Chapter Text
Izuku is practically asleep on the couch with an old hero documentary humming softly on the TV when there came a banging to his apartment door. He glanced up to the All Might clock on his wall that Ida had gifted him as a present a few years ago and saw it was well past 10pm.
He stood up without so much as a breath and pattered over to his door, the soft shuffle of his house slippers loud in his ears. For some reason, before he even reached for the lock, he began to picture the sight he would see. When he got an imagine in his head, without meaning to, he chuckled to himself.
Sure enough, one the other side, was Katsuki.
His eyes are red around the edges, not from crying—Izuku knows better than that—but from being unmistakably drunk. His blonde hard was matted near his forehead where sweat glistened, and his usual pale cheeks were streaked with coats of drunken flush. Izuku's eyes lingered to the scar on the man’s cheek, memories shooting off fast like a pounding against his skull before drifting away.
Katsuki smells faintly of smoke, alcohol, and the night air. And of course, Izuku couldn't mistake that sweet scent of brown sugar that wafted off of his warm figure. It was always so Kacchan.
"Nerd," the man mutters, voice low and rough where he slumps against the door frame.
"Kacchan. Yer drunk again."
Katsuki scowls like the statement personally offends him, but he doesn't make an attempt to rebuttal. He stumbles into the small gap of space between Izuku and the door, leaning against the nearest wall he can find as he soon as he descends past the frame.
"Why didn't you go back to your own apartment? I have classes tomorrow, you know?" Izuku whines with the click of the locks behind him.
He watches the drunk man toe off his boots which took him quite some time that Izuku could have saved if he just offered to help, but he knew Katsuki would fuss with him.
When the boots were tossed next to the unorganized wrack of shoes by the entrance, he began to shuffle. Seeing Katsuki trying to get himself off the wall, Izuku reaches out on instinct. With a slight hand pressed to the expanse of Katsuki's back, he could feel how warm the man was, even through the thick long sleeve shirt he wore.
Trying to ignore the heat now sizzling in his palm, Izuku steadies him there and Katsuki doesn't even shove him away like he expects him to.
"Stupid Izuku," he says, perhaps his only attempt to fight back against the pressure on his spine.
Regardless, he lets himself be swayed toward the living room he knew all too well with Izuku behind him whispering a gentle "Come on, let's sit you down.”
Any other time, he would bicker and put up much more of a fight. This could only mean that Katsuki was currently what Izuku liked to call—squishy drunk.
He'd made it up after one of the many nights Katsuki came here on a drunk tangent. He noticed that on what he now called squishy drunk nights, the blond is docile and less prone to violence, more equivalent to a dollop of squishy putty that Izuku could maneuver without much trouble.
Would he ever tell Katsuki of the name he had created for his moods when he was drunk? Absolutely not. Unless he had aspirations to be blasted to the moon, then he might consider it one day.
Izuku made sure Katsuki was situated on the couch before pattering off to the kitchen to retrieve the man some water.
Katsuki's arms were dropped uselessly at his sides like gravity had finally taken its toll on him. Gravity in this case being the alcohol
That head of messy blonde hair was tipped back against the couch, and his mouth hung open in soft breaths. The warm flush of his cheeks stand out even more in the dim light of Izuku's apartment, along with the gash from the insignia of war under his eye.
"Water. Drink," he said when he returned, sitting beside Katsuki on the couch with the glass in hand.
Katsuki lifted his head sluggishly at the soft voice that was probably the only thing keeping him from spinning at moment. He reached for the clear cup, and then began to wonder if this was the same cup Izuku always gave him when he came stumbling here.
"Mm. Thanks," he said, taking a heady sip before handing it back.
Izuku hums a "yer welcome" as he sets the glass on the coffee table.
Katsuki breathes out slowly, a little louder than he means to but he can't help it because he can feel everything and nothing in his body right now.
"This couch sucks," he mutters. His words slur enough that he can hear it in own ears. "’s too soft."
He sinks further into the cushions, this time moving his heavy arms to cross weakly over his chest. He likes to think he did a damn good job maintaining the illusion of irritation, despite being halfway melted into Izuku's furniture.
Izuku would beg to differ.
He lets his head roll to the side so he's vaguely facing Izuku, his neck looser then he remembers.
Izuku observes him carefully. He is calculating every shift of Katsuki's warm expression, and the blond looks right back at him. Crimson eyes are lazy with sleep that he stubbornly continues to fight, which he always does in times like these.
"Yer like...really bright right now," he mumbles.
Izuku tilts his head with a soft smile. "Bright?"
"Yeah. Like—" Katsuki waves a hand in a vague circle. It quickly falls down to his side, as he had forgotten how heavy it was before. "Glowy. Loud. Can see you even with my eyes closed."
He closes his eyes to demonstrate. "See? Yer still there. Bright as hell."
Izuku tries not to laugh, but can't help it when a scarred hand comes to his mouth to stifle the sound.
"Yer really drunk, Kacchan."
Katsuki rolls his eyes, which he immediately regrets when the room began to spin.
"Ugh..." He pauses, then adds with an annoyed grumble, "Stop your apartment from moving, nerd."
Izuku smiles gently, that stupid, contagious smile. It haunts Katsuki in his sleep, and he guess when he's awake now too.
With a lazy blink, he catches Izuku getting up with a finger pointed in the air.
"Stop spinning, apartment. Kacchan is drunk right now," he turns back to him with a satisfied glimmer in those dumb green eyes and sits back on the couch.
Katsuki grunts out a laugh, unimpressed, and lets the hand resting on his chest slide down over his face to gather his barrings.
A few seconds later, his whole body loosens. The alcohol is really starting to lull him closer to sleep. He's lying down a moment later, a throw pillow under his heavy head.
When the hell did that happen?
His breathing evens out but he's still awake enough to realize that Izuku is draping a blanket over Katsuki like he were some sick little kid. He didn't even know when the hell Izuku got up to retrieve a blanket, all he knew was that it was the same cursed All Might blanket he'd had since elementary school.
Izuku is crouched beside his head now, a rough palm splaying back blonde hair from Katsuki's face. He thinks he feels a thumb graze over the scar under his right eye, but he sums it up as his drunken imagination when the feelings of a warm hand continues to play in his hair.
In any other case, Katsuki would have swatted that damned hand away! But he didn't—couldn't. It felt nice, that hand.
As sleep began to simmer into his bones and the alcohol weighed down his eyelids, he couldn't help but yawn.
He could see Izuku, even now. He fights sleep for a moment to look at him a bit longer. Green curls and a deep scar hiding a once freckle covered cheek is the last thing he sees that night before he lets his eyes shut finally.
"Don't go far, Izuku," he hushes mindlessly in a haze.
Izuku stays right where he is, staring endearingly at Katsuki's sleeping expression like he were the most fragile thing in the world.
"I'm not going anywhere, Kacchan."
Izuku isn't shocked when he comes out of his bedroom the next morning to the All Might blanket folded on the couch and the glass of water clean and drying on rag a by the sink.
He also doesn't forget how quiet his apartment is when he leaves for UA, drifting past the newly organized shoe wrack as he locks the door behind him.