Author's Note: In my brain this takes place in the same universe as my longer Bakuiida story Days in a Crucible, but you don't need to have read that one to understand this one.

One should not use metal utensils on non-stick pans.

Iida learns this interesting fact just a few minutes too late to save himself. It's one of those lonely days when he has work off but Katsuki does not, so after a quiet, lazy morning, Iida decides to make himself an omelette. He hasn't cooked much lately, but it turns out better than he expects; it's only when he's washing the pan afterwards that he realizes something is terribly, terribly wrong.

As the cooked-on egg comes off, Iida realizes the formerly pristine black bottom of the pan is now covered by scratches. They were not there when he took the pan out of the cupboard not half an hour ago. He feels a cold chill run down his spine.

The pan is Katsuki's, part of a set he brought when he moved in. Iida knows he spent good money on them, knows this because Katsuki refuses adamantly to use any of Iida's old cookware and makes fun of its cheapness. And now the pan Iida is holding looks like it just lost a fight.

He finishes cleaning it, dries it carefully and looks it over. Yes, he realizes forlornly, it's definitely ruined. He can feel grooves in it where he scratched away the non-stick coating.

Iida hides it until they're done with dinner, then brings it out of the cupboard he stashed it in and hands it to Katsuki a little reluctantly. "I did this earlier. I apologize," he says, watching Katsuki look it over. "It's probably ruined, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"I'll get you a new one. I - I'm so sorry."

Katsuki looks up at him sharply. "Are you actually worried about this?"

"Well, yes!"

"You don't need to be." Katsuki sets the pan on the kitchen table. "It's really no big deal. I'll get a new one." He pauses, and Iida sees the smile in his eyes as he adds: "Don't use metal on a non-stick pan."

Iida huffs a laugh. "I know that now!"

"What did you cook?"

"An omelette."

"Was it good?"

"Yes," Iida says, a little taken aback by how casual the conversation has turned out to be.. "I've finally got the hang of making them, well, omelette-shaped."

"Good." Katsuki reaches across the table to take his hand. (Physical touch with him still makes Iida's heart jump a little with excitement, although it's hardly a new thing.) "In that case, you can make us breakfast tomorrow."

There is, in fact, a point where the hot water in Iida's apartment runs out (approximately the length of one Katsuki shower).

Iida discovers this one evening shortly after Katsuki moves in. Before, when Katsuki only stayed nights, he avoided showering at Iida's place, and would do so at his own apartment after work instead. And for a week or so they had separate rhythms - Iida showering mornings, Katsuki evenings - so it took a little while for conflict to arise.

The first time they come home from a long, hard day at the agency, they are both uncomfortably sweaty and smelly; out of courtesy, Iida lets Katsuki shower first, by pretending what he actually wants to do is check his email. (Katsuki is still funny about accepting favors, but it's okay when Iida pretends it's what he wanted to do all along.) When Iida steps into the bathroom after Katsuki's done showering, the mirror's steamed up; it feels like a sauna. But when he turns on the water, it won't get hotter than lukewarm.

At first Iida stupidly thinks something's wrong with his shower, and turns the hot water up as high as it can go. As the minutes pass, though, it only gets colder; by the time he's washing the shampoo out of his hair, Iida's shivering. He doesn't even bother to wash the rest of his body - he'll shower again tomorrow morning. It's just not worth it.

Katsuki is sprawled out on the bed, wearing only his boxers. Iida takes one look at him, skin still flushed a little pink from the warmth of his shower, and burrows under the sheets.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to warm up warm up." It's nice under there, Iida decides - dark and warm. He can feel himself beginning to dethaw. "I had an unpleasantly cold shower."

"That sounds like a stupid idea."

Iida sticks his head out of his blanket-cocoon. He isn't wearing his glasses, but Katsuki's close enough that Iida can tell he isn't just playing dumb. "It wasn't my decision," he says, closing his eyes. "Somehow it just turned out there wasn't enough hot water."

And suddenly Katsuki is very, very there, pulling the blankets back and crawling underneath, then pulling the blankets back over both of their heads. They're both bare-chested and wearing only boxers, and they lie on their sides, chests pressed together. It takes a bit of maneuvering to get their legs situated - it's always a little complicated with Iida's engine-calves - but after a moment they work it out, and it's so, so good. It's a thousand times warmer to lie with Katsuki than alone. He smells good and the skin-on-skin contact makes Iida let out a sigh of pleasure.

"Thank you," he says. It's a phrase he says a lot, he's finding. He's not always sure whether it's appropriate, but Katsuki never seems to think it's strange, so Iida doesn't try to stop himself when he gets the impulse. "This is better."

"You're damn welcome," Katsuki says. As he speaks, his breath is warm on Iida's face. "You're so fucking cold. You're like a goddamn iceberg!"

And whose fault might that be? Iida wants to say, but he stops himself. He isn't mad, and even his mild annoyance at the situation itself has evaporated; but he cannot think of anything to say, so he just laughs, not even really knowing why. There isn't a reason - he's just happy.

"What's so funny?" Katsuki says, but, before Iida can even begin to think of a reply, Katsuki kisses him, and they stay like that for a long time: kissing under the covers, in the warmth and the dark.

Katsuki worries.

This one isn't exactly new to Iida. Everyone worries at some point, of course, and Iida's seen evidence of Katsuki doing so before; but it's one thing to know it as a fact and quite another to experience it firsthand.

Katsuki has the day off, and Iida's working. They try to make their days off overlap as often as possible, and usually they do; Fujita's nice enough to make it happen when she can. But every once in awhile it just doesn't work out like that. In a strange way Iida enjoys coming home to Katsuki when he's had the day off; the house is usually spotless, and he's clingier than normal. Iida likes to knowing he's missed.

But this day, Iida actually has a villain to fight. The attack isn't super dangerous or strenuous - it might make the local news, at most - but Iida ends up getting cut pretty badly by shrapnel. And whenever anyone's injured on the job, there's a protocol that must be followed - the visit to the healer on duty, the paperwork, etc. etc. Even Iida, who understands the purpose of it, is antsy to leave.

The injury - a cut across the outside of his thigh - is a messy wound, bleeding profusely but not as painful as it seems like it should be. It's long and deep enough that, without Quirk-healing, a person would need stitches. It means Iida arrives home very late - closer to bedtime than dinnertime - and, beneath his civilian clothes, his skin is tacky with blood. The wound healed without issue, but he's tired, he's so tired.

As soon as he's done with the red-tape mess he shoots off a text to Katsuki and gets on the train, nearly missing his stop because he's beginning to doze. He stumbles to his own apartment and is fumbling for his key when the door opens on its own, Katsuki silhouetted in the doorway.

"I'm sorry," Iida says, sagging with tiredness, "we had an attack, I got caught up-"

"Were you hurt?"

"Yes, it got healed." Iida stumbles in, kicks off his shoes and sets his bag on the ground with a thump. "I'm just tired."

"Where were you hurt?"

Iida gestures on his leg, tracing an approximate outline with a finger. "It really wasn't a big deal. I'm just tired from the healing, you know how it is. I should shower, though."

"You can't shower," Katsuki says. "You'll fall and hit your head."

Iida laughs a little, but Katsuki's face remains stony: he's not kidding around. "I have to," Iida says. "I'm filthy."

"Let me run the bath."

Iida blinks with surprise. "Thank you."

He's almost embarrassed, a few minutes later, to come into the bathroom and strip in front of Katsuki. They've seen each other naked before, of course, and seen each other injured at work and at U.A., but there's something particularly intimate about the combination of the two. Iida watches Katsuki look at the site of the former injury - the dried blood, the pale scar that's the only sign Iida was hurt at all. Katsuki's face is pale, his eyes narrowed.

"Get in," he says, and Iida knows he can't protest. He doesn't really want to, but even if he did, he has the feeling Katsuki would fight him on it. But Iida's in the mood to relax and let himself be taken care of, so he nods and climbs in, using Katsuki's hand for support.

The water's warm but not hot, and feels better than any bath Iida can remember. "I could fall asleep in here," Iida says, feeling his muscles relaxing as soon as he sits down.

"That would be fine," Katsuki says, voice quiet.

Katsuki cleans his leg with a washcloth, then procures a pitcher from somewhere and pours water on Iida's head, so he doesn't even have to move to get his hair wet. In fact, Iida doesn't need to do anything other than sit there and enjoy the sensations - Katsuki's hands rubbing shampoo into his scalp and massaging his shoulders, his chest, his legs; the cascade of warm water as the soap is washed away. It's tempered a little, though, as Iida remembers the look on Katsuki's face - ashen with worry, brow furrowed - and the edge in his tone as he asked if Iida was hurt.

These things are going to happen, Iida thinks. If this is how Katsuki reacts when Iida gets a literal scratch, how might he react if he breaks a limb or gets a concussion? Or at the next Stain who threatens his life? His heart is too soft, Iida thinks, but he knows that if the situation was reversed, he'd be fussing and caring for Katsuki in much the same way. All he can do now is appreciate the attention and try to keep himself safer in the future. If this had happened in his pre-Katsuki days, it wouldn't have been any more than a minor inconvenience; Iida would have taken a shower, crashed and slept it off. But now he feels the levity of it, the sense of responsibility that comes with being loved. He has to keep himself safe, not for his own sake but because his pain no longer hurts him alone.

Afterwards, Katsuki towels him off and guides him to the bed. They lie on their sides facing each other, the only light coming from the lamp on Iida's bedside table.

"Call in sick tomorrow," Katsuki tells him.

"I don't think there's a need." Iida stifles a yawn. It's not even ten, but he's nearly passing out. "It was just a scratch. I just need a good night's sleep."

"They should give you the next day off when you're hurt on the job."

"It was only a scratch!" Iida reaches forward to take Katsuki's face in his hands. "We all suffered worse than this back at U.A. and couldn't even skip the next class period, much less the entire day."

Katsuki is silent, a frown on his face. He might not see a point to arguing about it anymore, but his thoughts on the subject are obvious. Iida edges closer and buries his face in the crook of his neck, and Katsuki holds him, his arms gentle around Iida's back.

In a perfect world, they would never work apart from one another. No - in a perfect world, they would never have to fight at all. They could retire from hero work without feeling guilty about it, and become managers or accountants or writers or anything, anything at all.

Iida feels Katsuki's hand move up to his hair, fingers combing through it. He tries to focus on the touch and think of something besides these what-ifs that he knows can't be. He thinks of how they're both working the next day, so they'll be able to work together again. He thinks of the restaurant reservation he snagged for their two-month anniversary - Katsuki laughs at him for celebrating silly little milestones like that, but Iida's pretty sure he secretly loves it. (And even if he doesn't, it's a chance for a fancy dinner with Katsuki, and Iida's not about to let that pass him by.) He thinks of the upcoming weekend, and the curry Katsuki's making for dinner the next day, and the warmth of Katsuki's skin against his, and little by little, Iida falls asleep, there in Katsuki's arms, safe.