the one where izuku falls asleep on the couch again
Izuku wasn’t supposed to be awake. He wasn’t supposed to be curled on the couch at 2AM with his laptop dimly lighting his face, grading his students’ essays with a tired furrow in his brow. But Katsuki comes home from patrol late, boots heavy against the hardwood, and finds him there anyway.
The years have stretched them both into adults, but nothing could iron out Izuku’s bad habits. His hair is still a mess, his notebooks still scattered in dangerous stacks across the coffee table, and his hoodie is still at least two sizes too big.
“Izuku,” Katsuki says, voice gruff from the night air.
Izuku looks up, blinking owlishly, eyes too soft for the hour. “Kacchan. You’re back.”
Katsuki drops his gear bag by the door and stalks over, every step deliberate. “Why the hell are you still up?”
“I-uh-” Izuku stammers, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “My students turned in their first quirk analysis reports. I wanted to get through at least half before tomorrow.”
Katsuki narrows his eyes, leaning down until his shadow swallows Izuku’s screen. “And when were you planning to sleep? Next week?”
Izuku laughs, quiet and a little nervous. “I was getting there.”
Katsuki doesn’t answer right away. He just plucks the laptop out of Izuku’s lap, snaps it shut, and sets it firmly on the coffee table. Izuku makes a sound of protest, but it dies when Katsuki sinks down onto the couch beside him, thigh pressed warm against his own.
“You’re a damn idiot,” Katsuki mutters, sliding an arm behind Izuku’s shoulders and tugging him until he tips against his chest.
Izuku melts embarrassingly fast, body going loose, head fitting under Katsuki’s jaw like it’s been waiting for this exact spot all day. “You’re warm,” he mumbles, and it comes out so fond that Katsuki feels his heart stutter against his ribs.
“Tch. Course I’m warm. I just walked ten blocks in the summer heat.” But he doesn’t let go. His grip only tightens, grounding, steady.
For a long while, the apartment is quiet except for their breathing. Katsuki can feel the exhaustion in Izuku’s body, the way his muscles finally relax, the way his breathing evens out in the safety of his arms. He presses his nose to that mess of green curls, exhales slow.
“Dumb nerd,” he says, softer this time.
Izuku, half-asleep already, smiles against his chest. “Love you too, Kacchan.”
And Katsuki thinks, yeah. Maybe coming home to this idiot every night is worth every fight it took to get here.