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There’s that chill in the air; Katsuki can feel it.
It’s the chill that always comes at this time of year: a bite, a nip, a cutting through his soul. Katsuki hates it; hates the way that the air feels thick and heavy, hates the way that the sky turns that dusky pink, hates the way that everyone oohs and ahhs and traffic snarls and he has to jump in and rescue some stupid extra who decided to stop in the middle of the street because…
“Ah, Kacchan! Look!”
Katsuki doesn’t have to look; he knows exactly what Izuku’s pointing at.
Instead, he just grumbles. “Just our fucking luck, Nerd, heading to overnight patrol during the first snowfall of the year.”
“Oh, but Kacchan!” Izuku warbles, and Katsuki still doesn’t have to look at his partner to know that he’s bouncing up and down like a damn bunny, those wide, annoying, beautiful green eyes taking in the sights all around them. “It’s a special day! We only get the first snowfall once a year, you know! It’s so magical…” Katsuki has to look up now, because Izuku’s voice has that tone to it, the one that Katsuki can never resist when the damn nerd uses it (not that he will ever tell Izuku that, although he’s pretty sure Izuku already does, in fact, know), and he’s not in the least disappointed by the sight:
They’re in a park, taking a shortcut to Mirko’s agency, and Izuku’s standing on the path, looking up into the sky. He’s actually still for once, and instead of looking all around, his eyes are cast upwards, watching the flakes fall from the sky. It’s a pretty sight—Katsuki can admit this—but the thing that makes the view more beautiful is…
“Come on, Kacchan!” Izuku’s bounding forward and grasping Katsuki by the hand. He tugs Katsuki off the walkway and into the grass, where they aren’t as distracted by all the people stopping, too, to stare at the snow. He holds on tight to Katsuki—Izuku knows that Katsuki’s a runner, and if he were to let go, Katsuki would be taking off for…well, anywhere but here.
Because Katsuki hates it.
He hates the snow and the cold and the way it makes his sweat dry up so it’s harder for him to use his quirk. He hates the chill that gives his arms goosebumps, and that he has to cover up in his winter uniform (no matter how much Izuku simps over it!). He hates the snow and the ice and the fact that damn Icy Hot is so much more comfortable in this weather than he is. He’d much rather be burning up somewhere on the Equator than here, any time of the year!
But…
It is also true that…
Nowhere else in the world would he get a view quite like this: Midoriya Izuku, innocent and fresh-faced and flushed from the cold, laughing up into the sky, joyous in his love of the change in the weather.
Nowhere else in the world would he hear the bright “Kacchan!” that he hears his dreams, both at night and during the day.
Nowhere else in the world would he feel the warmth of that hand—that beautiful, powerful, scarred hand—pressed into his.
And nowhere else in the world would he be gifted the vision that Izuku is in the wintry cold, white flakes dancing about his face and sticking to his eyelashes.
He’s a sight, Izuku is, that broad smile and those sparkling eyes, cheeks dotted with snow.
No one would blame Katsuki for pausing a moment, for forgetting how much he hates the snow and the ice and the cold and the people, all so that he can admire Izuku and his love of the first snowfall.
They’re allowed this, after all. They’ve been to hell and back. They’ve been dead or nearly dead more times than Katsuki can count. So sue Katsuki if he wants to forget his anger, forget that he’s the Hero Everyone Loves to Hate. So what if he wants to have one moment where he doesn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders, where the “Kacchan” he hears in his sleep isn’t one of desperation and terror?
“Kacchan?” Katsuki blinks, and Izuku’s there before him, luminous in the early evening glow of winter. His eyes are emeralds, and they reflect Katsuki, reflect the snow, reflect the winter night.
He’s beautiful, Izuku is. Katsuki can admit this, too.
“Yeah?” He frowns at Izuku, but he’s sure Izuku knows that it’s only a half-hearted attempt to be grouchy. “Whaddya want, Nerd?”
Izuku smiles more brightly, but there’s a faint blush blooming across his cheeks that Katsuki is fairly sure isn’t just from the chill in the air. “Wanna catch some snowflakes with me?” he asks, and fuck, there’s that hand again, reaching for his.
“Wann—Do I wanna do what?” Katsuki stares at Izuku, who’s shiny, happy, and, from the way he’s bouncing from one foot to the other, more than a little nervous.
“Catch snowflakes!” Izuku has the fucking nerve to cluck at him, and Katsuki does huff this time, tossing his head in disdain.
“Who the fuck wants to do something stupid like catch snowflakes?” Katsuki sneers, but his eyes are focused completely on Izuku. He’s watching every twitch, every hitch of breath, every nervous tic…
“Because nothing tastes as good as the first snow of the year, Kacchan!” Izuku chides lightly. He lets go of Katsuki’s hand and twirls away. “They’re the freshest and the best!”
“Tch,” Katsuki scoffs, but he’s still trained wholly on Izuku, who’s looking up at the sky again, eyes watching the flakes intently, so intently, and then…
“Holy shit,” Katsuki murmurs, under his breath, as Izuku sticks out his tongue and catches a snowflake, right on the tip.
It’s not fair. It’s not. Izuku is already beautiful and vibrant and everything Katsuki wants to hold close and protect with all that he is. And then he goes and does something like this?
Slowly, Izuku’s tongue darts out and flicks at a snowflake. Katsuki watches, entranced, as the flake rests on Izuku’s tongue, white on pink, and then melts against it. Izuku giggles—like really fucking giggles—and then repeats the whole thing over again. His laughter rings against the cold night air, and Katsuki feels a quickening in his heart that is telling him to hold onto this moment, to keep it here, real, close, forever.
Flick. Izuku’s tongue catches a snowflake.
Flick. Izuku’s tongue taps his upper lip as the snowflake melts.
Flick. Katsuki’s heart skips a beat.
He wants…he wants…
“Kacchan?” He can see Izuku’s eyes widen as Katsuki crosses the distance between them. He reaches out and grabs Izuku by the waist. All around them, the snow is falling—even more thickly now, if that’s even possible—and Izuku’s all lit up: from the snow, from the street lamps, from the incandescent sky. He’s an angel, and Katsuki is probably going to hell.
He sees Izuku’s mouth begin to open again, the question forming on his lips, in his eyes, but fuck it, Katsuki’s not gonna give him a chance to say another goddamn word.
His free hand reaches up and cups Izuku’s cheek, brushing away the snow there. Izuku’s breath hitches; his eyes flutter closed, then open, and his lips part, moist and pinked from the cold and the snow.
Katsuki’s hand slides around to the back of Izuku’s neck; he draws him in closer, and he kisses him.
Izuku’s lips are cold, but they slot against Katsuki’s perfectly, and fill him with a heat that it feels like his body has been waiting for his whole life. It starts in his core and spreads to the rest of his body: along his arms, his legs, all the way to his fingers and his toes. His fingers press into Izuku’s waist; Izuku lets out a tiny moan, and Katsuki seizes the moment.
He slides his tongue into Izuku’s mouth, licking into it, tasting the cold damp of the snowflakes Izuku has caught on his tongue. Izuku’s right: they’re sweet, and fresh, and they make Izuku taste delectable, like Katsuki could kiss him and kiss him and never get his fill.
Izuku’s hands clutch at Katsuki’s shoulders, grab onto his hoodie, tug him closer, too.
The snow lands on their clothes, their hands, their cheeks, their hair.
And for once, Katsuki doesn’t care.
Because he’s kissing Izuku. And Izuku’s kissing him. And it’s good and it’s perfect and it’s everything that it should be.
Izuku pulls away first, his lips swollen and plush and the tiniest bit bruised. Katsuki grins at the sight as Izuku blushes and wipes at his mouth.
“Ka—Kacchan!” Izuku says, but his voice lacks any of the chastising that they both know he wants it to contain. And, he’s smiling, too. “I asked if you wanted to catch snowflakes with me, not kiss me!”
Katsuki can’t help it; he pulls Izuku close again and presses their foreheads together. “I know, ‘Zuku,” he says huskily. “And I did.”
Izuku sputters. “But—but you—didn’t! You—”
Katsuki kisses him again, and fuck, it’s even better the second time around.
He’s never gonna want to stop, is he? (No; no, he’s not.)
“I did,” he retorts, “I tasted them on you…
“And that counts.”