tenderly, tragically ☆ ( prohero!katsuki x reader ) — aftermath of a huge argument, clingy and soft katsuki my entire blog’s agenda
You wake to an empty bed once again — the third time this week. It’s cold on your right; that’s a bit unfair. Does Katsuki take all the love and warmth along with him? Or it could be because it’s two AM and every trace of fatigue drained out of you at the reminder of your lone bedroom, like a cold, empty picture of a memorial.
You shuffle out of bed, ignoring how strangely unsettling it is not to have a body to crawl over just to get to the kitchen. You forgo the house slippers; you only steal Katsuki's pair anyway — and right now, he's out of the question.
The kitchen feels just as stale. No surprise there. Katsuki's absence sucked the life out of your shared apartment.
A glimpse of orange by the dining table begs for your attention. You approach carefully, stomach swooping. It’s a lunchbox, still with leftover food greasing the sides, unwashed. You know this one well enough because you bought it for him. For Katsuki. This was never here before, though.
You aren't sure how the fight started, if it was something blandly petty, or if either of you crossed an unforgivable line that tipped towards a night of screaming and shrieking that had your neighbors complaining hours after. You find that you don't have it in yourself to care anymore. This apartment, that bed — all without Katsuki is worse than any hurtful dagger of words you threw at each other.
Your fingers skim on the orange lunchbox, tracing the little ‘X’s sprinkled throughout like some off-brand copy of his hero costume, intimately familiar. Katsuki snorted when you gifted it to him — it was a really, really ugly laugh.
"Oh."
You startle and whip your head to the source, gaze landing on Katsuki, stunned and mid-way through rubbing the back of his hair with a towel.
You flinch away from the lunchbox, embarrassed. Insulting him brought him to life.
The comfort you'd been craving for the past three days materialized in the physical embodiment of the person you were supposedly angry at. It’s hard to summon even a trace of it now, not when the person you’d been aching for is standing a few feet away, just shy out of reach.
“Why are you awake?” Katsuki starts, uncharacteristically soft, gratingly rough like left unused for a while.
“Why are you here?” you ask instead. You refuse to admit outright that you couldn’t sleep without him — refuse to admit that it’s what’s been eating you up since the fight.
Katsuki frowns. “This is my place too.”
“What?” You’re not even mad. You’re just — “I thought you crashed at Kirishima’s house this entire time.”
“I’m not just gonna—” Katsuki bites his tongue, looking off to the side. He continues drying his hair, the biceps of his arm rippling. “Been sleeping on the couch. So I didn’t wake you up, or whatever.”
Well, you don’t know what to feel. Are you supposed to feel excited that Katsuki still came home even when you both unspokenly swore not to face each other? Furious that he hasn’t tried to apologize and instead snuck around the apartment like a thief on a hit-and-run in the dead of the night?
Maybe both. You might just be relieved that he didn’t hate you enough to keep himself away, even if he didn’t crawl up in the same bed.
“Right,” you say in a soft exhale. “Okay.”
Katsuki’s eyes flick up to you again warily, dangerously still. You don’t know what to say to him, so you keep quiet. Red eagerly follows as you reach for his lunchbox and pad over to the kitchen sink. As if sensing his response, you spare him a glance.
“I’ll do it,” you say. “I’ll wash this. Go change.”
You face away from the bedroom with purpose, scrubbing diligently. Soon enough, his footsteps sound across the silent apartment, fading to your bedroom. His closet is there, meaning his clothes are stacked in it, too. You wonder if he’s ever looked at you asleep and thought it looked as empty as you felt it was.
After you rinse off the suds and wipe the excess water on the towel hanging over the stove, Katsuki greets you with a sight of him resting against the bedroom door frame. How rude. You’d given him a free pass, and he’s blocking you off in return.
“Katsuki,” you mutter, walking closer.
He stares, tracing the curve of your cheek and the swell of your mouth. You missed him, too. Now that he’s here, emanating heat, the vestiges of lethargy wriggle back into the bones of your body. You long for your bed; you long to take him along with you.
“D’you wanna talk about it?” Katsuki rasps out.
“Not right now.” You shake your head. “Not really.”
“Okay,” says Katsuki softly, shifting to shuffle past you.
You latch onto his wrist, trying your best to keep his gaze. “Sleep on the bed.”
Katsuki freezes, then turns and gazes into your eyes searchingly. You hope you can convey well enough that you hate him for fueling your bubbling fury, for sharing the heated remarks; most of all, you hate him for leaving.
“Okay,” Katsuki says again. “Okay, yeah. Let’s go to bed.”
Somehow, you end up on the bed with Katsuki’s arms caged around you from behind. His breaths hot against the nape of your neck, your body warmed head to toe. He has one leg in between your thighs, pulling you closer, and closer, until you can almost cry from how good it feels to be back here. You’ve given him an inch and knew he would take a mile.
“I don’t like when we fight,” Katsuki grumbles, sounding half-asleep.
“Mm.”
“So let’s just forget about it.”
“Is that healthy?”
“Dunno. Don’t care.” Katsuki’s mouth hovers over your neck, teeth marks a threat. “What’s unhealthy are the bags under my fuckin’ eyes.”
You laugh, breathy, and a violent shudder courses through Katsuki. You turn to your side to meet Katsuki’s little scowl, a pout. For every villain and civilian’s worst nightmare, he’s really charming.
“Are you only trying to make it up to me so you don’t have to take up the couch?”
Katsuki would usually fire back with a snark, but this time, you get to watch as his eyes soften and his shoulders lose their tension. He hides it away with a large hand on your face in the guise of tousling your hair.
“No,” he murmurs, “can’t sleep without you.”
Your eyes slip shut, giddy like it’s your first date. “Then I guess our feelings are still mutual.”
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