Work Text:
Izuku coughs himself awake.
His head hurts. His everything hurts, for some reason, and he reaches out blindly to find the beat-up old phone he keeps on his bedside table. Seven forty-three. He doesn’t need to be up for an hour at least. Sighing, he shuts his eyes and tries to go back to sleep, wrapped in a warm blanket and hugging a spare pillow.
He’s awake again ten minutes later. This time the coughing fit leaves him light-headed and raw, lungs feeling like they’re trying to shrivel up and eject themselves out of his body. His ears seem to be full of cotton. His nose is completely blocked, although sitting up makes it marginally less awful to breathe. Oh. I’m sick, he thinks dimly. The back of his head throbs like his brain wants to burst out of his skull.
Well. Might as well get something done now he’s up. Yawning, he shuffles out of bed to root around for paracetamol, which helps somewhat even though it’s probably expired. Birds chirp outside. He’d appreciate that, normally, but right now he can barely concentrate on his own thoughts.
His phone buzzes. Probably Kacchan up for his morning run. Groggily, Izuku paws at the screen, barely looking at the keyboard as he responds.
From: Kacchan
Morning, Deku.
To: Kacchan
mrngn
From: Kacchan
Incoherent. Go back to sleep
To: Kacchan
cant sleep gonan get sme work don
From: Kacchan
I don’t think you’ll get much accomplished when you can barely type. Go to bed
From: Kacchan
You’d better be ignoring me because you’re asleep
From: Kacchan
Deku. I can see you online
From: Kacchan
What’s the matter, nerdling? You have a bad dream or something? What’s bothering you?
That’s… sort of sweet, honestly. The concern, not the overbearingness, although it does sort of make him feel like a kid. I’m eight years older than you, don’t nag me he tries to type. Another coughing fit interrupts him. It makes him spill his water as his whole body seizes up, clutching his throat like he’s throwing up razors. He can’t breathe. Every gasping breath turns into a choked wheeze, lungs hot and tight and running on empty.
His phone rings in his hand. He answers and cradles it to his face, eyes shut, forcing deep, slow breaths through his nose. “Hey.”
Kacchan’s voice is a soothing grumble in his ear. “I knew it. Didn’t I just tell you to go to bed?”
“You’re not the boss of me,” Izuku rasps. “You’re not asleep either.”
There’s a long pause. “What’s wrong with your voice?”
Uh-oh. “Nothing.”
“Are you sick?”
“M’fine.”
Kacchan sighs on the other end. Something rustles in the background. Izuku imagines him sitting on the edge of his bed, still dressed in workout gear with a water bottle in hand. “Deku. You don’t sound fine. Tell me you weren’t about to head to work.”
“I have a deadline.”
“Your manga won’t fail if you don’t edit for one day. Call in sick.”
“I can’t, there’s just too much to do and the boss–”
“I’ll argue with your damned boss for you.”
Izuku hides a sneeze in his sleeve. “I took some meds.”
“That’s temporary. Izuku. Please rest. For me.”
That’s not fair. It’s unfair and Kacchan knows it because Izuku can’t say no to him when he sounds so soft. His throat burns with the need to cough again. He holds it in, trying to force his body to co-operate, but Kacchan hears the squeaky catch of breath.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he says, imploring. “Take the morning off. Just take a nap and come in after lunch. Stay later if you have to, I’ll bring you dinner.”
“I guess it doesn’t matter when I work as long as this week’s chapter gets done,” Izuku says hesitantly. “I’m fine, though, Kacchan. Really, I am.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it. Just take a break for a few hours, alright? I’ll call to check up on you soon.”
He sleeps until four p.m.
This time it’s his blanket that wakes him up. He’s sweaty and clammy, burning up in his clothes, and his heart sinks as he blinks at the clock. He’ll need to work all night now. His manager’s going to be livid. He’ll miss his deadline and get almost fired and have to grovel for his job, again. The paracetamol must have worn off because his head swims the second he gets out of bed. He stumbles to his wardrobe. Trips on a discarded shirt as he fumbles for his shoes. If he makes it to the office he can take his work home. He’ll get the edits back to the mangaka on time, he’ll be fine, everything will be okay.
He yanks open the door. Someone grabs him before he can faceplant onto the front step.
“Kacchan?” Izuku says blearily. Kacchan’s holding a tote bag. And Izuku’s waist, like he’s some kind of ragdoll, guiding him back into the studio apartment to sit down on the couch. “Wait, I have to go get–”
“I brought your work for you,” Kacchan says, going back to shut the door. “I figured you weren’t coming when you didn’t answer my calls, so I told your boss for you, and I knew you’d complain if you didn’t get to slave over your stuff for a few hours so – Jesus Christ, Deku.”
Izuku pauses trying to wobble back upright. “What?”
Kacchan looks around the apartment. His hideous, messy apartment, Izuku realizes abruptly, full of paperwork and empty takeout containers. There are manga pages and dirty clothes strewn all over the floor. The sink’s full of dishes and the bed doesn’t even have a real frame. “Is this how you live?”
“I wasn’t expecting company.” Izuku curls in on himself, self-conscious. “I don’t really get visitors besides my mom.”
“That’s no reason to live in a pigsty.”
“Sorry.”
“No, don’t – don’t apologise,” Kacchan sighs, toeing off his shoes and coming to put his bag on the coffee table. He puts his hand on Izuku’s forehead. His palm’s calloused and cool. Izuku can’t help but lean into the touch. “You have a fever. When did this start?”
“Morning.” Kacchan takes his hand away. Izuku already misses the contact. “It’s not all that bad, though. Can I have my work?”
“No, you cannot. You need rest, you sound like a chain-smoker. I got you some soup,” Kacchan says, digging around in his bag. “And some meds and fever pads. Did you catch something at the office?”
“No.” It’s not like this doesn’t happen every few months. Too many all-nighters and Izuku’s body just gives up on him. Cons of being an omega, he thinks absently as Kacchan gets up to poke around in the kitchen. People like him are delicate, he’s been told.
“Deku,” says Kacchan, exasperated. “There’s nothing in your fridge but stale bread and half-eaten Cheetos.”
Izuku winces. “I don’t cook much.”
“What the hell do you eat?”
Coffee, mostly. “Did you come here just to make fun of me?”
“I came to take care of you,” Kacchan says, coming back with a spoon. “Because you obviously don’t bother taking care of yourself.”
Izuku accepts the plastic container of soup. He can’t taste any of it. It’s warm and comforting in his hands, though, so he sips it delicately from his spoon and relishes the slow unclogging of his sinuses. Like a bathroom drain, he thinks deliriously. Too much of it and his brain will start leaking out of his nose like a smoothie.
Kacchan presses something against his mouth. Izuku clamps his lips shut on instinct, trying to back away into the couch. “Deku,” Kacchan says, admonishing. “It’s just medicine. Come on, don’t be a baby.”
Izuku opens his mouth reluctantly. “I’m older than you.”
“And six inches shorter, what’s your point?”
He’s cleaning things off the coffee table. Izuku chases the bitter taste away with more soup, anxious and unhappy and uncomfortable. Kacchan’s never been here before. He could have called or something. Given Izuku time to clean up and mentally prepare for someone else in his space. Kacchan always takes up more room than he logically should, commanding attention even when he’s not doing anything in particular. He’s so handsome and put together. Makes Izuku’s shabby home even uglier by comparison. “How’d you get my address?” he asks, trying not to feel like Kacchan’s a charming TV host and Izuku’s a contestant on one of those home makeover shows. There’s probably no saving his apartment, anyway. They’d have to bulldoze the whole thing with Izuku in it. “You didn’t have to drop by. We could have gone out or something if you wanted.”
Kacchan stacks up some paperwork. “I didn’t come here for a date, Deku, I came to check up on you. And you told me your address, remember? That time I sent you flowers.”
“Oh. Right.” A month ago, when they’d just started going out. The bouquet had been almost too big for the living room. He still has a dried rose in his planner. “Well. Uhm, thanks. I feel better now.”
“You’re still all red and sweaty.”
“Sorry. Want some soup?”
“I got it for you.”
“Coffee? Cheetos?”
“Deku,” says Kacchan patiently. “I’m not a guest, I’m your boyfriend. I am here to take care of you. That means you sit down and rest and stop fussing over me. And I’m not leaving, either. I can see you glancing at the door. Stop it.”
Izuku guiltily slurps his soup. The word boyfriend still somehow always comes as a surprise. Kacchan seems to like saying it, though. “I think it’s just a cold, though. I really am okay.”
“You will be once I’m done with you.”
“Can I have my work now?”
“No. Do it tomorrow.”
“Kacchan, thank you for coming over, but I do need to meet this deadline,” Izuku sighs. “If this week’s issue gets delayed I’ll catch hell.”
“It’s not like you’re goofing off. You’re sick. They can’t blame you for that considering how much you do for them.”
“They can and they will.”
“I’ll fuckin’ fight them, what the hell.”
Izuku smiles a little despite himself. Whatever Kacchan gave him is working a little bit, making his head feel less heavy and fuzzy. His eyes are still tired and his joints ache like he’s eighty but he feels slightly better than he did this morning. “That’s very kind of you but I’d rather you didn’t go to jail on my behalf. Now, my manga, please?”
“I already said no,” Kacchan frowns. “Seriously, Deku, you need to learn to take care of yourself. You let your apartment get filthy, you have barely any food, and now your body’s physically protesting and you still won’t listen to it. Is your boss more important than your wellbeing? Are you trying to die for this stupid magazine?”
“I am taking care of myself. I wouldn’t even have this shitty apartment if I couldn’t pay my bills. I’m doing what I can not to get fired.”
Kacchan snorts. “They’re not gonna fire you over a sick day.”
Izuku purses his lips. Kacchan moves to the couch next to him, posture languid and expensive suit jacket tossed over the back of it. He looks like he owns the place even though it’s not the kind of place that suits him. “They wouldn’t fire you, no. They’d never find another stylist like you. Me, I’m not so indispensable.”
“The hell you aren’t. You’re a good editor and you work faster than anyone else.”
“Yes, well, I’ve been almost fired for less.”
He reaches for the bag. His work folder’s in there, he can see it, but Kacchan catches his hand before he can reach it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Kacchan, please let go.”
“What do you mean you’ve been almost fired for less? What happened?”
“Kacchan.” Izuku’s aware he’s not very threatening. The expression he gives Kacchan makes him slowly tense up, though, eyes roving around Deku’s face like he’s trying to pick him apart. “My boss is unforgiving of mistakes. I’m not allowed to mess up the schedule. He barely lets me have lunch breaks, he’s not going to tolerate me having a whole day off.”
“What the hell do you mean he won’t let you have lunch breaks? Does he treat everyone like that?”
“No.”
“Just you?”
“Yes.”
Kacchan’s expression shutters. “I’m gonna have a word with him.”
“Don’t. Your superiors don’t mind you mouthing off but mine don’t respect me like that. If you rock the boat I’ll get fired, Kacchan, and I love this job. Not to mention I’m basically living paycheque to paycheque.”
“A paycheque isn’t worth being overworked like this.”
“I don’t have wealthy parents to tide me over. I don’t have anything. They won’t make allowances for me like they will for you.”
“Deku.”
Kacchan physically recoils. Izuku takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes briefly shut as his head throbs and throat starts to itch from talking. He puts his soup on the coffee table. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I just need you to trust me when I say my job isn’t all that secure. It isn’t fair, no, but you can’t understand my position.”
“Then make me understand.”
“I can’t do that. You’re different.”
“Because I’m doing fashion?”
“Because you’re wanted,” Izuku says, putting down his lukewarm bowl of soup. This time Kacchan doesn’t stop him from getting his work folder. It’s the one thing Izuku does keep organised, storyboard pages neatly stacked up with sticky notes on each page. “You’re young. Talented. You’re an alpha. People like alphas. You don’t need to make anyone respect you, they just do.”
“You think I got hired for being an alpha?”
“You got hired because you’re good. You didn’t have to convince them you were good, because you’re an alpha.”
“Bullshit.”
Izuku stares at him. Really stares, stuffed nose making him perhaps more irritable than normal. “Do you think I’m lying?”
“No, I think you’re selling yourself short. You know what you’re doing, you’ve been there for years.”
Izuku snorts. “Alright. Feel free to watch TV or something. I need to finish this.”
Kacchan doesn’t try to take his work away again. He does lean into Izuku’s space, though, no doubt smelling like spiced cologne that Izuku can’t even appreciate right now. “Do they treat you differently because you’re an omega?”
“Everyone treats me differently, Kacchan. Do you not know this? Omegas are weak, fragile, best suited to producing offspring for an appropriate mate? They teach you that in Sex Ed. Nobody takes me seriously. You’re right. I have been there for years. In the same position, no promotions, because omegas aren’t suited to managerial tasks. Too much authority, apparently.”
“That’s fucking nonsense. Nobody should think like that, you’re not some kind of liability. You’re fucking valuable.”
“You literally call me Deku.”
Katsuki look stricken. “I don’t – that’s just because you’re clumsy, it’s cute. I wasn’t being serious. It’s not like I think you’re actually useless.”
“Yes, okay.”
The world goes briefly sideways. Izuku’s head spins as he’s dragged into Kacchan’s chest, face pressed into a soft silk shirt and a hand running almost violently through his hair. “De – Izuku. I didn’t mean it that way, I swear.”
“I can’t breathe. And don’t hug me, I’m sweaty.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Kacchan demands. “If this was a sore spot for you you should have told me.”
“I know you didn’t mean anything by it,” Izuku wheezes. “And it just seemed sort of immature to get upset about a dumb nickname.”
“I just – you spilled coffee on me that one time. I was teasing.”
“Yes, okay, Kacchan, I get it.” He extricates himself gently. He’s sweating in his hoodie, hair starting to stick to his forehead, and Kacchan’s radiator body heat doesn’t help. “I’m not angry. I just need to get this chapter started –”
“Stop trying to work yourself to death –”
“I don’t expect you to understand,” Izuku says levelly. “That I have to work harder than everyone else to get the same amount of respect. What exactly do you plan to do if I get fired?”
“Support you, obviously.”
“I got a job so I wouldn’t have to be someone’s housewife.”
“De- Izuku,” Kacchan says, sliding off the couch. He kneels in front of Izuku, leaning in so Izuku can’t escape eye contact, arms resting on Izuku’s legs and thumb rubbing soft circles into his thigh. “You don’t have to be anything you don’t want to. I just – I figured your boss was a dick but I thought your department did to value you. You have a project all to yourself. You have your own office.”
No, he doesn’t. He has an isolated cubicle in the corner because he forwent his heat suppressants once and got mobbed. The manager put him there ‘for his own protection’. And because he decided Izuku was trying to seduce himself better pay, apparently, which he half-wishes were actually true. The only reason he skipped the scent blockers was because he was poor and wanted groceries instead. “I get the high-failure rate projects. The newbie artists and concepts nobody else wants to work with. I’m not a one-man team by choice.”
“Jesus Christ.” Kacchan rests his chin on Izuku’s knee, frowning at nothing. “It’s like fucking high school. Popular, asshole kids won’t let some people sit with them at lunch.”
Izuku doesn’t point out that Kacchan’s technically one of those popular kids. “Yeah, well. These kids control my pay, so.”
“That’s bullshit. This is bullshit. There’s no reason anyone should treat you different. At my old company you’d get fired for this sort of sexist shit. I’m filing a complaint to HR. Anonymously. No, fuck that, I’ll threaten to walk out. How dare they? I’m hiring a god damn hit man. Your manager’s as good as dead.”
“Please reign in your yakuza tendencies,” Izuku says, running a clammy hand through Kacchan’s soft hair. “Thank you for being upset on my behalf but I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t be!”
Izuku supresses a yawn. His sinuses ache, although his head’s a little clearer. “It’s an all-beta department. I figured they’d have some, uh, preconceived notions.”
“From a hundred years ago? Get real. If anyone treated my dad like this my mom would have their head.”
“Your dad?”
“An omega.”
Izuku blinks at him slowly, brain moving through molasses. “Oh. I thought your parents were both alphas. Alphas always marry each other.”
“We don’t hold with all that blood purity crap. That’s how you get inbred kids, anyway,” Kacchan grumbles. “If ten percent of the population keeps fucking each other you’re gonna end up with some pretty weird-looking alphas.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s some level of blasphemous.”
“True, though. Like my dickhead grandparents. My mom’s mom is real proud of her alpha lineage or whatever. She used to show me old portraits, back when I was a kid. One of those fucks had six fingers. I’m not saying inbreeding had anything to do with it but weird things tend to happen when your family tree looks like a wreath.”
Izuku manages at the last minute to turn his laugh into a cough. “They let your mom marry your dad, though.”
“They were against it. Mom threatened to have her tubes tied and they eventually figured mixed grandkids were better than no grandkids so they shut up. Looked like idiots, too. My dad’s great. And my genes turned out healthy enough.”
They turned out perfect, Izuku would argue. “Well, you’re an alpha. It worked out.”
“Yeah, sucks to be them. Their precious alpha grandkid hates them. Only family I can stand is on my dad’s side. They’re nice enough even if Grandma does keep forcing shortbread on me.”
The image of that makes Izuku smile despite himself. His head throbs weakly, Kacchan’s pointy chin digging into his knee, and he scratches his fingernails absently against Kacchan’s scalp. “Your point?”
“Alphas are assholes.”
“You’re an alpha.”
“I’m also an asshole.”
“I quite like you regardless.” Kacchan’s hair is surprisingly fine, like straight strands of silk. This makes sense, he supposes. Kacchan must have got the unconventional attitude from somewhere. Izuku doesn’t think he’ ever met an alpha with mixed parents before, but here he is. In Izuku’s lap, willing to date an omega. “I’m sorry about your grandparents. I’m glad your parents sound nice. Also, you’re being very sweet but you’re distracting me and I really do need to work.”
“God, fine,” Kacchan says and rolls his eyes. He heaves himself off the floor with a grunt like he’s twenty years older than he is, brushing a hand against Izuku’s fever-flushed cheek. Izuku has to crane his neck to look at him. The fluorescent lights cast a white halo around his head, softening his sharp angles and turning his hair almost white. “I still think you should be asleep, for the record.”
Izuku pats his hand and sighs. “Yes, noted. Now please go away so I can work.”
He doesn’t work. He just falls asleep again. Not even three pages in, damn his traitor body.
He wakes up curled up on the couch with a crick in his neck and his work clutched protectively to his chest. Something smells chemical. Kacchan’s humming under his breath somewhere in the kitchen, barely audible over the clinking of cheap plates. He’d draped a blanket over Izuku’s torso. Coughing, Izuku struggles upright, peering over the back of the couch with squinty, bleary eyes. “Are you cleaning?”
“Got groceries too,” Kacchan says, putting away a freshly-washed mug. “‘S just some basic stuff from the mini mart down the street, though. Nothing fancy. I got you Cheetos that weren’t expired.”
Izuku looks around. His apartment’s cleaner than it’s been since he moved in, work neatly stacked and floors gleaming. The washing machine’s happily chugging. The sink is empty, dishes drying in the rack, and there’s something stewing in a pot Izuku’d forgotten he owned. “Oh my god, you’re making me dinner. How much were the groceries? Let me get my wallet, I’ll pay you back.”
“A hundred yen.”
“Kacchan.”
“Two hundred yen.”
“Kacchan.”
“Try looking for receipt if you want,” Kacchan says smugly, lifting the lid off the pot to take a whiff. “I didn’t learn this housekeeping shit for nothing, okay? Just be quiet and let me take care of you. I’m making tofu soup.”
Izuku sneezes so hard he feels his ears pop. Shaky, he puts his folder on the seat next to him, frowning at his knees while Kacchan bustles around looking for bowls. “I don’t need taking care of. I’m an adult. I’m not helpless.”
“Sure, but you’re sick,” Kacchan says like this is obvious.
“I can afford groceries. I know I don’t have much but it’s enough to get by. I don’t need you to support me.”
The pot lid clinks. There’s silence for a second, and then Kacchan’s coming around the side of the couch to frown at him. He’s found an apron from somewhere. “Why are you upset?”
“I’m not upset.” Chewing his cheek, Izuku curls his legs up to his chest, feet on the couch cushions. “Sorry, sorry. It’s, uhm. It’s nice of you to do this for me. Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Izuku.” He slides between Izuku and the armrest instead of moving the work folder aside. He’s warm, and from this close Izuku can finally smell the food on his apron. It’s mildly spicy. “I don’t think you’re helpless. I think you work too hard and neglect yourself because you put your job first. I think you’re the most valuable editor this fucking company has.”
“Really?”
“Really. If you insist on working, that’s fine, but please let me feed you so you don’t have to stress yourself out.”
“Okay,” says Izuku quietly. Kacchan runs a hand through Izuku’s hair, stopping at his forehead to feel his temperature. “What time is it? I hope I’m not keeping you.”
“It’s 7.30. You aren’t keeping me, but I can see you’re still tired,” Kacchan says, running a thumb under Izuku’s unfortunate eyebags. “Have dinner with me. Then I’ll clean up and leave you to sleep, okay?”
Izuku hums in agreement. He misses the warmth when Kacchan leaves him to continue cooking, sighing even though he’s sweaty and too-warm under the blanket. They eat in relative silence. Izuku laments his lost sense of taste. He’s never had Kacchan’s cooking but this looks absolutely delicious. “Let me return the favour sometime,” he says, mouth full of tofu. “I’m not the best cook but it’s the least I could do.”
The expression Kacchan gives him is almost pained. Izuku doesn’t know why. “There’s no favour to return, Izuku, don’t worry about it. Just relax and eat your food.”
He leaves around nine. Izuku forces himself to stay up for a while – this week’s chapter won’t edit itself, and anyway he does feel a little better after sleeping all day. He gets through a decent chunk of it. The manager doesn’t reply to his apology for not coming in, but he doesn’t decline Izuku’s request to work from home the next day either. Izuku supposes that’s the best he can realistically expect.
He sleeps some more and eats leftover soup and sort of hates himself for liking his clean apartment. He’ll have to repay Kacchan somehow when he’s better. Take him out, maybe, or get him a gift. Or make him something pretty. Izuku’s pretty good at origami. He likes doing things with his hands.
Kacchan drops by again in the evening. He has more food, and this time he doesn’t look happy to see him. Izuku shrinks back from the door at Kacchan’s stony expression. “Uh. Hi. Is something wrong?”
“When were you going to tell me?” asks Kacchan, shouldering his way inside. He toes off his shoes like he hates them, stalking inside to put his plastic bags on the counter. Izuku shuts the door behind him, confused. “I asked Todoroki why they stuck you in that little cubicle if it wasn’t because you were senior. They said you were trying to use your heat on your boss? Really?”
Izuku’s stomach drops. It’s like he’s swallowed a chunk of ice. “Those were rumours. I wasn’t actually trying to do that.”
“Jesus Christ, I know you weren’t,” Kacchan says, spinning around to grab him by the shoulders. “That’s a fucking awful thing to say about someone. What I mean is, why didn’t you tell me your department was borderline harassing you during your heat?”
“I,” Izuku says hesitantly. He doesn’t like talking about this. Doesn’t like thinking about the twenty-something people gathered around his desk, staring at him like jackals eyeing an unguarded piece of meat. “I forgot my blockers that day.”
“Todoroki says they swarmed you.”
“Yeah.” The most attention they’d ever paid to him, ironically enough. “He gave me his jacket and they backed off a little.”
“And the manager just let them? And they punished you, instead of the others for acting like a hoard of horny animals?”
Izuku feels his face redden. And he’d just been getting over the fever, too. “It wasn’t as bad as it sounds, Kacchan. They were just looking. It wasn’t like they touched me or anything. Nobody, like, followed me to the bathroom or tried to – I mean, I was wearing a lot of layers this time so it’s not like they could reach me anyway, I think, and they didn’t ask about sharing my heat but I think they wanted to but you know it could have been worse, if Todoroki hadn’t been there, I don’t know if you’ve ever heard them egging each other along when there’s an omega around but it can be, uhm, graphic, you know, all that talk about – about knots and holding someone down and–”
Arms wind themselves around his waist. Izuku’s breathing too hard to be comfortable but he can’t get it under control, not with his blocked nose and the tickle in his throat and the clear image in his head of being stuck in a room full of hungry people far bigger than him. “Deep breaths,” Kacchan says, folding Izuku into his chest. You’re not there. You’re here, with me, and you’re safe. Okay? Just focus on me. Everything’s fine so don’t cry.”
“’M not crying,” Izuku says, voice thick. There’s a lump in his throat. He fights the urge to cough, squeezing his eyes shut instead and savouring what he can get of Kacchan’s cologne and campfire-caramel smell. “I just – I’m fine. I’m okay, Kacchan, sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” Kacchan says. “I’m sorry. Okay, baby? I’m sorry that happened to you. I’m sorry I wasn’t around to stop it. I’m sorry you’re still stuck with them. That was unfair. That was fucking – I can’t even imagine what that must have been like.”
“It… wasn’t good.”
“No shit. And don’t think I didn’t catch you saying this time. We’re gonna have a long talk about that, okay? When you’re ready. No one should treat you like that. No one’s going to, ever again.”
Izuku shuts his eyes. “Apparently it’s instinct.”
“The hell it is. You don’t just lose your head because someone smells good one time.” He’s gripping Izuku so tight it almost hurts. “The next time anyone comes after you like that, you come straight to me, understand? I will rip their heads off their fucking bodies. I don’t give a shit if I lose my job, not for this.”
“Kacchan,” says Izuku weakly. “It was in the past. It’s not worth getting angry over now.”
“You’re still in that a corner, aren’t you?”
“Well.”
Kacchan says something terrible under his breath and lets go. “Fucking disgusting. My dad said it was like this. That if you’re unlucky people treat you like – like –”
“A baby machine,” says Izuku, scratching the back of his neck. His heartbeat sounds too loud in his ears. “Look, it hasn’t happened since then. It was just my heat, I think. Nobody looks at me twice anymore.”
“They’d better not. You’re taken.”
“Yeah.” It’s not surprising, really. Izuku’s ‘no’ was never worth much, but there’s finally a boundary now he’s been claimed by an alpha. “What, uhm. What’s in the bags?”
“Huh? Oh. Katsudon. And some more meds and juice and stuff, you’re probably dehydrated.” Kacchan takes a deep breath, running a distracted hand through his hair and pulling things out one by one. “Cooling pads, lozenges, nasal decongestant, some more dish soap since you’re almost out… Better groceries, too, I got some oatmeal and shit so you wouldn’t have to cook. Fruit, you’d better eat these before they go bad, and meat, but that can hang out in the freezer, cereal, chili flakes – no, that’s for me – uh, those chocolate wafer things you like, and some cocoa –”
“Please let me pay you back.”
“Nah.”
“Kacchan.” He clutches the hem of his baggy sweater, feeling prickly and anxious. He’s not a complainer. Never has been, and Kacchan digging up his business at the office has him on edge. He hadn’t wanted Kacchan to hear that. Wouldn’t want anyone to hear that, the snide comments and casual put-downs, the sad evidence that Izuku has a sum total of one friend. It’s mildly humiliating. Especially so because it’s him, someone who’s 22 and already has all the things Izuku will probably never get.
There’s silence for a long while. Kacchan puts the cocoa down and comes closer, eyebrows furrowed and touch hesitant against Izuku’s skinny arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Huh?”
“Why are you being nice to me?” Izuku says, feeling exhausted and exposed. “Why do you do things for me even though I tell you not to? I know I’m an omega. I know everyone thinks I’m useless and you call me Deku even though you don’t mean it that way but I’m not and –”
“Izuku.” Kacchan’s hands are gentle against his cheeks, tilting his face up so they’re forced to look each other in the eye. “What in god’s name are you talking about? Do you think I’m doing all this because I pity you or something?”
Izuku shuts his eyes. Kacchan’s expression is too intense, gaze boring into Izuku’s skull and trying to read his awful, self-flagellating thoughts. “You just – you take books out of my hands. You cleaned my house. You pay for all our dates, you buy me things. It’s because you think I can’t do it myself, right? It’s because you’re successful and likeable and handsome and I’m not?”
“Where the hell is this coming from?”
To his own horror, Izuku sniffles. He’s tired and ashamed and Kacchan’s hands are calloused and big. “I hear it all the time. The receptionist said I looked poor.”
“What?”
“She said I had to take better care of how I dressed. And I was an omega, I should be fashionable, I should wear makeup or something, I don’t know why, it’s not like I see any customers besides the mangaka and they don’t even look at me half the time. So I tried lipstick once but the boss asked if I was trying to impress him and if I wanted a pay raise I should just do my work properly but I do but also a security guard whistled at me and –”
Kacchan hugs him. “I’m going to kill her, your boss, and the guard,” he says under his breath. “I’m going to trash your entire fucking department.”
Izuku hiccups. This is silly. He’s too old to be whining about people being mean to him. He’s an adult, he should be able to take care of himself. “Todoroki said I looked nice either way.”
“He can live, then.”
His nose is running. He’s sick and teary and sweaty so he squirms, trying to reach for a tissue, but Kacchan won’t let go. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to tell you my sob story. I’m grateful to have a job, I don’t mean to complain.”
“They harass you, you don’t need to be grateful to anyone,” Kacchan says, squeezing hard. “Izuku. Honey. Look at me. I don’t do nice shit for anyone unless I like them, understand? I don’t pay for things because I’m trying to flaunt that I have more money. I just think you deserve them and I like seeing you smile. I think, as your boyfriend, that I should get to look out for you because I care about you and don’t like seeing you put yourself through hell.”
He manages to be handsome even through a hazy film of tears. His mouth is soft and insistent, pressing all over Izuku’s face, not letting up on his persistent affection even though Izuku whines and complains. “I’m gross, Kacchan, I’m all phlegmy and I haven’t showered.”
“I don’t think you’re gross.”
“I’m literally leaking snot?”
“So?”
He kisses Izuku on the mouth. Gentle but firm, pulling away with a loud smack. Izuku feels like he’s overheating. Partly from the fever, but partly because they’ve never done more than kiss and Kacchan’s touch still makes him nervous. “You’ll get yourself sick.”
“You can take care of me, then.”
That’s not a bad thought, actually. It would make Izuku feel better about all this, at least, and the idea of Kacchan being sick makes him seem a little more human, less like some fairy-tale prince. “Okay. I don’t know if I’d be very good at it, though. The food part.”
“I’ll teach you. Cooking is a life skill, Izuku, you have to do a better job at feeding yourself.” He gives Izuku another loud kiss on the forehead and draws back to start putting the groceries away. Izuku follows, pawing through the bags to see what he bought. “When we have kids they’re gonna have to learn all about housekeeping.”
“Even the alphas?”
Kacchan hands him an eggplant to put away. “Especially the alphas. How the hell else are they gonna provide for their partners? That’s how I was raised.”
“Oh, okay,” Izuku says before his flu-addled brain finally catches up with his ears. “Sorry, what did you say? When we have kids?”
Kacchan barely pauses in sorting through a cabinet. The back of his neck, Izuku’s shocked to notice, goes red. “Well, yeah,” he says, carefully indifferent. He shoves some boxes onto the lowest shelf where Izuku can reach them. “Do you not want a family?”
“I mean, maybe, but we’ve been dating a month.”
“I know that,” Kacchan grumbles and turns to face him. The redness has spread to his ears. It’s fascinating. For some reason Izuku wants to touch them. “What the hell is the point of dating if you don’t have the end goal in mind? I wouldn’t have bothered asking you out if I didn’t plan on marrying you someday.”
“Oh my god, why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“You’re you. And I’m,” Izuku makes a vague gesture that encompasses himself, his clothes, and his entire apartment. “Me.”
“Yeah?” Kacchan’s face scrunches up. “And?”
“So,” says Izuku like this train of thought should be obvious. It is, to be fair. Kacchan’s technically the oddball here, the one alpha on earth who doesn’t seem to care about bloodlines. “I’m an omega. Not even a very good one, at that. I’m not particularly attractive or housewife-y or rich.”
Kacchan looks decidedly unimpressed. “I have my own money. If I want a maid I’ll hire one. And what d’you mean not attractive? You’re adorable.”
Izuku decides, for his own sake, to ignore this. “I’m old. I’m not successful. I’m pretty good at my job but I’ll never be recognised for it. I have no friends except Todoroki and my lineage isn’t great and I’m thin and plain and poor and I won’t be able to give you alpha kids, in fact there’s a chance I’ll just make more omegas and nobody wants that–”
“Izuku,” Kacchan says. Very calmly, he shuts the cabinet door, jaw set and mouth pulled into a deep frown. He’s trying not to yell, Izuku realises. Izuku made him angry. He’s good at doing that, it seems. “What in the actual fuck are you on about?”
Izuku fiddles with the hem of his ratty old sweater. It belonged to his dad, once. The fabric drowns him and reaches somewhere mid-thigh. “Uhm.”
“Did someone tell you you wouldn’t make a good mate?”
“No,” Izuku flushes. “I mean, maybe. I tried asking a boy out once.”
“He’s an idiot. He’s a good-for-nothing, lying moron and none of things are true.” Kacchan looks murderous. Actually murderous, and Izuku’s mildly afraid for his life as Kacchan crosses the kitchenette in two short strides. His face is grabbed again. Almost roughly, this time, Kacchan squashing his cheeks and tilting his head up so they’re forced to look each other in the eye. “I like you. You’re cute. You’re nice. You’re really fucking smart. You’re a hard worker and you love your mom and you’re a good fucking person. Why the hell wouldn’t anyone want to marry you?”
“Uhm, Kacchan, the frozen stuff’s gonna thaw out –”
“Do you think I’m dating you for no reason? Do you think I’d be here if I didn’t see some kind of future with you?”
“Uhm.” Izuku chews the inside of his cheek. His chest hurts and it’s hard to breathe. He must be a mess, all red and gross and flustered. “I dunno.”
“I aggressively courted you, Izuku. I sent flowers to your desk every week. I came to talk to you every day after work. I bought you dinner all the time because I wanted you to fucking like me. Because I decided I wanted you in my life the moment you told off fucking Monoma for trying to order me around on my first day.”
Izuku keeps his gaze fixed somewhere past Kacchan’s ear. That had been stupid, in retrospect. Some nobody omega trying to defend someone twice his size. “He was being mean.”
“Did you think I was just some punk alpha fooling around because I was bored and wanted a boy on my arm?” Kacchan demands. “Or that I’d get bored of you and leave to, fuck, marry another alpha or whatever nonsense people keep telling you?”
“I don’t know, Kacchan. Casual dating is a thing, right?”
“Not for me.” He’s squeezing Izuku so hard his head’s gonna pop like an overripe grape. “I told you. I’m not dating anyone I’m not serious about, and I haven’t been serious about anyone but you.”
Izuku parses this. His nose is still blocked and his face is splotchy and he’s pretty sure he’s been teary for half an hour. “Am I your first boyfriend?”
“Yes, you stupid idiot, and hopefully my last.”
“Oh.” That’s… kind of a shock, actually. Someone with Kacchan’s face would have people constantly hanging off of him, and that’s without the brains and wealth to back it up. And he’d chosen Izuku. Deku. The broke loser who hasn’t had a promotion in eight years and probably never will. “You’re mine too.”
Kacchan snorts. “Good, because it would really piss me off if someone got to my Fated before I did.”
“Kacchan.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Kacchan says. His grip on Izuku’s face relaxes somewhat, thumb wiping away a stray tear that falls when Izuku squeezes his eyes shut. “But we could be Fated, y’know. Wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Please don’t make promises like that,” Izuku whispers.
Kacchan kisses him. Soft and slow and comforting, cupping Izuku’s jaw like he’s something special. “It doesn’t matter,” he murmurs between kisses. “You don’t need me around for people to love you. All I’m doing is trying to show you that’s true.”
“I don’t – I –”
“Relax,” Kacchan tells him. “I’ll spend the rest of my life convincing you if I have to. Just wait and see.”
Izuku melts into him. He sags against Kacchan’s chest so Kacchan has to plant his feet, fingers gripping the lapels of his blazer as Kacchan peppers kisses all over his cheeks. “You’re too nice to me.”
“Everyone should be nice to you,” Kacchan says into his hair. “They’ll be sorry they weren’t.”
“Please don’t do anything rash.”
“I won’t.”
“Or premeditated.”
“Damn it. Fine.”
“Kacchan,” says Izuku, face pressed into his collar. His eyelids are heavy and his sinuses hurt and he’s sweaty but Kacchan doesn’t seem to want to let go. “Thank you. For this. And for taking care of me. You didn’t have to.”
“I know.” He’s so warm. Tall and strong and safe. “How are you feeling?”
Fine, Izuku’s about to say on autopilot. Kacchan’s hand rubs soothingly up and down his spine. “Tired,” he admits instead. “My joints hurt.”
Kacchan smiles against his forehead. “Go lie down, then. I’ll finish up here and get started on some food.”
“Thank you.”
Kacchan squeezes him. “Anytime.”
He tucks Izuku in. Izuku lets him, feeling like a small child, idly thinking of the way his mother would swaddle him in blankets on cold nights right after his father left. He’s half-tempted to ask for a story. What he gets instead is a kiss. Kacchan chews on his own lip, looking handsome and sheepish, studying Izuku’s face as Izuku blinks slowly up at him.
“Maybe this is too soon,” Kacchan says, taking a deep, slow breath. “I, uh. Love you. I just thought you should hear it.”
Izuku’s heart flutters. It’s been a long time since it’s done that for something other than nerves. “Really?”
“Really. You don’t have to say it back, though. As long as you know.”
The clock ticks. The frozen food slowly thaws out on the counter, condensation dripping off the tabletop and onto the floor. Kacchan’s suit jacket is wrinkled. Idly, Izuku reaches out to smooth it, revelling in the presence of a real, solid person in his home. Smoothing his hair back from his forehead. Tracing his freckles with the calloused tip of a thumb, lashes casting spindly shadows on his cheeks.
Izuku leans his face into Kacchan’s hand and kisses it. “That’s okay, Kacchan. I think I love you too.”
He doesn’t meet his deadline, in the end.
Todoroki saves him, bless his heart. He comes by to help edit the chapter and ends up finishing it single-handedly while Izuku squints at his lone page, promising to deliver it to the mangaka first thing in the morning. Nobody yells at Izuku when he gets to the office. The boss scoffs at him, which is nothing new, but there are no snide remarks about how he must have enjoyed his three whole days off.
It’s sort of uncanny. The creepy security guard doesn’t look at him. The receptionist doesn’t offer unwanted fashion advice. The only person who talks to him at work is Todoroki, and he has this weird half-smile as he eats lunch at Izuku’s desk. “Did I do something?” Izuku asks, eyebrows furrowed. He’s got his mask pulled down to his chin so he can get through his sandwich. “I feel like they’re avoiding me. More than usual, I mean.”
Todoroki slurps his noodles cheerfully. “I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The weirdness goes on for a week. It’s not anger, Izuku realises eventually. People are actually sort of polite even though they won’t look him in the eye. The security guard gives him a once over and then freezes, eyes darting away, posture stiff as he lets Izuku through the door early one Friday morning.
Someone puts a hand on his shoulder. It’s Kacchan, wearing a navy blue suit and holding a pastel yellow scarf. “Morning, doll. Hold on for a second and try this on for me, yeah?”
“Huh? Okay,” Izuku says, standing obligingly still. The scarf’s warm and fantastically fluffy. He buries his face in it without thinking, letting Kacchan guide him to the elevator to the thirteenth floor. “Soft. It smells like you.”
“You like it? You can have it,” Kacchan says, jabbing the close button. “You should keep warm. You’re only just getting over your flu.”
“What? Kacchan, I can’t accept this.”
“Take it. The colour’s too light on me, it makes me look weird and washed out.”
“I,” Izuku says but falters at Kacchan’s unamused expression. He shuffles his feet, shy but pleased. “Thank you. Can I get you a present too?”
“If you want.” The doors slide open. The receptionist does a double take but says nothing as Kacchan walks Izuku to his desk, looking big and important in the shabby little manga department. “Hm. Your desk is sort of bare. Could use some more flowers.”
“I won’t have space, I wanna display the old ones. I dried them out,” Izuku says, looking over his shoulder. The receptionist catches his eye but looks away. “Seriously, why is everyone being so weird?”
“Oh, she might be jealous,” Kacchan says breezily. “Can’t call you poor when you’re all wrapped in Chanel.”
Izuku pulls the scarf away from his neck to squint at it. Kacchan’s arranged it on him so the double-C logo’s clearly visible under Izuku’s jaw. “Kacchan, no.”
“Kacchan, yes. I told you it’s a gross colour on me. If you don’t wear it nobody will.”
“But–”
Kacchan kisses him. Right in the middle of the office in full view of everyone, a quick peck that Izuku’s sure was designed just to shut him up. “I’m in fashion, babe, sometimes I get shit for free. May as well take advantage of that and get stuff you like.”
“Thank you,” Izuku mumbles, face red. Todoroki, from his corner of the office, looks like he’s laughing into his coffee cup.
Someone comes towards him with a stack of paperwork, sees Kacchan, then abruptly turns around and walks away. Another co-worker studiously avoids his eye. They’ve been quiet all week. They’re even quieter now Kacchan’s here, for some reason.
Embarrassingly slowly, it clicks. “Oh my god, Kacchan, what did you do?”
Kacchan pokes at a folded paper crane on Izuku’s desk. “What makes you think I did anything?”
“They’re afraid,” Izuku hisses, vaguely horrified. “No wonder they’ve been so polite lately. Did you come in here to yell at them?”
“Nope.”
“I don’t believe you. You’ve been terrorizing my coworkers, haven’t you?”
“Absolutely not. It’s possible I might have reminded some people about the very strict laws in place regarding workplace discrimination and sexual harassment,” Kacchan shrugs. “In large print, although I won’t say how large. Maybe a hitman was involved. I won’t tell.”
Izuku hides his face in his hands. “Yakuza tendencies. Your mother’s a mob boss and you got this scarf off your last victim.”
“Sure did,” Kacchan says and smooches the top of his head. “Made sure not to get any blood on it, just for you.”
“You made my office afraid of me.”
“I made your office afraid of me. And they know I love you, so they’ll probably behave themselves until we find you a better work environment.”
Slowly, Izuku uncovers his eyes. “Can you say that again?”
“A new job. There are a lot of other companies that are way better at not being sexist assholes. Lots of omegas are designers, actually, so maybe we can work together if you’re interested in a career change.”
“No, the– the other part.”
“Right.” Gently, Kacchan tugs on a flyaway lock of green hair. “I love you to pieces.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not the only one who does.”
“Okay.”
“But I’m the most important. Besides your mom, I guess, but only a marginally.”
“Okay.”
“And one day we’ll get married and have thirty kids. Or no kids and a turtle. Up to you.”
“Okay.”
“And,” Kacchan says, tapping a finger against Izuku’s nose. “You’d better stay with me, because I’m gonna be the best boyfriend in the world.”
Heart fluttering, Izuku smiles into his soft, new, pale yellow scarf. “You know,” he says half to himself, “I think maybe you already are.”