of Izuku’s hands comes out to fumble for Katsuki’s shirt, his fingers closing on the fabric without any intent to let go.
“I need that, asshole,” Katsuki says without heat, wanting to recoil from his own fondness.
Izuku murmurs something in reply, wiggling so that his eyes peer out from the top of the blanket. They are tired, clouded over with something.
Katsuki sighs. “One to ten?”
Izuku blinks at him, slow and sleepy and really not there. Katsuki counts in his mind, waiting for a reply.
“Eight?” Izuku says, the words slurring. “Comes after seven, right?”
Katsuki snorts. The nerd is fucking out of it. “Migraine?”
“Mmph,” Izuku replies, his eyes shutting. He breathes deeply, and Katsuki holds onto that. Despite all of the—all of the things that have happened to them, and the constant pain that always bites at Izuku’s heels—there’s the scratch of Izuku’s curls under his palm, the heat from Izuku’s body next to him, and the breaths telegraphed so clearly, even to Katsuki’s drifting focus.
Izuku is here. Katsuki is here. All is well.
“Have you taken any meds for it?” Katsuki asks eventually.
Izuku shakes his head, clears his throat. “Barely had time to get to the couch before it hit.”
God, this fucking nerd is incapable of taking care of himself. “Do you want them now?”
Another shake, and then a tug from the hand on Katsuki’s chest. Katsuki stops petting Izuku’s hair and grips him by the shoulders to pull him up. Izuku makes a vague noise of protest, but stops once he realizes Katsuki’s sitting down on the couch. Katsuki snorts as he settles and guides Izuku back down to rest, head in his lap. Sometimes all Izuku needs is Katsuki, and that knowledge is—it’s. Something. He still never really believes it. Has to relearn it every time.
They sit there for a while. Katsuki lets himself drift in the afternoon lull, his head on the back of the couch, Izuku a comforting weight on his legs. Izuku isn’t quite asleep, but it’s rest all the same, and Katsuki is hoping it’ll be enough to pull him through the rest of the day. By the time his stomach is whining for his attention, Izuku finally stirs.
He’s clumsy, movement stilted as he sits up, eyes squinted shut. Katsuki wishes he’d thought to close the blinds, if only so Izuku didn’t make that disgusting lemon-swallowing face and ruin the perfectly good afternoon...
Izuku stands up suddenly.
“Izuku?” Katsuki questions immediately. He darts forwards to put his hands around his waist, stabilizing the dumbass as he trips over the coffee table.
“Need…hnng, bathroom.”
Katsuki doesn’t let him continue to fumble his way out of the living room. Instead, he picks Izuku up and carries him over so that he doesn’t have to witness more furniture crimes. Izuku’s eyes are still shut, and Katsuki can see his veins on the thin skin of his eyelids. He’s flushed, red cheeks on a pale face. Sickly.
God, Katsuki fucking hates seeing Izuku sick.
He shoves the bathroom door open and somehow manages to get the toilet seat up by the time that Izuku is gagging. Katsuki winces, rubbing circles on his back and holding back his curls with a hand on Izuku’s forehead.
“Wanna die,” Izuku murmurs, the words muffled against the porcelain.
Katsuki huffs out a laugh at the melodrama, but reassures him nonetheless, because otherwise Izuku is going to be crying on top of being on the floor of the bathroom and that’s all going to be Katsuki’s fucking problem. “I've got you, it'll be okay."
It terrifies him how much he means that. Not that the nerd probably gets it, but.
“Still wanna die,” Izuku replies with conviction, and Katsuki bites back his smile.
“Not gonna happen. If you go, I’m going with you, which means Edgeshot will be fuckin’ pissed and Auntie will fuckin’ hate me.”
It takes a while for Izuku’s stomach to settle, and Katsuki helps him rinse out his mouth in the sink and change into clothes that aren’t sticky with sweat. He pushes Izuku into bed, defeating Izuku’s complaints with sheer stubbornness. Izuku’s too weak to really fight him about it, like this. Can only lean on Katsuki as he strips the bed and replaces the sheets. Katsuki none too kindly bundles Izuku up in the blankets and bullies the blinds closed.
He hates evenings like this, with Izuku and pain and nothing for it. Izuku would be inclined to agree, if he was cognizant enough for thought. But also, Katsuki feels that this penance, this making sure the nerd doesn’t waste away crying into the toilet, and taking care of him when his arm damage flares up again, and holding him when the nightmares haunt him most nights… it's deserved. Katsuki spent so many years running away from Izuku and his feelings, from what they have between them.
He wouldn’t wish pain on Izuku for this, ever, but it does serve as a kind of atonement that Katsuki wants to, needs to pay. Katsuki will serve as long as Izuku is taking his favor. As long as Izuku will have him.
It’s been a few years since the—since everything went down. The war did a goddamn number on Izuku’s body, even if Izuku had tried his best to avoid any irreparable damage towards the end. But if Katsuki hears one more thing about Gearshift, it’ll be too damn soon. None of Japan deserves everything that Izuku has given up for it, and he’s still beefing with One for All’s vestiges about what does and doesn't constitute as appropriate sacrifices during wartime. But at least it’s behind them, mostly, even if it’s taken years for Katsuki to pick up the pieces of the green little shithead currently swathed in three blankets in their bedroom.
Their bedroom. Katsuki sighs as he starts an easy dinner for the two of them. Izuku probably won’t be able to eat it yet, but at least it’ll be there for later. Katsuki’s dominance of the kitchen was something he wouldn’t budge on, and Izuku had conceded to getting a proper one when they were apartment hunting (god, they went apartment hunting, it was so domestic and Katsuki didn’t know how to fucking handle—)
Anyway. Dinner is another offering Katsuki can leave at Izuku’s side like he’s a fucking shrine, which is embarrassing as hell, especially when Izuku cries and insists it’s a love language and gets fucking sappy about it, but it’s kind of. Nice, to finally get to do this, or hold his hand, or whatever.
He sighs once he’s finished cooking, quietly turning the stove off and portioning himself out a plate. To Izuku, he brings only a bowl of plain rice, because that asshole will absolutely not keep anything else down with a migraine. At least it’s easy.
When Katsuki returns to deliver his oblation, Izuku’s hand darts out and just grabs Katsuki’s shirt again to drag him in next to him. Katsuki huffs. Typical. He sets the plate and bowl aside so that he can give in to Izuku’s demands. When he does, Izuku snuggles into him until his nose is in the crook of Katsuki’s neck, effectively trapping him. Katsuki just presses a kiss to his crown and settles in. The food’ll get cold, but their hearts are warm or some shit, so it’s probably okay.
Izuku murmurs some horrible, three-word phrase, and it feels a little fucking incredible. It feels like absolution. It feels like a four-letter word that Katsuki refuses to name, but will give to Izuku anyway.