Izuku’s patrol that night was quiet, the city wrapped in a soft blanket of winter air. Streetlights glowed like tiny suns, and the sidewalks shimmered with frost. He moved through the familiar routes with practiced ease, but he wasn’t alone.

Not anymore.

Katsuki drifted beside him, invisible to civilians, wings tucked close to his back. He hovered just a few inches off the ground, arms crossed, expression sharp in that way Izuku had missed for years.

“You’re leaning too far forward,” Katsuki muttered, nudging Izuku’s shoulder. “You’ll strain your back like that.”

Izuku laughed under his breath. “I’m fine, Kacchan.”

“Yeah, well, I’m here now. You don’t get to be sloppy.”

Izuku’s heart warmed. “I missed this.”

Katsuki glanced at him, the glow around him softening. “Me too.”

They moved through alleyways, rooftops, and quiet streets. Katsuki pointed out a loose tile Izuku almost stepped on, warned him about a slippery patch of ice, and even scolded him for forgetting to zip his jacket.

Izuku didn’t mind.

It felt like breathing again.

It felt like home.

By the time Izuku returned to his apartment, the sky was deep navy, stars scattered like diamonds. He unlocked the door, expecting darkness.

Instead—

Warm light spilled from the kitchen.

Izuku blinked. “Kacchan…?”

Katsuki was already inside, wings folded neatly, apron tied around his waist—an apron Izuku didn’t even know he owned. The stove was on, steam rising from a pot, and the smell hit Izuku instantly.

Katsudon.

Not just any katsudon.

Katsuki’s katsudon.

Crispy pork cutlet. Perfectly seasoned broth. Soft onions. Fluffy rice. The kind Izuku had loved since he was fifteen. The kind Katsuki used to make when Izuku was too tired to stand.

Izuku’s breath caught. “You… cooked?”

Katsuki smirked. “What, you think dying made me forget how to use a kitchen?”

Izuku laughed, stepping closer. “It smells amazing.”

“Of course it does. I made it.”

Izuku wrapped his arms around him from behind, resting his cheek against Katsuki’s shoulder. Katsuki leaned back into him without hesitation.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Izuku whispered.

“Yeah, I did.” Katsuki’s voice softened. “You’ve been running yourself ragged. Thought you deserved something good.”

Izuku squeezed him gently. “You’re something good.”

Katsuki’s wings fluttered, glowing brighter. “Shut up,” he muttered, ears turning pink.

Izuku kissed his shoulder. “Never.”

Katsuki plated the katsudon, sliding a bowl toward him. “Eat, nerd.”

Izuku sat at the table, taking the first bite—and nearly melted. “Kacchan… this is perfect.”

Katsuki sat across from him, chin resting in his hand, watching him with a soft, fond expression. “Yeah. I know.”

Izuku smiled, warmth blooming in his chest. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Katsuki reached across the table, brushing his fingers against Izuku’s bracelet—the one he’d given him years ago. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Izuku believed him.

For the first time in a long time, he truly believed him.