Love Like You

Like You

A/n: this is from Katsuki's POV. I am prepared for the hate I'm going to receive for this. trigger warning for dubious consent and smut with a manipulative partner.

"Katsuki?"

"Katsuki..."

"Katsuki."

The familiar touch of gentle fingers squeezing as his hip startles Katsuki from his daydreaming. He nearly jumps out of his skin, the kitchen knife in his hand clattering to the floor as he places a hand over his chest as if it will somehow serve to slow the rate of his quick-beating heart.

"Neito. You scared the crap out of me; can you please not do that, honey?" He sighs, mildly annoyed as he swats the hand away from his side so that he can pick the knife up from the floor. The last thing he wants is for Itsuki to accidentally hurt himself with it just lying around like that. His husband huffs out an amused laugh, waiting for Katsuki stand upright again before he presses a kiss against the crown of his head. "Do what? I called your name three times before I even made it to the kitchen, love."

Oh.

"Sorry. I must've dozed off again." He mumbles, a little embarrassed to have been caught staring off into space again when he was supposed to be cooking. He'd usually have dinner ready before Neito makes it home from work but he supposes that he's been feeling a bit distracted tonight.

Ever since he ran into that stranger in the subway station.

He knows that dwelling on it wouldn't do him any good but...something about the encounter unsettled him a great deal. He can't quite put a finger on why that is. He knows that it's fairly common to run into people that are unwell, especially being here in the heart of the city. And, rationally, Katsuki knows that there wasn't much that he could do to help that poor man.

His suffering just...seemed so real.

Like they really did know each other.

Still, Katsuki's fairly certain that he'd remember someone so distinguishable, especially if the man had known him well enough to shed tears over him.

Those were the tears of someone who had been grieving, and Katsuki was quite worried that the stranger would be a danger to himself or others when he'd run off like that but he certainly wasn't going to run after him with Itsuki in his arms. As much as he wanted to help, he couldn't risk putting his little one in danger.

"No, it's quite alright. You've seemed fairly exhausted lately. Are you feeling alright? Should I make an appointment with the doctor for you?"

Katsuki pauses in washing the knife to offer his husband a gentle smile, hoping that he's masked how anxious such a question has made him well enough. If Neito notices, he doesn't say so aloud. "I'm fine, sweetheart, really. I probably just need some rest is all. Things have been pretty busy with the move and I'm trying my best to get adjusted; I'm sorry if I'm being a nuisance---"

"Of course not; you could never be a nuisance to me. My perfect little porcelain doll~"

Neito eases the knife out of Katsuki's hand to sit it back down in the sink, hands taking him by the waist to lead him away from the counters and---as it would seem---away from his cooking tasks. Katsuki gives small, halfhearted objections in the form of abandoned whispers that are silenced by a chaste kiss to his lips.

It takes little to nothing to have him like putty in Neito's hands.

He feels safe there, he muses. Neito has always made him feel safe, for as long as he could remember. It's all quite blurry whenever he tries to remember the specific details of how they'd fallen in love with one another. Katsuki supposes that it's inevitable when you've been together for as long as they have.