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“Kacchan, come to my class soon! The kids want to meet you!” “Kacchan, I'm working on my lesson plan for aerial defense next month, do you wanna be a guest speaker?” “Kacchan, are you off on Tuesday? I could use your help with a demonstration!”
Well, after weeks of conflicting schedules and last-minute patrol changes and an extremely long morning shift, here Katsuki is, stomping down the halls of the hero academy once again. It is disconcerting how different things feel, how great the contrast is between how much he's been through in the past few years since graduation and how little the halls of the school have changed. Nostalgia settles, strangely bittersweet, on the back of his tongue.
He’s still in his hero costume. A few students wave at him as they hurry by, but it’s lunch hour and Katsuki has been told that his resting face is particularly bitchy, so they let him pass unbothered.
Classroom 1-B.
He flings the door open. It hits the frame with a loud clack , announcing his presence to the empty room and the nerd standing casually at the lectern.
Izuku jumps, the marker he's holding flying out of his grip. “ Wah , oh my gosh, you scared the pants off me!”
Oh? Isn't that a thought.
It’s been a few weeks since he’s been able to get the nerd out of his pants. They’ve both been so busy that even their dates end up with them passing at either of their apartments, relaxing on the couch. Seeing him now, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his strong, scarred forearms…
It’s been too long .
Katsuki pulls his hands out of his pockets as he stalks forward, dragging his gaze down Izuku's body slow enough that he'll feel it. Three steps, four, and he's close enough to reach for Izuku's hips, wearing the well-fitting slacks that he has to jump to fit into in the morning because his thighs and his ass are so–
“Kacchan,” Izuku hisses, smacking at his hands. “My students are here!”
No, he specifically timed his arrival for the school’s lunch hour, so what students —?
At the back of the classroom, wide-eyed and gawking, are two kids sitting on the windowsill, looking up from the magazine resting across their laps. A heteromorph girl with long, fuzzy ears draping down the sides of her face holds a hand over her mouth. Her friend, a young man with small eyes behind extremely large glasses, blinks. “Um. Y-you can pretend we're not h-here, Dynamight, sir. Sorry.”
Well, if he has permission —
“Kacchan, no,” Izuku says, pushing him away. The laughter in the tone of his voice and the glimmer-green of his eyes is poorly hidden, and as amused as he pretends not to be, it's clear he's trying to remain professional.
Katsuki sighs, mumbles, “Fine.” There are plenty of storage closets to be found around the school; after their lesson today, he’ll get Izuku behind a closed door and show him what he’s been missing.
For now, Katsuki will behave.
With a sigh, he drags a chair next to the lectern, sits, and listens to Izuku go over his ideas for the afternoon.
The glass ceiling in Gym Gamma shines bright in the springtime sun.
Cement pillars rise and fall in the practice area at the center of the room. They vary by length, width, texture, even durability, and give students unable to fly a means of gaining leverage. The practical portion of this lesson block was designed to give each student an individualized perspective on their aerial defense capabilities and areas that need improvement.
Pretty words for Izuku’s spiffy, color-coded, multi-page lesson plans, but Katsuki is here to put these brats through their paces.
He cracks his knuckles as Izuku introduces him to the class. Everybody already knows him, duh, and he’s totally not going to remember any of these kids’ names, especially with them all in the identical blue and white gym uniforms, but Izuku has them each say their name and what their quirk is. A few of them are obvious shitheads, high on their own ego and an awful mirror of his past school-age self. Some of them have interesting quirks that pique his vague interest. One or two of them look like they have actual promise.
They begin.
Katsuki is as much of a student himself as he is Izuku’s assistant. He does as he’s told: flies around, aims blasts towards the students and not at them, and gives feedback as requested. It's a good afternoon workout. And when he’s not actively in use, he’s watching Izuku interact with his students.
Bittersweet seems to be the theme for the day, but it's the most accurate way Katsuki knows to describe how he feels, watching the nerd in this new light. Ever the know-it-all, teaching allows him to focus his enthusiasm and extremely vast quirk knowledge into something just as useful as hero work: training up an entire generation of new heroes. It may not be what Izuku had envisioned for himself growing up, and it's definitely less than he deserves, after everything he's done, but it fits.
Here, amongst his class, Izuku is cheerful. His praise is genuine, his feedback made with care and boundless encouragement, and even when he needs to raise his voice to be heard across the gym, he does so with firm confidence. He knows each and every one of his students—their name, their quirk and how it works, their unique learning style—and speaks to them with respect.
And they ask him questions, and seek his advice, and ask him for his stories and theories with stars in their eyes. Not one of them, even the big-headed jerks, disrespects him.
It's incredible, really. Katsuki doesn't know why he's surprised. It's like he's had blinders on: he knows that Izuku is incredible, but now he's standing around with twenty people who get to see his own stupid boyfriend more than he does, who are also coming to learn how amazing their teacher is.
The way the kids look at him, it's clear they love him.
And Katsuki gets it! He does. He's spent his whole life learning how to love the damn nerd, which is why he thinks he's starting to feel cranky. Izuku has known Katsuki for twenty years, and these kids for, what, seven months?
He pulls a twist-flip off the top of a pillar and throws a stun grenade into a cluster of students standing too close together.
“Great dodge, Abeno,” Izuku calls. “Ryu, that was a good rebound, I'm really impressed! Just watch your feet next time!”
He takes a vertical dive from a steel cross-beam, rides a student's burst of air from their quirk, and shoots precise blasts that blow the air back in their face. The kid raises their arms and actually sends a burst back, a spiral of flame that Katsuki swerves to avoid.
“Creative solution, Nakai! Wow! Keep that move in your pocket—that's extremely useful.”
He catches a student who makes a wild dive from a crumbling pillar. He's not sure if she's got flight or not, but by the time she's screaming in panic and halfway to the ground, he swoops in and snatches her up.
Izuku reaches them as soon as Katsuki sets the girl on her feet. “Kimura! Are you alright? That was a scary fall.”
Her hands are just as shaky as her smile. “I-I'm okay. Thank you for catching me, Dynamight.”
“Pretty dumb move,” Katsuki says. When he sees her eyes start to water, he hesitates, because Izuku asked him specifically to try not to make his students cry, and suggests, “Maybe don't jump without a plan next time.”
“Kacchan,” Izuku snaps, frowning at him. He looks at the student and nods his head towards the benches where everyone's bags and water bottles are kept. “C'mon, Kimura, I have some thoughts for you. First of all: that was really brave. I know you're scared of heights so I'm proud of you for going out of your comfort zone. I think what would be helpful…”
Off they walk, the student hanging on Izuku's every word.
The class president runs the other students through a few drills while Izuku is having his stupid impromptu pep-talk and Katsuki is left behind like a scolded puppy. He feels a gaze on his back, heavy as a physical touch, and turns to see Aizawa strolling over, hands in the pockets of his black cargo pants, expression blank but somehow amused. “How's it going, Bakugo?”
Katsuki is sorely tempted to kick the old bastard. He’s nosy, and his ponytail looks dumb. “Fuck off.”
Aizawa chuckles, “Don't let Midoriya hear you. Foul language in front of the children is gonna put you on the couch tonight.”
“I'm gonna put you in the nurse's office. Don't you have a class to teach? The hell are you doing here?”
“I'm Midoriya's faculty advisor,” Aizawa says, watching the students scurry about the cement obstacle course like a swarm of bugs. His dark eye is as sharp and intense as ever. “Nezu has me drop into his class every now and again to monitor his progress.”
The silence that lingers suggests that Aizawa is giving him space to ask, but joke's on him: Katsuki's not going to.
So Aizawa tells him anyway. “He's doing well. Fantastic, really. He's really suited to it. Loves the kids, the kids love him. He's going to change a lot of lives here.”
“I didn't ask,” Katsuki says, crossing his arms. “I don't care.”
“Sure, Bakugo.”
They watch Izuku approach with Kimura, no longer crying, her shoulders held high. He pats her shoulder and sends her off to rejoin her classmates with a smile.
“Hi, Aizawa!” Izuku grins, idly bumping his elbow against Katsuki's arm. “Here to check out the competition?”
“Not a competition, Midoriya.”
“That's what you always say—”
“Because it's always been true.”
“—but I think 1-B has a strong chance of beating you in the next Joint Training Battle! They're all showing amazing growth. Wanna see?”
“Sure,” Aizawa says, looking out over the gym. “Show me what you all have been working on.”
“Ready, Kacchan?”
Izuku grins up at Katsuki, who has been standing around, feeling like a piece of furniture, like a damn training dummy waiting for a command. He rolls his eyes. “Sure, sensei. Whatever you want.”
The slight fall of Izuku's smile is something he's going to have to fix later, but for now, he lets himself be bossed around and goes where Izuku points him.
Later, Katsuki gets home to his quiet apartment. He eats dinner, watches a dumb variety show that he's been unwillingly hooked on, reads up on a repost Best Jeanist sends him, and struggles through a video call with Kirishima, who can tell something is up and struggles valiantly to respect Katsuki's wishes to not talk about it.
The thing is: Katsuki knows he's wrong, and he knows he's moping because he's sad and he misses his dumb boyfriend, but admitting that to anyone, even himself, feels like torture.
So he goes to bed. Feelings won't bother him if he's unconscious.
Some time later, the air shifts in his apartment. He blinks awake to his dark bedroom and listens to the familiar gait of the footsteps creeping down the hall.
“Kacchan?” The bedroom door squeaks open, casting a slant of light across the wall. The messy-haired shadow grows larger the closer Izuku gets to the bed. He kneels on the mattress and places a hand on the bare curve of Katsuki's waist beneath the blanket, whispers, “I'm home.”
Katsuki grunts.
“Are you awake?”
“Not anymore.” With a strong grip on the covers, Katsuki yanks them up over his head, unbalancing Izuku and tipping him onto the bed with a giggle and a whoa! Once he's safely ensconced in the warm sheets and thick blanket, Katsuki tries to sink back into the thoughtless doze he'd been enjoying, where emotions don't exist and he doesn't have to think about the hurt, disappointed turn to Izuku's lips that he caused, dammit—
Izuku peels the blanket away from Katsuki's face. “What's wrong?”
“I'm tired . Leave me alone. ”
“This isn't tired-grumpy, this is annoyed-grumpy. Talk to me, Kacchan. Let me help.”
“Why don't you go fuss about your dumb students more if you're looking to help someone,” Katsuki snaps, turning his face into his pillow and grasping for the duvet. “And give my blankets back! I'm cold!”
Izuku sighs. His weight leaves the bed.
The sounds of him getting undressed allow Katsuki to track him around the room. The click of his belt, the frustrated muttering as he tries to get out of his tie, the rustle of fabric as it hits the hamper. The closet opens, not the dresser, where Katsuki let Izuku have two drawers to leave clothes when he stays over, so he knows the nerd is rifling through his, instead.
The hallway light goes off. The door squeaks, then clicks shut.
An end-of-the-day sigh, relieved instead of frustrated, precedes the covers being lifted, a body slotting into place behind him, spooning close.
He’s annoyed that he feels so instantly comforted.
“Did you eat dinner?” Izuku asks, his breath brushing against Katsuki's neck.
“Yeah. And I watched Go Hero Now! without you.”
“Mean, Kacchan.” He squeezes Katsuki's waist. “I had to stay late and then I missed the early train. I'm sorry. I know watching Go Hero Now! together is important to you.”
“It's not. I fuckin' hate that show,” Katsuki grumbles, holding tight to his frustration even as it rapidly fades against the solid warmth of Izuku's chest against his back.
Izuku lets him have the deflection. Instead, he hones in immediately on the actual issue.
“What happened today? Were you jealous?”
No, because that's ridiculous and irrational and childish and because he's a grown-ass man. He doesn't do jealousy— it's a waste of time.
Sure, maybe he's a little irritated that he didn't get to make out with his stupid-hot teacher boyfriend in a storage closet. Maybe he's even annoyed by the kids fawning over the nerd and the nerd fawning over them in return when Izuku promised he'd always keep his eyes on Katsuki, but whatever, what does it matter, he knows that his hurt is irrational—
“Don't pout,” Izuku says, kissing the back of Katsuki's head and taking a deep breath, smelling his hair, the weirdo. “You smell good.”
Tch. He curls up further, as if it's possible to escape Izuku's attention now that he has it.
Izuku curls further around him: a heavy, muscled limpet. “Kaccha-a-an. You smell so good and your hair is so pretty. I like the undercut you've been getting lately. It's really hot. It makes me wanna kiss your neck.”
He does: firm presses of his lips to the edge of his hairline, a bumpy scar, the sensitive skin beneath his ear. Katsuki exhales.
“I like your new earrings, too,” Izuku says, kissing the shell of Katsuki's ear. His mouth closes over the lobe, a sweet suction broken by the quick-sharp pain of his teeth. He tugs gently at the claw stud. “So hot. Wanted to tell you earlier. And the new sleeves of your costume, just, wow, your arms?” A hand comes up to squeeze Katsuki's bicep, hard enough that his fingers dent the flesh.
The urge to flex is impossible to resist. Katsuki works hard to maintain his muscle and if Izuku wants to admire his arms, that's on him.
“Ugh. Yes. See? And the way you pulled yourself up onto that crossbeam today, with one arm, and carrying a kid, that was amazing. You're amazing, Kacchan. After that hiccup with Kimura, your critiques today were super thoughtful and I could tell you were trying. I think you really made a difference for my class and I’m so thankful you were there. Are you listening?”
“No,” Katsuki says, turning his face into his pillow again. The back of his neck feels hot. “I'm trying to sleep.”
Izuku switches tracks. He abandons his position as big spoon and crawls over Katsuki's body, kissing all over his shoulder and neck and face as he goes, before making himself at home in the tiny space between Katsuki and the side of the bed. One deep breath would be enough to send him over the edge.
In the three seconds it takes Katsuki to consider the idea, Izuku has pressed himself against Katsuki's chest, legs tangled, hand soothing up and down his flank.
“So strong,” Izuku murmurs. “I love your abs, and your chest, and I love how small your waist is and how I can grab you right here–”
Face still buried in his pillow, Katsuki hisses. The hand squeezing his waist is hot, unforgiving, fingers pressing into his back, thumb digging into the muscle just below his rib. Heat shoots through his body.
He tilts his head to reveal one glaring eye. “The fuck are you doing?”
“Lavishing my brilliant, strong, beautiful boyfriend with praise, as he deserves.” Izuku presses a kiss to the revealed forehead, brow, cheek, and pulls away, looking at him with heart-rending sincerity. “I've always got my eyes on you, Kacchan, and I don't want you to forget it.”
In a burst of motion, Katsuki grabs Izuku by the waist and pulls him up and over his own body, plopping him back onto his side of the bed. He shifts so that his weight presses Izuku into the mattress. The blankets get tangled up in the mess of their limbs, but he's met his goal: Izuku, prone and giggling beneath him.
“Flattery isn’t gonna get you anywhere,” he grumbles, leaning down just enough to bite Izuku's nose.
“I don't know,” Izuku says, hands sliding up the outside of Katsuki's thighs before finding a home on his hips. “I'm pretty happy where I've ended up.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes and gives up. He may have lost his opportunity to make out in a closet, but he's got a better opportunity now: a bed, ample time to spare, and Izuku, two steps away from being fully naked, spread out beneath him with a smile.
He can work with that. He's got a lot of apologizing to do, and he plans to take his time.