Chapter Text
Not often does Shouto find himself awake before Katsuki. By not often he actually means never - that’s a given fact that has held weight since the beginning of time, and should have lasted until the end of it.
But here Shouto is, caught up in such an unprecedented situation.
In Katsuki’s defence, he had been on a graveyard patrol.
Not literally, which probably would have been more interesting because villains are surprisingly not as nocturnal as the movies make them out to be and the only thing that goes bump in the night is usually the headboard against the wall when Shouto is being - in his humble opinion - exceptionally heroic.
Daylight is creeping through the curtains now, which means it’s only been a handful of hours since Katsuki returned home.
Dawn has broken softly this morning, bringing the crisp warmth of the summer with it. At this point in the morning, Katsuki is usually yanking him off the bed. And it’s with a begrudging yawn and halfhearted kick to Katsuki’s chest that Shouto would comply.
Today, there is no such commotion.
Because Katsuki is asleep. Splayed across the bed in a way so unrefined it almost feels out of place. Well, it would if Katsuki wasn’t also sprawled across Shouto. This is poetic justice in the highest form. As much as he tries to deny it, Katsuki will never be a knife.
This man is a spoon.
Shouto won’t specify the size, that’s just unwarranted and size isn’t everything.
Ruffled blond hair pokes into Shouto’s shoulder, as prickly as Katsuki’s demeanour when the reporters ask another pointless question after a fight. They never get the hint. Shouto never pats it down, because he enjoys watching the way Katsuki is unreservedly himself at all times and does not take bullshit from anybody.
He does, however, pat down Katsuki’s hair when they’re alone. Like now, for instance. Running his fingers through it, Shouto hums.
Despite the dark circles carved into his face, Katsuki looks peaceful this morning. Quiet. There’s no tension in his face when he’s sleeping, the prominent scowl temporarily absconding with his sharp and admittedly distracting tongue.
Where they go, Shouto doesn’t know. But they always come back shortly after he wakes.
The sun trickles further into the room and bathes Katsuki in its golden light. It does wonderful things to his skin, the pattern of the curtain swirling lazily across a bare shoulder. Shouto traces it absently, and from that simple touch alone it feels a little bit like the sun has crawled inside of him now.
Fire is hot, fierce. The swell of it beneath his veins is familiar and bold.
This heat is different. It unfurls languidly in his chest and it keeps spreading even into his right side until all of him is soaked in the dizzying sensation.
Overpowering on the best of days, overwhelming on the worst.
Sometimes it tickles the way a laugh would just before it happens, and afterwards when there are crinkles around smiling eyes. Sometimes, it is gentle and welcoming.
Then there are times where it doesn’t feel like that at all, where it sweeps in without mercy. Around his heart the grip becomes bruising. A relentless squeeze against his pulse.
Shouto surrenders to that, knowing better now than to fight these things.
Other times it vibrates through his bones, a song he would feel stupid to voice but desperately wants to. He doesn’t have the words just yet but that shouldn’t matter - it sounds quite nice anyway.
The consistency is that all of these experiences happen when Katsuki is there.
He doesn’t even have to be doing anything special. He could be adding a generous amount of spice to their dinner, reading a book on the chair, talking to somebody from afar where Shouto can’t make out the words but knows exactly from the way he holds his hands what he’s saying.
Or he could be right here in their bed kissed by the sun, and at this rate by Shouto very soon.
“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” a voice grumbles into Shouto’s neck, startling him.
For a moment, Shouto assumes Katsuki might be sleep-talking but that can’t be right because he’s never done that. In fact, if either of them were going to mumble into the night or talk in their sleep as the past has proven it would probably be-
“You. Yeah. I know,” Katsuki grunts, a strange lilt to his voice that has enough power to turn the earth on its axis four times over.
Maybe Shouto had been talking out loud by mistake. But surely he would have remembered that, and he doesn’t. He brings a hand to his mouth anyway, tapping it in confusion. No answers come.
Stretching out, Katsuki rolls so his head rests on Shouto’s chest. He looks up with an expression so devoid of sharpness Shouto has to momentarily consider whether his boyfriend has been replaced by a strange entity.
Not that Katsuki isn’t soft in the corners a vast majority of the time they’re alone. He is, even if he denies it like a feral cat on the street.
Katsuki purses his lips, as if he somehow caught wind of Shouto’s inner monologue. Eyes narrowed, he flicks Shouto on the forehead with two of his fingers.
It’s nice. Cute, even - Shouto would be risking his life to say it.
But it’s true and he’ll stand by it.
Here Katsuki is trying to be menacing but it’s hardly convincing when unbeknownst to him Shouto has catalogued all of his affectionate gestures over the years. This is one of his favourites. His second favourite is the sharp pinch to skin and his third is-
“Shit. You’re worse than Deku up here.”
Shouto blinks at the words that make no sense. Or perhaps the problem is they make too much sense in the context of what he’s thinking right now. Katsuki chases his gaze until they meet and there’s amusement dancing in the brightness of them.
So much gratitude Shouto has for the sun, for illuminating Katsuki this way.
“You’re so fucking stupid.”
Katsuki has an innate talent for turning words that aren’t very nice into extremely lovely things. There’s a tiny bite behind the syllables, never intended to reach further than the curve of a mouth.
“Oi. Did you really forget what happened last night?”
In short, no. Shouto would never forget the beautiful way Katsuki’s spine arched and how he made such wonderful-
A light swat to his shoulder draws his attention away from their night of passion. Katsuki’s face is tinged red from irritation - and a little bit of embarrassment, Shouto hopes.
“Not that you fucking bastard. And don’t call it... that.”
Once again, this conversation is getting strange. Mostly because they’re not technically having one.
“I’m sorry?”
“No you’re not.”
Well, at least they understand each other. But that is not what Shouto meant and Katsuki must know that. Unfortunately, he seems to know far more than he should right now.
It’s almost obscene.
There’s being a relationship with someone and then there’s… sharing a profound bond with them -
Oh. Oh.
In one slow breath, Shouto realises exactly what Katsuki is talking about. The graveyard shift had not been without one minor incident. During patrol, a rather curious quirk had struck Katsuki.
Oh.
Rolling off Shouto, Katsuki huffs in a way that means he’s annoyed about something. He brings a hand up to his forehead, rubbing against the spot between his furrowed eyebrows.
“What a fucking mess.”
Shouto shuffles further back against the pillows. This way it’s not only more comfortable to soak in the unfolding morning, but it gives him a better view of Katsuki’s face because he is shorter and the fact that hasn’t changed for years means it never will.
For that, he gets a withering glance. Oh dear. This is the kind of side-eye Katsuki dishes out when he is truly grappling with his thin patience.
Shouto has done nothing to deserve this, absolutely nothing. He’s a paradigm of good behaviour, the hero weekly magazine even likened him to a saint once.
“That was four years ago. And they don’t know shit, especially about what a dick you are.”
They are a platform riddled with rumours and mistruths, that is true.
Still, Katsuki remembers exactly when that headline came out, which is so distinctly him. Shouto can hardly contain the fierce swell of affection rippling through him.
“How the fuck do you cope?”
Just fine, actually. Shouto never gave much thought to his, well, thoughts.
“That explains everything…” Katsuki mutters under his breath, more to himself than to Shouto directly.
If it had been direct, he would’ve sounded less blatantly fond. Katsuki snaps his piercing unfaltering attention back into shape, as if remembering where he is. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
“Don’t let it get to your head, idiot.”
“How could I not?”
It is literally in his head, after all.
Besides, Katsuki is the one being nosy and rummaging in Shouto’s mind like the chronic and catastrophic eavesdropper he can be despite denying it.
“It ain’t my fault you and Deku can’t have private conversations in sensible places.”
They had been out of sight away from everybody else. But if this is the hill Katsuki wants to stand on it’s fine.
Shouto can just ask Izuku for backup not only for this moment but to recall the plethora of other incidents littered over their years together.
Nobody keeps score quite like Izuku. Both a blessing and a curse.
“Anyway.”
With that one word, Katsuki makes it clear he is not indulging any of Shouto’s secret jokes and schemes which is a real shame.
It’s not as funny when Katsuki is aware before they happen.
A grin slides over Katsuki’s face, painting him into something far less than angelic but not demonic. Not yet.
Gremlin is a better fit.
“This is pretty embarrassing for you, huh?”
It’s not really that embarrassing, to be honest. If Katsuki asked, Shouto would tell him most of the things he’s thinking. Even unprompted, sometimes he will.
That’s just how things have always been between them.
When words are needed they’re both direct enough to get to the point and hash it out better than most people. It’s probably why all their domestic conflicts are so trivial and petty - bigger things never get the chance to gnaw their way beneath skin.
And if there is anyone who should be embarrassed about this, then it’s obviously Katsuki.
Not only did a teenager sneaking out of their house to a party get the jump on him with their quirk, this is only happening because of what it actually does.
The stronger the bond, the more of the soul can be heard. Apparently , Katsuki considers their bond to be so profound that he-
The pillow smacks Shouto in the face with alarming precision.
Of course, this is Katsuki and a top Pro-Hero so no less should be expected.
“I hate you.”
Shouto can hardly shake the elation settling over him. There’s a giddiness that stems from rare hushed mornings together and is coaxed further into being by this man’s ridiculous and completely fantastic existence.
“You’re the ridiculous one,” Katsuki scoffs, averting his gaze pointedly.
Propped up on one elbow, Shouto looks down at him. There’s a smile unfurling on his lips and it reaches much further.
Because Katsuki doesn’t hate him at all.
He doesn’t and he never has. Not even during the sports festival of their first year when Shouto threw their match.
“That’s my line, bastard! You can’t use it against yourself.”
Granted they are long past it being a point of contention, it’s still fun to reminisce this way. Sometimes, Shouto isn’t sure there is anything he wants to do more than sit and see how much of a nuisance he can be to Katsuki on a daily basis.
Eating soba and taking a nap are contenders, but don’t always win. Especially not when Katsuki’s resolve breaks and he bites back.
The experience is euphoric.
Even now, simmering away in the gremlin mode of frustration, Katsuki looks good. So good that Shouto wants to kiss him senseless and slow, hold him close until one of them is forced to leave the bed for the bathroom.
“Shit yourself for all I care you unromantic swine,” Katsuki sighs in exasperation as if he is any much better or the epitome of modern courtship - but his bottom lip wobbles as he sucks it in.
He’s either going to laugh or cry. Maybe both. Shouto leans closer, to inspect.
“God. You suck.”
“Not always.”
“Fuck you.”
Again, not always .
Katsuki brings his palms up to cover his face, making a series of angry noises in a language only he speaks.
To this day, there is no known translation.
The only thing Shouto is sure of is that this happens when Katsuki is on the edge of his sanity about something.
With the tips of his ears burning, hot to the touch as Shouto pokes the lobe, it’s not hard to figure out why.
They do say love drives people crazy.
Groaning, not in the way Shouto really wants to hear in their bed, Katsuki levels him with a scowl.
“Stop saying crap like that. And quit being a lazy fuck. Talk properly.”
Until the quirk wears off, Shouto thinks that no. No he won’t.
There’s not going to be another chance to kiss Katsuki and lick teasingly into his mouth whilst telling him all about his day. Nor will he be able to communicate with a single glance again and give it tangible words.
This really is such a conservation of time and energy.
“Wow,” Katsuki drawls. “Ugh. I’m too damn tired for this shit.”
The reminder that Katsuki is beyond exhausted has Shouto closing his eyes and taking a deep breath into his lungs.
A few more breaths and it will definitely work. He’s used this technique since childhood during training, and on the battlefield. The focus on his breath is grounding, centres his awareness enough for things to trickle away further out of reach.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Clearing my mind,” Shouto explains between another breath.
“Ha. Not much to clear.”
The bait is sitting right there in the words and Shouto would take it in any other circumstance. He’s hook line and sinker for this thing between them - and so is Katsuki. But right now Katsuki is overworked and overtired. They can pick this up later when they’re both on their best form, it’s only fair.
Shouto takes another breath, going back to the task at hand.
“Tch. Don’t bother,” Katsuki rolls back over towards him, nestled against his side.
Then, lips brushing Shouto’s skin as he speaks, he says something. Blinking an eye open, Shouto looks down at him, interest piqued. Katsuki only mumbles words on purpose when he wants to make it seem like an accident he even spoke at all.
Which is pointless and it never works. Everything Katsuki does has purpose. He isn’t one to waste actions or words. Whatever he has to say in these times, it just means he wants Shouto to work a little for it.
“Shit…” Katsuki breathes.
Head lifting a fraction, he looks at Shouto intently. It’s intense and there’s nowhere to hide from it. Grabbing the covers to haul them over his face would only be possible if Shouto could move. But he’s pinned. Not just physically but by this moment.
There’s something there in the way Katsuki trails his eyes across Shouto’s face, something new. Almost like he hasn’t seen Shouto for a lifetime and is committing each piece of him to memory in case it ever happens again.
Katsuki’s words fall a little too quickly off his tongue, like he’s not sure himself where it’s even going.
That’s odd.
He only does that in situations where the tension is about to snap inside of him. Shouto reaches out for his hand, just in case.
“You really fucking get me, Sho. I mean, shit - I knew that. We wouldn’t be here like this if we weren’t on each other’s level. But just - it’s fucking weird to hear what you think. About me.”
They’ve barely even scratched the surface of what and how much Shouto thinks about this man.
But yes, Shouto agrees with Katsuki. The mortifying ordeal of being known and seen by another person can be a mortifying ordeal.
A laugh punches out of Katsuki’s lungs, spilling over Todoroki’s skin.
“You said mortifying twice, idiot.”
“No I didn’t,” Shouto says into Katsuki’s hair. “I thought it.”
“You’re not funny.”
Wild that Katsuki thinks he can lie to him right now.
“You just laughed.”
“Shut up,” Katsuki huffs. Then, a beat later. ”Shut up with your mouth. I want to hear all the sappy shit upstairs. Don’t hold back fucker - I’ll make fun of you for all this later.”
What a contrived, elaborate way to ask for praise. There’s just no way Shouto can refuse, as if Katsuki has to ever ask for love.
No, he should never.
That’s forbidden - unless it has to do with a petty affair over dinner or later, away from this slice of time that exists just for them to melt a little further together.
If Shouto can just share even a small portion of the things parading through his head, he will consider this a successful mission.
To say Katsuki is everything would be too much and not enough at once. There are only so many words in the world and Shouto would still have things left to articulate. There is so much tucked into his heart and it is so close bursting. There’s so much in his soul yearning to pour into Katsuki over and over until this man doesn’t just hear it but knows it so deeply it feels like it belongs to him too.
Like it always has.
They are tethered, even without this quirk. Their bond is indisputable.
“What the fuck...” Katsuki manages.
There’s a tremble to his voice, tightening his hold around Shouto’s waist. Shouto presses a kiss into Katsuki’s hair, pulse fluttering stupidly.
“We’re only on level one,” he says and it’s impossible to stop the twitch of his lips. “Welcome to my t-”
Shouto is promptly pushed out the bed. Before he has any chance of salvaging this, he lands with a thud on the floor.
No matter, this is fine.
Katsuki grinning down at him, middle finger raised and eyes terribly soft, is plenty compensation.