help me / bakudeku omegaverse /

Part 25

The morning sunlight filtered softly through the gauzy curtains, painting golden streaks over the bed where Izuku still lay. His face was relaxed, the faintest smile tugging at his lips as his breathing came slow and even. Katsuki sat on the edge of the mattress, elbows on his knees, watching him with an expression that was equal parts tenderness and awe.

For the first time in weeks, Izuku slept without the feverish tremors of heat or the tight, nervous tension that so often lingered beneath his skin. He was peaceful — truly peaceful. Katsuki could feel it in the soft rhythm of his scent, calm and warm, mingling faintly with his own.

When Izuku finally stirred, blinking sleepily, Katsuki reached out and brushed a strand of messy green hair from his face.
"Morning, angel," he murmured, voice still low and husky.

Izuku smiled faintly, stretching under the covers. "Morning, Kacchan..."

The nickname came out unthinking — soft, warm, home. Katsuki's chest tightened at the sound of it.

Izuku covering a yawn. "Did I do okay last night?"

Katsuki snorted quietly. "You were perfect." Then, after a pause, "You didn't just do okay, Izuku—you made everyone in that hall forget how to breathe."

Izuku flushed immediately. "K-Kacchan..."

He looked so flustered that Katsuki laughed, crossing the room to press a kiss to his forehead. "I mean it. You were incredible."

That gentle morning carried a rare warmth between them. Katsuki managed to convince him to eat a little breakfast, and Izuku spent most of it leaning quietly against his shoulder, the edges of exhaustion showing in his half-lidded eyes.

But peace, as always, was short-lived.

By late afternoon, the palace corridors were already buzzing again—but this time, the murmurs weren't admiration. They were sharp, fragmented, poisonous things whispered behind fans and doorways.

"—did you hear?"
"They say he isn't of noble birth."
"A commoner! Can you imagine?"
"And there's more... something about a scandal, before he came here..."

Izuku didn't mean to overhear, but the words lodged like glass splinters. His breath caught; his chest constricted. The memories he'd spent months burying clawed their way back up—the faces, the cold rooms, the helplessness.

By the time Katsuki found him, pale and trembling in the corridor, the damage was done.

"Izuku," Katsuki murmured, reaching out, but Izuku flinched at the touch.

"I—They were talking about me," Izuku whispered. "About where I came from."

Katsuki's jaw tightened. "So what? Let them talk."

"You don't understand," Izuku said shakily. "They'll hate you for it. For being with someone like me."

Katsuki's hands came up to cradle his face. "Someone like you?" His voice was steady, but beneath it ran anger—cold and dangerous, directed only at those who dared to judge. "You mean someone who worked harder than any of them? Someone who taught himself everything he needed to stand beside me?"

Izuku blinked up at him, tears brimming. Katsuki sighed, softer now. "Let me handle the politics. You just breathe, okay?"

But Izuku couldn't. Not yet.

The next morning, Mitsuki appeared without warning. She walked into Katsuki's office as though she owned it—which, in her mind, she probably did—and planted herself in front of Izuku, hands on her hips.