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Kacchan was being mean. Exceptionally mean. More mean than usual.
“Come here you big baby.”
Izuku crosses his arms, gaze glued to the kitchen counter.
“I already said that I was sorry, didn’t I?”
Sorry didn’t cut it this time.
There's a sigh, and Kacchan rises from the couch. “Look. That was an asshole move. I’m sorry. But I think he’ll live, Izuku.”
That was so easy for him to say. He didn’t have to— he just didn’t know.
“I know you get defensive over—” Izuku cuts him off with a frown. “...I’m sorry. I am. But I’m only apologizing to you, not him.”
“You must not really mean it, then.”
Kacchan sighs again, at his words, and steps into the kitchen. Izuku can’t believe he brought it up to his dad, his dad, so casually but as antagonistic as possible, like it was nothing, like there were no consequences, like he knew better than Izuku. He’d had these odd little theories for a while, but Izuku never thought they would be addressed at the source. (What a blessing it was that he didn't push further. Of course— he’d find nothing. Nothing at all. But thank god he didn’t have the chance).
With careful hands, Kacchan pulls Izuku’s face against his shoulder. He eases out the tension of his upper back. “To be honest, I could care less about apologizing to that bastard. But I’m not out here trying to upset you. ‘Kinda vowed not to do that. So yeah, I am sorry. I do mean it.”
“Mmmph.”
Kacchan rubs his back. “I mean it, Izuku.”
“Mmmph.”
Kacchan’s affection was a sacred thing. Not given out for free, just for those he chooses. A special, hand picked pool of people. Very special.
Izuku was a part of it, of course. He was Kacchan’s husband. If there was a list, or Kacchan had to ration out his care, Izuku would be the priority. It was sweet. It felt good. It was unbelievable.
Apologies from Kacchan were just as sacred. Izuku had gotten the first (“Saying this out loud doesn’t change a thing, but it’s how I feel. Izuku…I’m sorry, for everything” ). He’s gotten many more since then.
Tonight's apology was…new?
“Stand still. Yeah. Yeah, a little bit to the left. Ok. Smile.” Kacchan grins like a maniac behind his phone, eyes squinted. “Holy shit. You look so fucking dumb.”
“Kacchan!” Izuku squawks, pulling down on the bottom of the jacket with a frown. He’d been forced into this, and now he was being downright harassed.
“Fine, fine. Don’t act like this is torture, you’ll be freaking the fuck out over everything once we get there.”
“You still haven’t told me what we’re doing!” Kacchan ignores Izuku’s whines, stepping closer and pulling up the hood of Izuku’s jacket. It was, undeniably, something Izuku would buy of his own accord, would cherish in his All Might collection, would adore and wear as much as he possibly could…under normal circumstances.
But as the floppy front pieces of the hood fall in front of his face, Izuku can’t help but pout. The All Might jacket wasn’t the whole surprise, but Kacchan sure seemed to be getting a kick out of it. It was full on costume-accurate, the brightest colors imaginable, and so soft inside that Izuku couldn’t fathom wanting to ever take it off, even with this teasing. It was the perfect trap, Kacchan had thought things out so well.
With one last snap of his camera, Kacchan reaches up to rub Izuku’s cheek. “You’re gonna like it. I promise. And you…look cute.”
Izuku smiles slightly. “If you say so, Kacchan.”
As they step out the door, Izuku feels slightly soothed by the matching jacket Kacchan adorned. Matching sort of. While Izuku’s was a replica of All Might’s golden age costume, Kacchan's jacket was a replica of Izuku’s hero suit. He’d seen merch of himself, of course, and Kacchan had even bought some of it before, but he drew the line at clothing. Kacchan cared a lot about his clothes.
He must have set aside his pride for tonight. Izuku’s theory is confirmed when he sees the full surprise. The opening night of a new hero museum exhibit, V.I.P passes and all. Crowds and crowds of people, and yet Kacchan still wore the bright jacket, held Izuku’s hand, and led him through the sea of plaques and glass display cases.
It was a pretty good apology.
When they pass the threshold of their apartment, Izuku breathes in the familiar scent of their lives and hums happily. The museum had been nice. As far as surprises come, it was worth it.
But Kacchan had gotten hungry, and then he’d gotten grouchy, and the crowds had gotten too much for both of them, though for different reasons. Izuku had his fill of hero memorabilia and battle recordings, so they left.
Kacchan yawns as he steps through the door after him, tossing off the hoodie and chucking it at Izuku’s head. He catches it with a lopsided grin, watching reverently as Kacchan stretches his arms above his head with another yawn, a sliver of stomach exposed.
“What do you wanna eat?”
“Um…Kacchan can just heat up leftovers.” Izuku bunches up the hoodie in his arms, pulling off his shoes.
Once Kacchan has slid into his slippers, he stomps into the kitchen. “We’ve got…curry. That good?”
“Mhm!”
The apartment warms with the smell of spices and beef as Kacchan warms the curry on the stove (he didn’t believe in microwaves). Izuku slips into pajamas, the material soft and worn, and ties his hair up out of his face.
Izuku could just melt as he settles into the couch cushions, blanket up to his chest, and he hears the clatter of a ladle against a ceramic bowl. When Kacchan joins him on the couch, settling a bowl into his lap, he tilts his head back and lets the smell, the steam, curl around his face.
“‘Was no rice,” Kacchan says with a full mouth, “n’ go to the store ‘morrow.”
Izuku nods, closing his eyes for a moment. Kacchan nudges his leg, grumbling about wasted food, so Izuku straightens up and takes a bite.
It was Kacchan’s cooking, so it was, of course, nothing but the best.
After clearing his throat, Kacchan taps his spoon against his bowl and glances at Izuku. “You had fun, right?” The slight waver of his voice makes Izuku’s brows crease.
“Of course. Kacchan knows me so well.”
“...yeah. Good. I wanted to—” he looks down at a piece of sliced chive floating in the curry. “I had to make it up to you. I am sorry.”
“...um. Thank you. It’s not—”
Kacchan gives him a steely look. “Important? Because I think it is. I upset you, so I apologized. That's how it's supposed to be.” Somehow, even when reading Izuku’s mind, Kacchan was so compassionate with him. He could always tell what he would say, what idea he had to counter, and he was so patient about it. Hm.
“Ok, Kacchan. But, I did have fun. It was— it was cool.”
“Damn right.” His spoon makes small circles in the bowl. “And…I won’t try to confront Hisashi like that again. I was being impulsive.”
Ah.
“He— I may have an issue with… It doesn’t matter. The way I did it was wrong. I won’t do it again. Learned my lesson. Now would you stop pouting every time I bring him up?”
Izuku takes a breath, inhales the smell, feels the warm bowl in his hands. What's done is done, he guesses. Apologizing was about as close as you could get to fixing the past.
“Yes. Yeah. It’s fine now.”
There's a short lapse of silence, and then Kacchan nods. He shifts closer on the couch, pressing their arms together, and spoons a bite of his own curry into Izuku’s mouth. “Eat. Don’t waste all this shit.”
Izuku mechanically chews, leaning his head inwards towards Kacchan. The blonde wipes at his bottom lip, cleaning some invisible mess, and then leans forward, nose brushing against Izuku’s.
His first kiss is hesitant, slow, but when Izuku reaches forward to grip onto his shirt, he hums against their joined lips and presses deeper. His bowl of curry balances precariously in his lap as he lifts both of his hands to cradle Izuku’s face.
He’s fervent, now, breathing hot against Izuku’s mouth as Izuku does his best to savor each puff of air. The kiss tastes like curry and medicated chapstick, but underneath it all it's just Kacchan. Human, musky, something familiar like the smell of his own skin. Dull and mundane enough that it comforted him, but then hot and lit on fire with some pulsing need.
Izuku moans softly as Kacchan’s fingers tangle in his hair, and he forces his tongue past Izuku’s lips. He welcomes him, gratefully, worshiping each bit of Kacchan’s saliva like it would seep into his gums, into his bloodstream, and cure all his ails.
When Kacchan pulls away, lips red, his eyes trace each one of Izuku’s features with slow, intentional care. “I love you.”
“Love you too,” Izuku murmurs, already missing the warmth against his lips. Kacchan pecks his forehead, smoothing out his hair where he had ruffled it with eager fingers, and then presses another spoonful of curry to Izuku’s lips.
It’s warm, too, but not like Kacchan’s mouth.
Kacchan eventually rises to take their bowls away, washing them on the spot out of his dedicated hate for piled up messes. Izuku waits patiently against the couch cushions until his weight is pressed against his side again, arm slung over the back of the couch, fingers grazing Izuku’s shoulder. Safe. Small.
“Kacchan, did you get pictures of the commemorative All Might bust?”
Fingers tap against the screen of Kacchan’s phone as he frowns in thought. “Yeah. Knew your nerd ass would wanna see.”
He passes over the phone and Izuku grins, staring in amazement, once again, at the smooth bronze, the resin, the details of the pedestal it sat atop. He scrolls to the next one—a plaque about the first implementation of quirk-assisting hero gear—and then there are some pictures of the outdoor section of the gallery. And…
Kacchan snatches back the phone as Izuku swipes down to see the rest of the photos, but not before the image can burn into his corneas. It's him. A lot of him. His own ugly face, the bright colors of the jacket, the back of his head as he looked up at a display.
“You saw the pictures already,” Kacchan grumbles, pressing the phone into the arm of the couch. Izuku blinks at him, mouth dry.
“They’re all of me.”
“Hah?”
“They’re—”
“I heard what you said,” Kacchan looks up to the ceiling, the tips of his ears crimson. “None of your business what I take photos of.”
The words are not hostile or endearing but they still make Izuku feel a certain way. “It— it’s my business when it’s me, isn’t it?”
“No.”
He huffs, leaning forward so his face is close to Kacchan’s. “It’s embarrassing.”
“What, for your husband to have photos of you on his phone?”
“Yes!”
Kacchan looks at him, slightly amused, maybe slightly endeared, a grin fighting its way onto his face. “Yeah? Well, let me really embarrass you.” He reaches up, squeezing Izuku’s face in one small palm, eyes narrowed like he knew exactly what he was doing. “You were the most interesting thing there. I’d rather look at you all day than any of that nerdy shit. You’re fuckin’ beautiful.”
Ah. Ah.
“And if you’ve got a problem with that, I guess I’ll just have to say it again and again ‘till you believe me. Because I’m never wrong. Got it?”
It’s commanding and egotistical and a little mean, and Izuku is already half-hard.
“Yes, Kacchan.”
Kacchan presses his knee forward, grinding it between Izuku’s legs. “Good boy.”