After leaving the Pastor's apartment, Katsuki had every plan to head back home and leave Izuku to his own drunken stupor. But before he know it, Katsuki had marched through the night towards Izuku's place like a raging storm.
The neighborhood's chill, rather than quelling the fire raging inside him, only fanned it, fueling a mix of worry and a stubborn resolve. Izuku's face at his last sighting—flushed with liquor and anger—etched itself into Katsuki's mind, pulling him forward. This is it, the do or die, he thought, his fist rapping on the door with a determination that mirrored the tumult in his heart.
The door swung open to reveal Izuku, less the drunken fury Katsuki had braced for, and more a man caught in the aftermath, his defiance simmering under a veneer of control. "Katsuki? What the hell are you doing here?" The words were clipped and cold, like when they had first met.
Came to check on your drunk ass, Katsuki nearly said, but bit back the words. "After the shit show you pulled earlier. Just making sure you didn't end up face-first in a ditch somewhere," he replied, his tone walking a tightrope between concern and an irked edge.
Izuku's stance hardened. His grip tightened on the doorknob, as if having every intention of keeping Katsuki out.
In the dim lighting, the dark circles under Izuku's eyes contrasted against the freckled of his cheeks. "Well, I'm not in a ditch. Happy? Now you can leave." The dismissal hung between them, a challenge in its own right.
But Katsuki wasn't one to back down, not tonight. Forcing his way past Izuku, Izuku allowed the door to close behind him, sealing them in with the palpable tension that filled the room like smoke.
"And what about the pastor?" Izuku's voice cut through the unease, carrying a note of something unidentifiable.
Katsuki paused, turning to face him. "Curious, are we?" The words leaped out, edged and barbed. "Yeah, I kissed him. What's it to you?" His voice was a provocation, keen to scrape beneath Izuku's carefully maintained surface.
Izuku flinched, the mask of indifference slipping. "Like I said, it's none of my business. Do whatever—or whoever—you want." The words were meant to dismiss, but their shaky delivery betrayed the tumult beneath.
"That so? 'Cause from where I'm standing, it looks like it's eating you up," Katsuki shot back, the venom of rejection lending a harshness to his words. "But let's not forget who turned who away first."
The air thickened with unsaid things, charged and heavy. "This isn't about that, Katsuki," Izuku countered, his voice a tightrope over an abyss of emotion. "We can't—"
Katsuki cut him off, closing the gap between them in a few strides. "Can't what? Admit there's something here worth exploring? Or are you too scared to face it?" His words were a gamble, a throw of the dice landing them both in unknown territory.
The standoff hung in the air, a palpable entity, until Katsuki, propelled by a blend of frustration and a raw, undeniable pull, bridged the final distance. Their lips met in a clash, not of conflict, but of a desperate, searching need. It was an admission, a surrender, and a challenge all at once, spoken in the silent language of touch and breath and heat.
Izuku's arms, which had initially tensed in surprise, wrapped around Katsuki's waist in a grip that spoke of surrender. His initial resistance melted into the kiss, marking a significant shift between them.
As they parted, breathless and on the cliff of something undefined but real, Katsuki dared to voice the challenge. "Now, tell me you don't feel a damn thing."
The answer came not in words but in the storm brewing in Izuku's eyes—a tempest of emotions that Katsuki had only glimpsed at the edges. "I can't," Izuku admitted, his voice a mere breath, but laden with layers upon layers of unspoken sentiments.
It was as if that admission shifted the very foundation of the space between them, electrifying the air with possibilities that had previously been unspoken. They stood on the precipice of something new, something undefined but irrevocably real.
Katsuki, his voice roughened by emotion and the intensity of their encounter, laid bare his own truth. "I couldn't stop thinking about you," he confessed, a raw edge to his words that spoke of genuine vulnerability. "Even with him... my mind was on you." It was a confession that stripped him bare, revealing the depth of his fixation.
The revelation seemed to dismantle the last of Izuku's defenses, his face softening as the conflict in his eyes lightened a bit. Katsuki wouldn't give him another chance to change his mind as pulled Izuku towards him.
Their lips crashed together, a raw and untamed clash that felt like throwing gasoline on an already raging inferno. This wasn't just some Hollywood-style, soft-focus moment; it was all Katsuki—intense, fiery, and unapologetically real. Each kiss was a battle, a challenge, and a damn revelation all at once. As Izuku's lips moved against his with desperate urgency, Katsuki felt a thrill he couldn't describe, a mixture of victory and something far deeper.
Dragging Izuku towards the bedroom, every stumbling step was charged with an electricity that sent Katsuki's senses into overdrive. Every touch, every damn caress, felt like peeling back layers of armor. Here, in the raw silence of the room, words were unnecessary; their bodies spoke volumes more than any conversation ever could.
Izuku's hands, calloused and rough, roamed with a wild abandon that sent Katsuki's heart racing. He memorized each sigh, each involuntary shiver he drew from Izuku, as if they were secrets whispered in the dead of night.
Katsuki clung to him, fingers digging into Izuku's back, leaving angry welts down his freckled skin, binding them together—marks to prove this was real.
This wasn't the tenderness of first loves or the hesitant exploration.. No, this was something that had festered between them since the moment they had crossed each other's path, dancing around the inevitable.
The world outside, with all its chaos and noise, faded to nothing. The only reality that mattered was here and now—the heat of Izuku's hips meeting his, their ragged breaths that filled the air and the pounding of his own heart echoing like thunder.
In the aftermath, the room was quiet, filled with a sense of calm that only the deepest understanding could foster. Katsuki watched Izuku's sleeping face, the lines of worry that usually furrowed his brow smoothed away in slumber. There was something about the gentle rise and fall of his chest that eased Katsuki's own restless spirit.
Carefully, he brushed his fingers through those untamed curls, a gesture so tender it startled him. Katsuki allowed himself to feel something he usually kept locked away—tenderness, maybe, or something even scarier.
The dawn crept in, gentle light sneaking past curtains, nudging Katsuki awake with a soft insistence. He found himself under the unfamiliar but not unwelcome weight of Izuku's arm. There was something about the moment, the quiet calm, that had Katsuki wanting to freeze time. Yet, as he carefully extracted himself, a smirk played on his lips, Izuku had matched his intensity last night, leaving a satisfying ache as testament to last night's tumble.
They'd crossed some undefined line, and while the future was a haze, the present felt damn right.
Trudging to the kitchen, Katsuki's brows furrowed at the sight of Izuku's nearly barren fridge. A handful of veggies, likely from the community garden judging by their appearance, and eggs—it wasn't much, but it'd work. Cooking felt grounding, the rhythm of chopping and stirring a familiar comfort.
The small space soon filled with the aroma of breakfast, a homely scent that somehow made the kitchen feel less sparse, more lived-in.
Izuku's entrance was anything but subtle, his attire and tousled hair screaming of a night spent in less than restful slumber. Katsuki's gaze lingered on the marks marring Izuku's skin, remnants of their passionate clash. Pride swelled in his chest, a silent acknowledgement of the connection they'd shared.
Izuku's arms found their way around Katsuki, a soft kiss landing on his neck, sending an unexpected shiver down his spine. Katsuki's attempt at annoyance failed miserably against the warmth of Izuku's touch. "Hey, space cadet, mind helping out here? Set the table, yeah? Can't exactly eat standing," he managed, voice betraying his amusement.
They sat down to a simple yet satisfying meal, the kind that spoke of new beginnings or perhaps a continuation of something yet undefined.
It was Izuku's hesitant voice that broke their comfortable silence. "About last night," he ventured, eyes not quite meeting Katsuki's, "I know things... got intense."
Katsuki paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, as he regarded Izuku carefully. "Yeah, 'intense' is one way to put it," he replied, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a half-smirk. "So, what does that make us now?"
Izuku sighed, a tension easing from his shoulders as if he'd been dreading this conversation. "I don't know, Katsuki. I mean, I want—" He cut off, struggling to find the right words. "This, us... it's complicated."
Katsuki set his fork down, his expression softening. "Complicated, huh?" He leaned back, considering Izuku's troubled look. "Look, I'm not pushing for labels or anything, but..."
"But?" Izuku prompted, locking eyes with Katsuki, a silent plea for clarity in his gaze.
"But I think there's something worth exploring here," Katsuki admitted, his voice firm. "Even if we decide to keep it... casual for now."
Izuku's expression shifted, a mix of relief and a lingering uncertainty clear in his features. "Casual," he echoed, mulling over the word as if tasting it for the first time. "I can do casual, but—"
Katsuki interrupted, leaning forward, the intensity burning in his red eyes. "But nothing, Izuku. We see where this goes, no pressure. But I'll be damned if I let this slip without giving it a shot."
There was a long pause.
The air charged between them, before Izuku finally nodded, a small, genuine smile breaking through. "Okay, Katsuki. Let's give it a shot."
As they resumed eating, the mood lightened considerably, though the air still hummed with the promise of the unexplored territory between them. Katsuki found himself stealing glances at Izuku, each look, each smile they shared, adding another layer to the complex tapestry of their relationship.
Finishing their meal in a comfortable lull, Katsuki stood, gathering their plates. "Since I cooked, you're cleaning up," he quipped, a challenge in his eyes as he nudged Izuku towards the sink.
As dishes clinked in the kitchen, Katsuki sprawled out on the couch that felt too damn small for the both of them. It wasn't uncomfortable, though. It was new, this cautious dance they were doing around whatever was happening between them.
Izuku plopped down next to him, close enough that their knees bumped. It was a small touch, but damn if it didn't send a jolt straight through Katsuki. It was a reminder of the night before, of everything that had passed between them, and everything that might still lie ahead.
His gaze drifted to the door, landing on the mud-splattered shoes and jacket that were so out of place in the neat space. "What's with the mud wrestling get-up? You trying out for a new sport or something?" Katsuki couldn't help but tease, nodding towards the disaster Izuku called footwear.
Izuku's laugh was easy, but there was a moment, just a split second, where something shadowed passed over his face. "Took a little detour last night, needed to clear my head," he said, his voice lighter than the look in his eyes had been. "Turns out, scenic routes at night involve a lot more mud than I anticipated."
Katsuki laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls of the small living room, but he couldn't shake off the brief glimpse of something more beneath Izuku's casual dismissal. It's possible there was still a lingering jealousy. It was a thread he knew he'd pull at, eventually. Just not now, not when the day had been going so well.
The shift from laughter to something quieter came naturally. Izuku picked absentmindedly at the couch, glancing over with a curiosity that had Katsuki raising an eyebrow. "So, outside of playing hero on the streets, what's Katsuki's deal? What gets you out of bed in the morning?"
It was a simple question, but damn if it didn't have Katsuki pausing, trying to find the right words. "I don't know," he started, the words feeling clunky. "But I like cooking," he finally admitted, surprised by the weight of his own words.
He could feel Izuku's attention on him, unwavering, urging him to continue. "After I got adopted, things were... rough, for a while," Katsuki confessed, the memories bitter on his tongue. He almost stopped there, the words tasting too much like vulnerability. But Izuku's silence, patient and expectant, coaxed the rest out of him. "I was such a depressed little shit. Shoto was the only one allowed to come near me, but Fuyumi. She had none of it."
Katsuki allowed himself a small, wry smile at the memory. "One day, she literally dragged me out of my room kicking and screaming and put me to work in the kitchen with her." His hands moved of their own accord, mimicking the act of chopping, a motion ingrained in muscle memory. "She taught me how to find something good in the day-to-day. Cooking was that thing, for me."
"That must have been hard, but you seem really close to your family," Izuku said.
Izuku was listening, really listening, and something about that attention made Katsuki want to keep talking. "Yeah, we're a nosy bunch, but they're family. What about you? How does someone end up boosting cars for a living?"
Izuku leaned back, a thoughtful look crossing his features. "Just ran with the wrong crowd," he admitted. "I was an angry kid and caused my mom a lot of hell back in the day. It took a couple of years in juvie to get my head on straight."
Katsuki snorted, an irreverent smirk playing on his lips. "I bet you looked good in orange," he teased, trying to lighten the mood, to draw Izuku back from whatever memories had momentarily darkened his expression.
Izuku laughed, the sound rich and genuine, dispelling the brief shadow. Their conversation meandered from there, touching on everything and nothing all at once. It was easy, easier than Katsuki would have ever guessed, talking to Izuku like this. This day, these conversations, the tentative steps they were taking towards whatever this was growing between them—Katsuki found himself not just willing but wanting to see where it all might lead.
As the day blended seamlessly into evening, their connection deepened beyond words. Laughter gave way to lingering looks, to touches that spoke volumes, until conversation became secondary to the physical exploration of their newfound intimacy.
As they lay under Izuku's covers, legs tangled in each other, Katsuki's attention snagged on a soft, metallic jingle. Izuku, lost in thought, was absently playing with a car keychain that sparkled oddly in the fading light. Propping his head up to get a better view, Katsuki touched the edges of the flashy trinket.
"What's the deal with the girlie keychain?" Katsuki couldn't help but ask, eyeing it with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. It didn't seem like Izuku's style, too sentimental, maybe.
Izuku's hand stilled, his fingers tightening reflexively around the keychain. For a moment, the openness that Katsuki had grown accustomed to was replaced by a flicker of something else—pain, perhaps, or deep-seated regret. "It's... important," he finally said, the words laden with a weight that Katsuki hadn't expected. "A keepsake, you could say."
Katsuki eyed him, noting the slight shift in Izuku's demeanor. They had stumbled into deeper waters, the keychain evidently a link to Izuku's past, one he wasn't fully ready to dive into. "From that friend you mentioned before?" Katsuki prodded, recalling bits and pieces Izuku had let slip in more vulnerable moments.
"Yeah, 'something like that'," Izuku echoed back, his voice laced with a distance that made Katsuki's skin prickle. That smile, the one that didn't quite meet Izuku's eyes, was all pretense—a thin veil over a story Katsuki was itching to uncover. Something told him Izuku's sudden arrival in his life wasn't just a stroke of fate, but a tale of ghosts and shadows Izuku was still wrestling with.
Katsuki leaned closer, the space between them charged with unspoken tension. "You've mentioned this friend before, Izuku. But you clam up every damn time. What dragged you to this neck of the woods, really?" His voice, though gruff, carried an undercurrent of genuine curiosity, a need to peel back the layers Izuku kept so tightly sealed.
Izuku's gaze, a battleground of defiance and something raw, flickered under Katsuki's scrutiny. "I told you, didn't I? Needed a change," Izuku countered, his words more a barrier than an explanation. "A different scene."
The skepticism was ready on Katsuki's tongue, about to call out Izuku's evasion, when the space between them was suddenly erased by Izuku's lips. That kiss, a deliberate distraction, seared through Katsuki's defenses, igniting a wildfire that made coherent thought an impossibility. It was infuriating, how easily Izuku could pivot from standoffish to this—this maddening intensity that left Katsuki reeling.
A distant buzz—the signal of a text—couldn't pierce the haze Izuku had woven around him. Katsuki's world narrowed down to the immediate, the tactile reality of Izuku pressed against him, speaking in a language of touch that rendered words unnecessary, at least for the moment.
All the probing questions, the shadows of Izuku's past that Katsuki was so hell-bent on illuminating, faded into the background, eclipsed by the undeniable truth of their connection. Right here, right now, it was just Katsuki and Izuku, and the compelling gravity that seemed to draw them inevitably, inescapably together.