Work Text:
The door creaked under Izuku’s fingers, and he froze.
Katsuki, from inside the room, looked at him over his reading glasses (and Izuku’s heart stuttered, even in this state, at how devastating Katsuki looked in them), then back down to his book, expression unchanging in the low lamp light even as he reached out an arm to flip the outer edge of the comforter down — and oh, Izuku noted, he was already situated on the side of the bed farthest from the door.
Izuku closed the door behind him and padded over to the bed quietly, shivering a little, clutching his All Might pillow. He slipped under the covers with only slightly shaking hands, which he was proud of himself for, and got comfortable while he watched Kacchan set his book down on the bedside table, followed by his reading glasses.
Izuku stared helplessly at the way Kacchan’s soft sleep shirt shifted over his shoulders and back muscles as he reached out to turn the lamp off, plunging them into darkness. A dark made comfortable by Kacchan’s warm body next to him, not a half foot away.
Izuku couldn’t see him, eyes not yet adjusted to the lack of light, but he could feel the shape of Kacchan’s form in the bed with him the same way one feels the presence of their own limbs in the dark. A trust, a faith, an inherent Knowing. Izuku knew he was there, within reach, and that was enough. That would have to be enough.
The buzzing under his skin had already calmed minutely, even if he still trembled a little. This would have to be enough. He couldn’t ask more of Kacchan, not again.
Kacchan made some muffled grunts as he shuffled into a comfortable position under the covers, the noises seeming to echo in the otherwise silent room, before laying still.
Katsuki did not bid him goodnight. It was already so much, Izuku figured, that he welcomed him here, let him into his bed, let him steal his body heat from under the blanket like a leech.
It was quiet, and Izuku could almost see his own pupils for how he strained to see in the dark. Maybe if he shut his eyes, he would finally be able to sleep. Izuku closed his eyes for a minute, then opened them again, feeling wide eyed and a bit ridiculous. Minutes passed. Then more. He was tired, so tired, but too restless, so awake. Izuku wanted to sleep so badly, but a fear kept him up, poked him with a stick for every wish of rest. His heart was racing, for a reason Izuku knew too well, something in him begging and aching and pleading, and Izuku could not fulfill it, would have to make do with this, and it could be enough, to have Kacchan warm and breathing next to him—
“Izuku.”
Kacchan placed his name quietly into the stillness of the pitch black room, and in the murkiness of the dark it sunk into the air and sat there, held by the quiet.
Izuku’s given name in Kacchan’s mouth never failed to send a flash of something bright and giddy flaring up Izuku’s spine, soul alight with something unnameable. It did not help against his state of wakefulness in the slightest.
Izuku turned his head from where he’d been staring at the ceiling and stubbornly holding his face away from gazing moonishly at Kacchan. Kacchan, who he had assumed had been sleeping, and who was instead watching him with a sleepy, heavy lidded gaze. Izuku’s eyes had adjusted to the dark, it seemed, because he could make out Kacchan’s eyelashes in the faint light of the moon through the curtains, the lines of Kacchan’s mouth as he wetted his lips and spoke his name like a caress again.
“Izuku,” Kacchan said tiredly, inadvertently gently, “‘S okay.”
It’s okay, ‘Zuku! A tiny voice beseeched. Pudgy arms pulled Izuku closer into their grip under the blanket fort they’d made on the bed, safe from monsters in Izuku’s closet. Izuku felt wonderfully warmed, and huddled closer still.
Mo daijoubu, wattashi ga kita! It’s okay, because I am here!
Izuku blinked to find Kacchan’s arm lifted in the air above them, holding up the blankets between them, an invitation.
Izuku’s entire body flooded with relief.
He scooted closer unthinkingly, mind empty but for the way Kacchan’s clothed chest lay open and unobstructed like a landing pad.
(Stare honed in on Kacchan’s black shirt exposed by his inviting position, Izuku didn’t notice how Kacchan’s eyes widened slightly, fist tightened where it gripped the blankets up.)
Katsuki didn’t move as Izuku shuffled closer, closer, until he was face to face with Kacchan’s blessedly uninhibited chest. Izuku could physically feel his own heart rate slowing, nerves calming, at his nearness to their only solace.
Slowly, carefully, without looking at Katsuki’s face, Izuku knelt his head forward, until his forehead bumped gently on Katsuki’s sternum. Warmth bled into his skin through the cotton, hot and real and alive, alive, alive.
He could almost hear it. He was almost okay.
Izuku turned his head slowly, curls crunching on Kacchan’s shirt, the side of his face gradually gifted with the warmth of Katsuki’s solid chest, browbone curling down to cheekbone, the fat of his cheek, his jaw, his ear. Heat slid over each centimeter like a caress, achingly slow as Izuku savoured the movement, the journey, the scratch of fabric under him over warm, solid chest. And then, finally, finally, Izuku’s settled his ear over Katsuki’s chest, pressed his left lobe into the firm muscle like a gateway to his own brain.
Ba-dum, the first of Kacchan’s strong heartbeat sounded, right in Izuku’s ear. Ba-dum.
Izuku closed his eyes and shuddered violently.
Sweet relief like none other flooded his system so suddenly it was overwhelming; Izuku felt light, like he could fly; he felt grounded, like his once-weakened legs could finally walk again. Izuku felt like he might cry from the euphoria of it, blossoming in his chest. His own heart soared in response to Kacchan’s, steadied and settled and finally, blissfully calm.
Oh, it was as if everything in Izuku had let out a sigh, and gone to sleep. Every nerve pressed to ease by a warm hand, liquid gold in Izuku’s veins instead of blood for all that he felt warmed and full and strong, again. Kacchan’s heartbeat pounded so steadily, so confidently, under him, the booming traveling through Izuku’s head and shaking him to the bone with every beat. And every beat was another pulse of good-safe-okay washing through Izuku’s system, steady and dependable and relentless as Katsuki himself.
Katsuki lowered the blanket, pulling it up and over Izuku’s shoulders, now fitted perfectly under where Katsuki would naturally rest his arm. And so now Izuku was suffused in warmth from all sides, under his cheek and along his front and over his back. Izuku hummed in pure contentment and Kacchan stiffened a little, then tightened his hold on Izuku, squeezing him closer. A cheek lowered on top of Izuku’s head carefully, almost shyly. Izuku turned his face into Kacchan’s shirt momentarily, to hide his smile.
“Thank you, Kacchan,” Izuku whispered into Kacchan’s chest, words muffled as his lips moved over the fabric, before resettling the side of his head to rest there. Katsuki held him tighter still, hunched over him a little, as if he could mould them into one.
Izuku felt more safe than he had in weeks, tucked close and held and reassured. The rhythm under his ear pounded steadily, sure as the air he breathed, rocking him to down, down, to sleep.
Izuku came into awareness slowly, like lifting a handful of sand out of water. Mmm. He was so comfortable… Izuku nuzzled into the heat source beneath him, rubbing his face into his firm pillow hoping he could press further into it somehow. His firm, warm, slowly breathing pillo—
Wait.
Izuku froze, eyes shooting open as he catalogued his limb placement and surroundings. His upper body was plastered along Katsuki’s, his opposite cheek on Kacchan’s chest than he remembered falling to sleep with, arms flung out haphazardly. Kacchan, from where Izuku dared to peek over his steadily rising and falling chest, was similarly starfished, spread out on his back with his head tipped back on a pillow.
The room felt as still as it did last night, with a distinctly more floaty quality to it as opposed to the heaviness of the dark. The dim light of the dawn filled the room with a gentle brush of pink-orange, highlighting sparse bits of dust suspended in the air.
Katsuki grunted in his sleep and shifted, turning onto his side and taking Izuku with him. Izuku tried not to giggle as Katsuki cuddled him like he was a teddy bear, arms solid and close around him.
Izuku stilled as a nose pressed itself into his hair, nuzzling and breathing in and out a sigh. Izuku shivered, and the form hugging him stiffened.
Kacchan was quick to process things, even half asleep, so the nose was back to pressing into the top of his head with a muffled groan within the minute.
Izuku let himself giggle aloud this time. “Good morning, Kacchan,” he said softly, not wanting to break the peace of the morning.
Katsuki grunted into his hair, then pulled away, shifting back so he could meet Izuku’s eyes sleepily, their bodies no longer touching. Izuku shuffled so they were face to face across the breadth of a pillow.
Katsuki seemed to be trying his hardest not to fall back asleep, holding Izuku’s gaze in the gaps between longer and longer slow blinks.
Izuku was content to watch him, the soft crease of Kacchan’s brow as he struggled to wake, shadows and highlights supplied by the dim light gracing the angles and soft curves of his face.
Something was tugging at the edge of Izuku’s consciousness, though, something unanswered and incessant, a single little thorn in Izuku’s state of otherwise complete contentment.
“How did you know I would visit last night,” Izuku whispered, the lethargy of the soft orange dawn lending him courage. He shivered a little, huddling down further into the blankets, and Kacchan shuffled a bit before drawing the comforter over their heads, like the blanket forts they’d build as kids.
“I didn’t,” Kacchan replied belatedly, voice over-deep in the early morning, blinking slow. It was darker under here, the blankets seeming to glow with the feeble window light.
Izuku shivered at the unintentional huskiness crawling from the depths of Katsuki’s throat.
Kacchan furrowed his brows at him. “You still cold?” he rasped scratchily.
Izuku flushed. “No.” Then he blinked in confusion, his own gaze furrowing. “You didn’t know I was coming?”
Kacchan shook his head twice, nonplussed, face open and soft in drowsiness.
Izuku was too busy thinking to fully enjoy the view. Then why had Kacchan already been sitting to one side of the bed when Izuku arrived? Why had he— Izuku’s breath hitched. Oh, Kacchan.
“What,” Kacchan asked, wary, eyeing the happy glint in Izuku’s eyes.
Izuku scooted closer. “You were up late last night.”
It was hard to tell in the dimness under the blanket, but it looked like Katsuki’s cheeks had turned the slightest pink. “It was a good book.”
“Was it?”
“Mhmm.”
“What’s it about?”
“Uh—” Katsuki was going a bit wide eyed holding Izuku’s gaze, given how the shorter boy was scooting closer and closer, gaze set on his face. “Um.”
Izuku stared at Katsuki imploringly. “Kacchan.”
“…What.”
Izuku pulled the blankets back off from over their heads, and in the better light he eyed the dark circles under Kacchan’s eyes, the droop of his unreasonably tired gaze.
“How many nights have you stayed up waiting for me?”
Katsuki stiffened, looking caught.
“I— fuck do you know.”
Izuku could cry, heart overflowing. Instead, he tried not to break his own face with the force of his repressed smile.
Izuku pressed a palm to Katsuki’s chest, over his heart. Katsuki looked very awake.
Izuku leaned closer to the heartbeat under his hand unconsciously, eyelids growing heavy with melancholy. His fingers curled a little, like he could cup the precious beating thing in his palm, protect it with his bare hands.
“I haven’t been sleeping well,” Izuku confessed, redundantly. Katsuki, it seemed, knew this. Katsuki waited up for him, apparently, for the occasional nights Izuku crept in, slipped under his bedspread like a heat-seeking ghost. Probably had stayed up past his bedtime almost every night since the first time, since the very first night Izuku had crawled into his bed trembling and cold and begging without words for nearness, closeness, confirmation.
That first night, when Izuku had only stopped shaking once Katsuki’s steady heartbeat sat under his ear.
Katsuki’s entire body had frozen at the realization, breath hitching, and he’d held Izuku impossibly closer with the palm spanning his back, a hesitant hand in his curls in an attempt to soothe. He had slid it down to palm the back of Izuku’s neck, and Izuku had encircled Katsuki’s wrist in his own fingers, a thumb to Kacchan’s pulse.
And that was how Izuku had finally, finally fallen into a blissfully restful, dreamless sleep, for the first time since the war.
In the present, Katsuki was watching Izuku watch the unbroken rise and fall of his chest, red eyes too old for his age.
“I’m— I need—“ Izuku started, and for once he was without words, nothing on his tongue adequate to describe the aching, scraping need that filled him in the late hours, when Katsuki could very well be but a memory, nothing around to convince Izuku otherwise, nothing but the empty dark and the demons in Izuku’s closet.
Warmth crept over Izuku’s fingers and his eyes blinked open, not realizing he had closed them, cold trails a shock on his cheeks. His vision cleared to the sight of Kacchan’s hand sliding over his, covering it fully under his larger palm and longer fingers, warming Izuku to his core. Katsuki pressed his hand down a little, further into his chest.
Watashi ga kita, Izuku!
Katsuki fitted his thicker fingers into the gaps between Izuku’s, palm a constant hot pressure on the back of Izuku’s hand, the two of them pressing into Katsuki’s skin like they could sink into it, touch the bloody beating muscle themselves. Katsuki kept his gaze fixed on Izuku, as if daring him to do it, take it, I’m fine, see.
Izuku gasped as Kacchan’s hand slid lower, interlacing their fingers on Katsuki’s chest, joined hands pressed practically into Katsuki’s skin as he leaned forward, still on the pillow, right into Izuku’s space, inches from his face.
Kacchan’s spiky hair drooped on the pillowcase as he lay on his side and dragged molten eyes up and down Izuku’s face, taking him in almost indulgently. Izuku must look a sight, eyes wide and rimmed red, lashes wet, hand clawing for Katsuki’s heart like a vengeful spirit.
Katsuki leaned closer still, and—
and—
Izuku’s heart stopped completely as Katsuki pressed the softest, sweetest of kisses to his forehead.
Katsuki pressed his lips there for a buoyant second before pulling the barest space away, breath still warm on the buzzing just-kissed locus. Izuku’s eyelashes fluttered, and Katsuki brushed his lips over his hairline, nose once again in his curls, hand still over Izuku’s pressing onto his heart.
“I’m here,” Katsuki murmured into the top of Izuku’s head, heartbeat strong and loud and ferocious under Izuku’s hand.
And Izuku believed him. He’d always believed him, always would for as long as Kacchan was around to tell him something for Izuku to put his faith into.
“At night,” Izuku whispered, slowly, “When you’re not— when I can’t see you,” he picked his words carefully. “I… forget. Or— I don’t believe it. I can’t make myself, I get so scared, Kacchan—”
“Hey,” Kacchan cut in, lips to Izuku’s temple. Heartbeat under the lines of Izuku’s hand. “It’s okay. I’m…” he cleared his throat. “I sleep better like this, too.”
Izuku’s eyes widened to an impossible degree. Kacchan pulled back to meet his eyes, face a bit pinched in embarrassment, eyes honest. “Sleep here,” he blurted suddenly. Izuku’s heart skipped a beat, and Katsuki’s seemed to quicken under his hand as Izuku gripped his shirt unconsciously.
“Like.. tonight?” Izuku asked, not daring to hope.
“Whenever. Dumbass,” Katsuki tacked on, cheeks pink.
“Oh,” Izuku said, a bit dumbly, gaze fixed on the way Katsuki’s eyes looked like they were smiling. He blinked a couple times, registering. “Oh. That would help so much,” he added, voice widened by his smile, so inflated with relief and happiness he might have just floated away if not for the grip Kacchan still had in his hand.
Izuku shifted his grip in Kacchan’s, flipping his hand around so their fingers were properly interlaced. He couldn’t feel Kacchan’s heartbeat on the back of his hand, but he found, giddily, that the absence did not affect him all that much. Their hands intertwined, Izuku swore he could feel Katsuki’s pulse through his fingertips, five burning points of contact that seared into him, soothed him, saved him.
Kacchan watched him with a soft look in his eyes. Izuku smiled.
He could fall asleep like this.