help me / bakudeku omegaverse /

Part 24

The night air was cool as they left the grand hall, lantern light flickering off the marble floors. Behind them, the sound of conversation and music faded into a low hum, replaced by the rhythmic click of Katsuki's boots and the soft whisper of Izuku's gown trailing beside him.

Neither spoke for a while. Izuku leaned slightly against Katsuki's arm, his breathing shallow but steady, exhaustion radiating off him in gentle waves. His steps were smaller now—careful, measured, not from pain but from sheer fatigue. The weight of the evening had caught up with him.

Katsuki glanced down at him, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself.

The ballroom lights had been cruel, all shimmer and scrutiny. Izuku had stood under them with his head high, face serene, voice steady. But now, under the dim torchlight of the corridor, he looked softer—looser, almost dazed, his green eyes glazed with tiredness.

"Hey," Katsuki said quietly, breaking the silence. "You did damn good tonight."

Izuku blinked up at him, his expression distant as though he hadn't quite processed the words. "Hmm?"

"The banquet," Katsuki said, his voice low and rougher than usual. "You were perfect. Handled those jackasses better than I ever could. The way you talked, bowed, smiled—it was like you were born for it."

A faint blush rose on Izuku's cheeks. "O-oh... I just... followed what I read."

"Don't downplay it," Katsuki muttered, stopping just short of the chamber doors. He turned to face Izuku fully. "You were incredible. I mean it. You had every one of them fooled—hell, even me."

Izuku's lips twitched into a small, sleepy smile. "Fooled?"

"I mean—" Katsuki rubbed the back of his neck, scowling lightly. "You looked like you belonged there. Like no one could say a damn thing against you. Or us."

Izuku tilted his head, the gold trinkets still glimmering faintly in his hair. "Then... I did what I hoped to."

Katsuki stared at him for a long moment. The way his curls framed his face, how his lashes fluttered tiredly, the faint pink on his cheeks from the long hours under candlelight—it all hit him at once.

He'd always known Izuku was beautiful, but tonight, there was something more. Something beyond appearance. He carried himself like someone who finally understood his worth, even if only for a fleeting night.

When they reached his chamber door, Izuku swayed slightly, fatigue overtaking him. Katsuki caught his elbow before he stumbled.

"Careful, damn nerd."

"I'm fine," Izuku murmured, though his voice was barely above a whisper. "Just... tired."

"I can see that," Katsuki said, smirking faintly. "You've been running your brain nonstop for days."

Izuku gave a small, breathy laugh, eyes glassy with exhaustion. "It feels like... my brain's off now. Like I used up all the smart parts tonight."

Katsuki chuckled under his breath. "Yeah, well, you earned a break."

They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other. Then, softly, Izuku said, "Goodnight, Kacchan..."

Before Katsuki could respond, Izuku leaned up and pressed a small, fleeting peck to his lips.

It was light—barely there—but it left Katsuki completely frozen.

Izuku didn't even seem to realize what he'd done. His face remained calm, eyes already drooping as he fumbled for the door handle. He slipped inside, the fabric of his gown brushing the frame as the door shut gently behind him.

Katsuki stood there in the empty corridor, staring dumbly at the wooden door.

It took a full five seconds for his brain to catch up.

"...Did he just—?" he muttered to himself, hand half-raised to his lips.

He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

He turned and started down the hall, but his usual heavy footsteps were lighter than before. His chest was warm in a way he couldn't quite name—something between pride and awe, threaded through with a quiet ache of affection.

Izuku had come so far.

When he'd first arrived, he could barely look anyone in the eye, flinched at raised voices, second-guessed every breath. Now, he'd stood in front of nobles and kings, smiling, talking, commanding respect. And he'd kissed Katsuki—so casually, so unthinking, it almost made Katsuki laugh again.

He could still feel the ghost of it on his lips.

As he walked back to his own chambers, Katsuki's thoughts drifted. To the changes that had come, quietly, subtly, since Izuku's arrival.

The castle staff, once stiff and fearful, now moved with purpose. They smiled more, worked faster, treated one another with an ease that hadn't existed before. It was as if Izuku's gentle persistence had rippled through the halls, teaching everyone to breathe again.

The paperwork—the endless, mind-numbing paperwork—was no longer an anchor dragging him down. Izuku had helped him organize, prioritize, and even reword decrees to be clearer, fairer. Katsuki hadn't realized how much time and energy he'd been wasting until Izuku started quietly fixing what he didn't see.

Even the kingdom itself felt different.

The villages outside the capital had begun to recover faster than before, helped by policies Izuku had encouraged—fair wages for laborers, improved sanitation, apprenticeships for orphans. Small changes that built into something greater.

And the people... they smiled more when Katsuki passed. They looked at him with trust instead of wary distance.

Because of Izuku.

Because of his soft voice in the late hours, whispering ideas that Katsuki had the power to make real.

He stopped at the balcony outside his chambers, leaning against the stone railing. The city lights flickered below like scattered stars.

"Damn nerd," Katsuki muttered under his breath, though the fondness in his voice was unmistakable. "You've changed everything."

He straightened, running a hand through his hair, and glanced once more toward the wing where Izuku's room was.

A smile tugged at his mouth.

"Goodnight, Izuku," he said quietly.