Chapter Text
Morning sunlight slipped through the gap between the curtains, painting a thin golden line across the bedroom floor.
Izuku Midoriya woke slowly.
For a few seconds, he didn't move.
He simply stared at the ceiling, still half trapped between sleep and consciousness, until the familiar warmth beside him reminded him where he was.
His husband was sleeping on his side, facing away from him.
Bakugou Katsuki.
Even after years of being together, Izuku still found something strangely comforting about waking up beside him.
Especially because Katsuki looked completely different when he slept.
No scowl.
No shouting.
No explosive temper.
Just messy blond hair, relaxed shoulders, and a faint crease between his eyebrows that never seemed to disappear entirely.
Izuku smiled.
Then he noticed something.
Katsuki shifted.
His face tightened.
A quiet groan escaped him.
Izuku's smile disappeared immediately.
"Kacchan?"
No answer.
"Katsuki?"
"Hn."
"You awake?"
"No."
Izuku blinked.
"You're answering me."
"I'm answering you while asleep."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"Shut up."
Izuku couldn't help smiling.
There he was.
His grumpy husband.
He carefully moved closer and rested a hand against Katsuki's shoulder.
"How are you feeling today?"
Katsuki's eyes opened halfway.
"Fine."
"You sure?"
"I'm always fine."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
Izuku sighed.
He had been asking that question more often lately.
Over the past few weeks, Katsuki hadn't exactly been himself.
Nothing dramatic.
At least, nothing that either of them could identify as serious.
He had been getting tired faster.
Some mornings, he woke up looking exhausted despite sleeping for hours.
A few times he'd complained about feeling nauseous.
His appetite had become unpredictable too. One day he'd eat enough for three people, and the next he'd stare at breakfast like it had personally offended him.
There had even been a couple of mornings when he'd simply gone back to bed after getting dressed.
Katsuki insisted it was nothing.
Work was busy.
Training was exhausting.
Patrol schedules were brutal.
And, according to Katsuki, Izuku was "overthinking everything."
Which was probably true.
Izuku had a tendency to worry.
Especially when it came to Katsuki.
"Your health hasn't been great lately," Izuku said quietly.
Katsuki rolled onto his back.
"I'm tired."
"You've been tired for weeks."
"Because I'm working."
"So am I."
"You don't see me complaining about you."
"You complain about me every day."
"Exactly."
Izuku laughed softly.
Katsuki's expression softened for half a second.
Then he looked away.
"I'll be fine."
Izuku studied him.
He wanted to argue.
Instead, he leaned down and kissed Katsuki's forehead.
"Okay."
Katsuki glanced at him.
"Why'd you say it like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like you don't believe me."
"I don't."
"Dammit, Deku."
Izuku laughed again.
Katsuki shoved his face away.
"Get up."
"Good morning to you too."
"We're training."
"It's six-thirty."
"And?"
"And normal people are asleep."
"We aren't normal."
"Fair point."
Katsuki threw the blanket off.
Five minutes later, they were in the training area.
Their mornings had become routine after marriage.
Exercise first.
Breakfast afterward.
Then showers, work preparation, patrol schedules, and arguing over who had forgotten to buy groceries.
It was ordinary.
Comfortably ordinary.
Izuku liked it.
He liked coming home to Katsuki.
He liked finding Katsuki's shoes kicked off beside the entrance.
He liked their arguments over the thermostat.
He liked Katsuki stealing food from his plate despite having ordered the exact same thing.
He liked the quiet moments most.
The moments nobody else saw.
Like Katsuki leaning against him after a long day.
Or falling asleep on the couch while pretending he wasn't tired.
Or waking up beside him every morning.
Today was no different.
At least, neither of them knew that yet.
They started with stretching.
Katsuki moved smoothly through the routine, although Izuku noticed him pause briefly.
"You okay?"
"Yes."
"You stopped."
"I was adjusting my footing."
"You looked dizzy."
"I wasn't."
"Kacchan—"
"I'm fine."
Izuku frowned.
Katsuki glared.
They stared at each other.
"...Fine," Izuku muttered.
"Good."
Training continued.
Explosions echoed through the training area as Katsuki launched himself across the field.
Izuku followed.
For the next hour, everything felt normal.
Almost.
Katsuki was slightly slower than usual.
Not enough to concern anyone who didn't know him.
But Izuku knew him.
He knew exactly how fast Katsuki normally moved.
He noticed.
He simply couldn't explain it.
Eventually, Katsuki landed beside him and wiped sweat from his forehead.
"Breakfast."
Izuku nodded.
"Breakfast."
They headed inside.
Their kitchen was small but comfortable, filled with the familiar sounds of married life.
Cabinet doors.
Running water.
The clatter of plates.
Katsuki cooked.
Izuku prepared drinks.
That division of labor had been established after their third attempt at cooking together had nearly destroyed the kitchen.
"Don't burn the eggs," Izuku said.
Katsuki slowly turned around.
"Who burned the eggs last time?"
"You did."
"Who forgot to turn the stove off?"
"...You."
"Exactly."
Izuku laughed.
Breakfast was simple.
Eggs.
Toast.
Fruit.
Rice and grilled fish for Katsuki because, according to him, toast wasn't a real breakfast.
They sat across from each other.
Katsuki ate quietly.
Then suddenly stopped.
Izuku looked up.
"Kacchan?"
Katsuki stared at his plate.
"What?"
"You stopped eating."
"I'm not hungry anymore."
"You were hungry five minutes ago."
"I changed my mind."
Izuku tilted his head.
Katsuki pushed the plate away.
"Stop looking at me."
"I'm not doing anything."
"You're staring."
"I'm worried."
"I'm fine."
There it was again.
That answer.
Izuku sighed.
"Maybe we should see Recovery Girl after work."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not sick."
"Then why have you been feeling terrible for weeks?"
Katsuki opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
He didn't have an answer.
Finally, he grabbed his drink.
"Because I'm exhausted."
Izuku accepted it.
For now.
Neither of them thought anything more of it.
They couldn't.
There was nothing obvious to connect.
No one suspected anything.
Not their friends.
Not their colleagues.
Not even Katsuki himself.
By late morning, they were dressed and preparing to leave.
Izuku adjusted his gloves.
Katsuki checked his gauntlets.
Their communicator suddenly beeped.
Both looked toward it.
A message appeared.
URGENT HERO RESPONSE REQUEST.
Katsuki immediately picked it up.
Izuku read over his shoulder.
"Industrial district," Izuku said.
"Yeah."
"Multiple villains."
"Looks like it."
Izuku's expression became serious.
"Backup?"
Katsuki read the assignment details.
"Another team is being dispatched."
"Good."
Katsuki grabbed his jacket.
Izuku looked at him.
"Wait."
"What?"
"You heard the part about backup, right?"
Katsuki rolled his eyes.
"I can read."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
"Kacchan."
Katsuki walked over and adjusted Izuku's collar.
"You worry too much."
"And you don't worry enough."
"That's why we're married."
Izuku blinked.
Katsuki smirked.
Then kissed him quickly.
"Come on, nerd."
Izuku smiled despite himself.
"Coming."
They left together.
Neither of them knew that this morning—the ordinary breakfast, the teasing, the argument, the kiss at the door—would soon become one of the memories they would desperately wish they could return to.
Because neither husband knew that there had been three people in that kitchen that morning.
And neither of them knew that by the end of the day, there would be only two.