ⁱˡᵒᵐⁱˡᵒ

ᴿᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵗᵒᵒ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉ

Sleep eludes Katsuki.

It isn't something new, of course, but in this new place, his restlessness is not born from boredom; it is born from irrational fears. Irrational, he thinks, because something within him assures him that he is safe where he is. There aren't any monsters hiding under his bed---no evils lurking in the dark. The television serves its purpose of background noise well, illuminating the dark of the room enough to quell his anxieties of being visited by the Boogeyman. He just can't stop thinking about Brother.

If he even is his brother.

There's so much that Tomura has been dishonest about that Katsuki has found himself questioning the entirety of his existence. But why would Tomura lie? Did he know that he was lying? Surely it's possible that Tomura believed that he was doing the right thing. But then why would he tell him that outside would make him sick when he's perfectly fine? In fact, he feels so much better than he has in all the years he's spent locked away in his room. And that woman claimed that the medicine brother was giving him made him sick---why would Brother do that?

He's unnerved to say the least, having gotten up from bed at least a dozen times with the intention of going to that nice man's room (odd, he knows everyone else's name but his) but every time he'd managed to grip the doorknob, he had begun to have second thoughts and abandoned it to go back to bed. He knows that the man---his guardian---had assured Katsuki that he could come and find him should he need anything at all but it seemed so inconsiderate to wake him at a time like this for something that he probably had no answers for. The last thing he'd want is to be bothersome for the man and his nice wife.

When he reaches for the door for a thirteenth time, a soft knock sounds from the other side and startles him. He bumps against the bedside table and nearly knocks the lamp over, crouching low and backing away from the door. It opens shortly after and a curly green head pops in, flipping the light switch on the wall adjacent to it.

"Katsuki? What're you doin', sweetheart? You okay?"

Izuku is careful with his movements as he slides into the room and closes the door behind him. He sits on the edge of the bed to keep a comfortable distance between them.

"I heard your little feet in here pittering around; just wanted to make sure you were alright. Did you need something? Do you have to use the bathroom? I know the hallway is super dark at night, I can leave the hall light on for you." He offers. Katsuki does not respond, still crouched and shaking like a feral cat.

"You...scared me." He says, back against the wall. Izuku sheepishly rubs at the back of his head, flashing him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I didn't mean to. I just wanted to make sure you were okay and I wanted to knock instead of just walking in. You're a presenting omega; no alpha should feel comfortable just invading your privacy."

Ah. Right. Omega.

Katsuki takes a moment to consider Izuku. Just as his mother had said, he's rather large in stature. Katsuki assumes it to be natural, as his father is much larger than Katsuki would ever think a man could be. With what little he knows about current biology, he at least understands how genes work.

Still, Inko had described alphas to be sort of boorish and...well, there were a lot of unsavory things said about most alphas. About how society makes them out to be superior. Izuku, however, seems rather polite and generally harmless. He respects his mother well, and he's been more than respectful to Katsuki and his space since he's been here. His father is quite the gentleman as well and they seem to treat omegas rather delicately. Suppose she was speaking of alphas generally rather than collectively.

Katsuki hopes that he never meets an alpha like the ones that she mentioned.

Izuku takes a moment to look around the room---most likely to make sure that nothing was broken---when his eyes land on the still-made bed. The alpha's brows pinch together; he's concerned.