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Izuku has been plaguing Katsuki’s dreams lately. And while Katsuki wished he could say that they were relatively normal, like of yesterday’s lunchtime, or that movie night the whole class had in the common room, this was different.
Katsuki kept dreaming of kissing him.
The first time it happened, he woke up mortified, his whole body tingling in that odd way it does after a lucid dream, when you didn’t know if you were awake or asleep. The timid night air against his warm skin only intensified this, dragging out panic from his sleep-bogged mind. He smothered himself with a pillow in an attempt to calm his hammering heart, which beat a rhythm so staggering that he could barely feel it. And what was worse— he could still feel the ghost of those phantom touches, too.
They were still there, lingering like adamant, touch-starved ghosts. Izuku’s fingers, curled around the curve of his jaw, tugging his hair, behind his nape, cupping his face— in his dreams, he’s seen it all. Felt it all. And they were each equally as tender and chaste as the last. Devastatingly gentle, like dream-Izuku understood the fragility of sleep. Always, it would leave Katsuki breathless, wanting .
And always, Izuku would break them apart with a stunning smile, face flushed and hair wild, his lips parting to say something—
and Katsuki would wake up.
So he would start most mornings in the aftermath, a little dazed and distracted, his chest gaping with the feeling of something missing. His own reflection in the mirror of his bathroom would appear like a specter, just as unreal as nightmares, his face a little redder than usual, a flush of warmth that lingered just as those phantom touches had.
And when he would see Izuku during one of these mornings, bumping into him in the hallway or something of the sort, Katsuki’s treacherous gaze would flicker down to his lips—
And he would see them redder in his mind’s eye, would feel the phantom softness against his own, could almost feel the breaths that escaped them fanning his face. And in these moments, he half-expected Izuku to kiss him. Because in all his dreams Izuku looked the same as he did in these encounters: dressed neatly in their school uniform, his head tilted a little after he asked Katsuki a mundane question, standing in the little nook outside their class.
This image happens all the time.
It happens every day .
And every day, Katsuki would stand there and stare at him, expecting something more , expecting the usual play-by-play of his repetitive dreams, of Izuku blushing bright red before he stepped closer, a hand hovering between them, unsure where to touch, before he gathered enough of his courage to lean in—
But it never comes, because Katsuki is very much awake.
Two years tumbled by before Katsuki finally did something about it. And, well, maybe he shouldn’t be taking the credit for making the first move, because begrudgingly, it was Izuku who did it first. They were both pro-heroes now, tired and beaten up after a grueling patrol shift, sitting on a bench outside of their agency, still in their dirty hero suits.
There was a winter breeze, brushing against what little exposed skin he had shown. Katsuki tugged the winter coat he had around his shoulders closer, draped tightly over his hero suit. He had opted to change into his winter gear back in October, despite everyone still keeping their normal suits. He was never a fan of the cold, or any sort of teasing wind.
There was a gap of silence that expanded between them, only hushed by the whirr of car engines as some drove past them, the quietness only mildly interrupted. Katsuki leaned his head back against the bench, extending his arm to drape along the rusting backrest.
They have this ritual, a moment shared between this bench and themselves after work, before getting into individual cars and driving back home. A brief swill of respite in the company of each other before returning to their empty apartments. A part of Katsuki sometimes regretted turning Izuku down when he offered to share an apartment with him. It was lonely, sometimes. Too quiet, no matter how action-filled his day had been. But he didn’t think he could handle being around Izuku all the time, having him perpetually close but never close enough.
Katsuki heard a sigh puff out from the opposite end of the bench.
He tossed a careless glance at Izuku.
(He’s grown very good at throwing those around, efficient in the way he steals a quick look.)
Izuku was still clutching at his arm. It was in a hurried gauze, messy and patchy in parts. When they were out on patrol, a random villain had made a swipe at a civilian and Izuku put his body in between them to block it. It had been too quick and early to tell what the man’s quirk was, better to be safe than sorry.
He had done the same to Katsuki, when the villain came up for another attack, aiming a hit at Katsuki’s back. The man had a disappearing quirk, something like teleportation, because he would hop from one place and end up in another. It had been too late for Katsuki to turn around and avoid it. Izuku jumped over him with his arms raised above his head, the villain’s knife slashing through him.
They took him down easily enough after a short while, with Izuku successfully grappling him using blackwhip after a few tries, like catching a testy bird. Katsuki knocked the villain out before he could teleport himself away yet again.
Even as the man was being carried off and a criminal report form was being shoved into his face, Katsuki couldn’t help but let his gaze drift to Izuku, sitting on the back of an ambulance getting his arm stitched up, all bright smiles directed at the starstruck medic tending to him.
Katsuki had to look away when the telltale thuds of his heart started to escalate, diverting his attention to the piece of paper he’s filled hundreds of times before, but coming up empty.
Now, Izuku was staring off into space, his pupils slowly following the path of a flock of birds, carving their way through the sky like scattering leaves. He had rejected medical treatment back at their agency, claiming that the stitching and patching up provided to him on-site had been enough.
(It hadn’t been. Katsuki could see spots of blood coming through the white strips. He was willing to bet anything that Izuku was just trying to honor that starstruck medic’s work, and that he would clean himself up alone at home.)
Katsuki tried to bite his tongue. He swore he did.
Another moment of silence swept between them.
“You haven’t fucking changed since UA,” Katsuki grumbled, the words escaping his lips anyway.
Izuku turned to him, too quickly, his hair tousling in the autumn breeze, like he had startled at the sound of his voice. When the words finally registered to him, there was a smile edging his lips.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means ,” Katsuki pressed on, “that you haven’t quit your fucking self-sacrificing shit.” And then he held it, that begrudging breath, before he released it in a whistle between his teeth. “You need to be more careful , dumbass.”
Izuku parted his lips, seeming to want to say something, before huffing out a laugh. An absent finger trailed along his arm, tracing the twisting gauze. He turned to face the road again.
Izuku shrugged. “I think I was careful enough.”
And this was one of the ways that Izuku had changed throughout the years— there was more bite to his words, the sass that was hidden behind bluster now surfacing with age.
Katsuki had decided a long time ago that he liked it.
He shook his head in exasperation. “No, shithead, you really weren’t.”
And Izuku was laughing, something light and gleeful, like Katsuki had said the funniest thing in the world. The laughter sent him careening in Katsuki’s direction, only slightly, and he stopped himself with his good arm.
Katsuki tried to ignore how close they were. It was a small bench, after all, and it wasn’t like this was the first time they’ve been shoulder-to-shoulder. But when Izuku turned to face him, something in his tone had changed. Katsuki’s brain short-circuited when Izuku’s voice came out soft, like a ghosting whisper.
And here it came, a question laced with a sigh, his head tilting to the side, his eyes trained on Katsuki. His teenaged dream from years ago, coming to life.
“You care a lot more than you let on, don’t you?”
And Katsuki could feel it. A whole lifetime’s worth of tension, coming to a point.
It wasn’t the words exactly. Anybody who overheard them would assume that Izuku had merely uttered a quiet piece of affection. But it was the tender smile on Izuku’s face that accompanied it, something knowing laced within. It was the way his shoulders angled just slightly in his direction, moving him that much closer, their faces too close to deny.
The air was chilly, winter coming on strong, and this was looking too much like those dreams Katsuki had back in high school, the ones that left him breathless. Except now Izuku wasn’t in their UA uniform, and they weren’t in that hallway outside their classroom, and he wasn’t as short and scrawny as he was back then.
But now, just like in those dreams, there had been a head-tilted question, and there had been a pause, and Izuku’s face was bright red, from the cold or otherwise. Katsuki stopped breathing, the winter fog that came with his breaths dissipating. Izuku shifted closer, his eyes half-lidded, and he was like a magnet, drawing Katsuki even closer still. But his pride would only take him so far, too scared or something else, and it was Izuku that closed the remaining gap between them.
And oh, there it was. The kind of satisfaction he thought he could only find in dreams.
Only this was far better, because the warmth felt so much closer, and Izuku’s hair was much softer, and his fingers behind Katsuki’s neck carried a weight that was lost in sleep. He deepened the kiss, twisting his fingers in Izuku’s green locks, cupping his jaw so he could tilt his head up, closer, even closer. Izuku hummed, eager to accommodate as he followed Katsuki’s urgency. It was real, finally real, and Katsuki wondered how he could ever think that those dreams would be enough for him.
And yet this feeling right now, holding Izuku so close with his breaths fanning against his own, still felt just a touch familiar. Like hazy recollection.
Like a memory.
Just like in his dreams, it was Izuku who parted first, his face red and flustered. Katsuki could only stare at his wide green eyes, at his profuse stammering, before he loosened his own tongue enough to say,
“You have no idea how many fucking times I’ve dreamt of that,” he muttered, and then added, in fear of sounding too cheesy. “I mean, literally dreamt it.”
Izuku paused for a second, barely registering Katsuki’s words before he burst into laughter, falling forward to bury his head into the crook of Katsuki’s shoulder, too many years’ worth of relief seeping out of him. And oh, that was a feeling that Katsuki hadn’t dared imagine for himself; Izuku’s weight leaned against him, like they slotted together as perfect as puzzle pieces.
“Don’t laugh at me,” Katsuki grumbled halfheartedly, a barely-concealed smile lining his lips.
Izuku’s laughter took a while to peter out, dissolving into hitched breaths, something shiny in his eyes, before he said,
“I’m not laughing at you , Kacchan,” he squeezed out, still out of breath. “I’m laughing at me .”
Katsuki frowned. “Why?”
“Because.” Izuku grinned, a giggle escaping his lips. “Because, me too .”
That only caused Katsuki’s frown to deepen. He wasn’t sure if Izuku really wasn’t making any sense, or if he was too distracted by the sight of his just-kissed lips, his hair tousled by the wind and something else. At this, Izuku smiled as he leaned forward, cradling the point of Katsuki’s chin between his fingers to draw them closer together. He elaborated, when the frown didn’t go away,
“I dreamt about kissing you too, idiot,” he whispered, into the quiet space between them. “When we were in UA. Always. All the time.”
Oh.
Oh.
Katsuki flushed. There was no way . He couldn’t even register that thought. Did that mean that Izuku had also woken up some mornings, distraught and heart hammering, just like he had? That he liked him, all this time? That they spent years dancing around each other, each too afraid to make the first move? That they could have had two years of this previously impossible thing?
Did that mean that, in those moments in the hallway when they met, when Katsuki froze up and could only stare at his lips, that Izuku may have been thinking about the same thing?
Katsuki shook his head, reaching up to grab Izuku’s hand, where it was cradling his jaw.
All he could think about was all the time they had wasted.
But perhaps they had enough dreams between them to make up for it.
“Can we—” he swallowed around his words, licking his lips in anxiousness. “Do you want to come home and have dinner with me?”
Izuku beamed.
“Yes, please .”