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Katsuki didn't quite remember how he got out on the freezing street under the harsh, strobing lights from emergency vehicles. All he knew was that his head was killing him, his right arm was definitely broken again, and he was bleeding from his hairline.
Suddenly an agitating, grating voice pulled him from his stupor.
“ –cchan? Kacchan?! Kacchan, wake up, or so help me-”
Katsuki looked up to see an all too familiar face hovering over him, eyes wide with worry. It was just Izuku. There was something odd, however.
He wasn't wearing his designated hero suit. He was clad in bits and pieces of Katsuki's hero costume. A large, black and gray gauntlet sat on his left arm. The signature orange belt with grenades was wrapped around his waist, slightly strained because Katsuki was smaller than Izuku in that particular area. The boots, however, were too big it seemed, and the sharp knee pads had clearly been hastily applied.
Izuku was beaten up, obviously having just come from a battle. His chest rose and fell in labored breaths, his hair was messy, and sweat rolled down his forehead. Katsuki had no idea what on earth had prompted him to cobble together this costume instead of wearing his multi-million dollar suit.
“The hell? Izuku?”
“Oh, you're awake! Thank goodness!”
He blinked away a few tears, but still remained over Katsuki like a vulture.
“Why're you in my… clothes?”
It was difficult to tell in the chaotic scene around them, but he imagined he saw Izuku blush.
“I– um… Kacchan's gonna kill me.”
“Spit it out.”
“We—well, you know how we were in your agency? A bomb went off in the street, and you ran out to help without your gear, but then a second one detonated and knocked you out. I had just come from work and didn't realize I… left my suit at U.A. Which I know is irresponsible and I am so, so sorry! But I didn't have much choice! I saw you get knocked out, and I needed some sort of weapon, so I ran and grabbed the first gear I could find. Kacchan taught me how to use his gauntlets back in high-school, and even though the design is much more advanced, I could still work them–”
“Oi, you're muttering, idiot. And keep it down, would ya?”
Izuku's mouth snapped shut guiltily. Katsuki did his best to sit up, but he was kept down by a firm, gloved hand.
“Stay still, Kacchan. You hit your head. The paramedics will be here soon.”
“I can sit up–”
“No, you know the protocol.”
“Asshole,” Katsuki slurred. Izuku peered down at him with more concern.
Then, in a move which would haunt Katsuki's nights for the next twenty million years, Izuku shifted slightly onto his knees. Taking care to avoid the sharp kneepads, he lifted Katsuki with little effort so that he was propped up on his thighs.
The world was spinning around him in a nauseating carousel, but Izuku's face remained perfectly steady. The lights from the cop cars caught in his eyes, swimming in pools of endless green. Was Katsuki really this down bad for the man, or was his head injury truly that severe?
On cue, his heart monitor began to beep. Izuku gently took Katsuki's arm to inspect it, which did nothing to help his blood pressure.
“It says your heart rate is elevated, Kacchan.”
“Well I just got my shit rocked in the street,” he bluffed. “Seriously, how the hell did an explosion knock me out?”
“It wasn't the actual explosion. It was a piece of concrete from a building. You're lucky you aren't worse off. I'm still worried about a brain bleed. Do you feel cold?”
Not at all. Katsuki felt very, very warm.
“Nah.”
“Good,” Izuku hummed. Was he threading his fingers through Katsuki's hair?
“What are ya doin? Playin’ hair dresser?”
“I'm checking your scalp for lacerations, Kacchan,” he replied sternly. His eyebrows were furrowed in their signature determined concentration. Katsuki found that insufferably hot. His throat felt dry, but that could be from the dust of the impact site, too. He chose to believe the latter.
Without a choice to do much else, Katsuki relaxed against Izuku and tried to think of anything but their molten proximity and his pounding head. Selfishly, he wondered what the tabloids would think of this. Izuku, cradling him in the street and wearing parts from his hero costume? Surely that had to look suspicious. He felt certain that Izuku would interpret all these things as strictly platonic, though, which left a sour taste in his mouth.
“Kacchan is so silly sometimes. What were you thinking? Running out without your gear?”
“You left your suit at U.A., dumbass!”
Izuku smiled dryly.
“Fine, fine. You got me there. I was just so terrified when I saw you fall, and then the villains were still in the area, so I had to tend to that before I could properly check on you. I made sure you were breathing, but that's all I had time for.”
His lips pursed in an unhappy pout.
“You fought villains?”
“I mean, sort of? I managed to fire off a few shots to hold them off until some other pros arrived.”
“So you fought off villains in gear that wasn't even yours.”
“It wasn't that impressive or anything, anyone could have done it…”
“Izuku, those gauntlets ricochet so hard they've dislocated my shoulders before. If you don't use proper technique, you're screwed. Ask Pikachu.”
“He used them?”
“One time when he was drunk and I was asleep. His ass ended up at the urgent care, too.”
Izuku chuckled in mild horror.
“What you did was metal as hell. I hope there's video.”
“Kacchan!”
“I wanna see it. I bet it's badass.”
“You have a concussion.”
“ ‘S why you're the only person I ever taught how to use ‘em.”
Izuku went quiet for a moment.
“R–really? Not even Kirishima?”
“Nope. Only you.”
More silence, and this time it stretched on for so long that Katsuki risked peeking up at Izuku. The teacher's face was definitely flushed now, but there was something dark in his eyes.
“Everythin’ ok?”
“Yeah, sorry.”
He ran his hand through Katsuki's hair again, but this time it stopped just at the base of his skull. He felt Izuku's thumb graze the shell of his ear. Katsuki wasn't sure if he was checking for more injuries or not, and he couldn't ask because his tongue had turned into cotton. Izuku proceeded to lightly rub his finger back and forth. Katsuki's delusional mind called the action possessive, like Izuku was a fierce dragon hoarding its most prized treasure.
“ ‘Zuku?” he asked again. Slamming into the concrete had made him brave, apparently. Or stupid. Really stupid.
Izuku looked down and cocked his head to the side. His face had dust caked on it, and there was a bit of blood running from his nose. He smelled like sweat and dirt and smoke, but most importantly the sweet smell of nitroglycerin hung around him, distinctly belonging to Katsuki. His breathing had slowed, so now the rise and fall of his diaphragm didn't make Katsuki's head hurt as badly. Maybe that's why he felt simultaneously bold and sleepy.
“You look hot as hell in my gear,” Katsuki stated plain as day, a smug smirk creeping across his face despite the pain that radiated up his jaw. “Should wear it more often.”
Now that he'd finally said what was on his mind, Katsuki thought a nap sounded nice. Izuku disagreed.
“Kacchan. Kacchan. Wake up. Hey! You can't fall asleep, okay? EMTs are almost here.”
Katsuki groaned and rolled his eyes, only to realize his eyelids were still shut.
“Baby, you have to open your eyes or I'm going to have to shine a flashlight in them.”
Baby?
That was enough to make Katsuki feel wide awake, like someone had shot adrenaline into every vein in his body.
“ ‘M awake.”
“Good. Stay that way.”
“Did you just call me baby?”
“Uh–”
“Hero Deku! Sorry it took us so long!”
Like magic, Izuku's eyes lost all the depth of some foreign emotion and regained the cheery light that was tied to his iconic hero persona.
“I understand. Dynamight needs immediate attention.”
“Your attention,” Katsuki grumbled unthinkingly. Judging by the way Izuku's chest constricted, he heard that comment, but the medical personnel were too focused to care. Slowly and carefully, they sat him up from Izuku's lap, and only then did Katsuki feel cold.