Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was no doubt about it: Katsuki and Izuku have always needed one another. Their connection was ineffable, even when their interactions left a sour taste on the tongues of those who could bear to watch—and yes, even then they were something worth being, something worth watching happen like a movie, perched on the edge of the seat with bated breath. 

And then, the war had come and gone; scrawled in the margins of the squeaky clean history books in invisible ink were sacrifices gone unnamed, bitter obligations, as well as both literal and metaphorical wounds worth thousands of words, costing thousands of lives. 

See, in twenty years, not many would know that they'd necessarily let children risk their lives on a battlefield; people would, however, remember the casualties, the horrors, the aftermath. They would only know of any kids of the time through the pseudonyms that would be plastered all over their billboards.

All For One and Shigaraki Tomura were dead. The Paranormal Liberation Front and nearly all of its violent remnant and relative groups had been rounded up and jailed. Hero rankings were privatized, and the HPSC suffered massive budget cuts—they removed the first word from their name soon enough. That left the teenagers, barely any of which were over the age of seventeen. They'd either nearly been killed or nearly killed themselves in the effort to defeat the big bads: and that, in the stead of most licensed Pro-Heroes. All thirty or so of them had gotten military honors, and then been warned to keep their traps semi-shut about their scars and their traumas, and that was that. One day they'd be well-seasoned heroes who'd been alive for the war, but the links between them and the battles being read about would always lay under wraps, behind curt bows in courtrooms and short handshakes in quiet offices. 

There was no doubt about it. The war had taken both Izuku and Katsuki by the scruff of their necks and shaved down some part of them until it was unrecognizable. If people were born as square blocks of wood, Izuku and Katsuki—and their highschool classmates, too—would be misshapen puzzle pieces eroded by the nightmares, the stab wounds, and the burns. 

For a while, Izuku’s infectious giggles were less frequent, and his smiles would rarely again be as wide as they were at fifteen; before he pledged to save Shimura Tenko; before he was forcibly gifted the dead and dying bodies of those he called his friends.

Katsuki had mellowed out so significantly, his gazes becoming so much fonder, that it didn't take long for barely anyone to still try to characterize him by his rage. Instead he became synonymous with raw ambition; after all, he had quite literally died and been revived for the sake of heroism. 

Of course, he and Izuku were also synonymous with each other and their respective strengths. The idea that they could ever be nothing, together or apart, was absolutely inconceivable. It was, then, not much of a surprise when the news dropped in Class A that the Wonder Duo, now graduating students who'd gained a bit of infamy, had been an item for ages. What was surprising was the fact that the two had started out sort of slow and steady, much unlike the loud, buzzing green and orange sparks of emotion that were everything they'd been through so far.

Pain wasn't a bother for Katsuki; nope, not at all. 

Well, he always felt it, in his skin and his muscles and his stupid knobby joints, but there was a difference, a thin line to toe between something existing and something being bothersome to Katsuki. Things could switch between the two effortlessly—this he'd come to know very well.

The point is, for pretty much his whole life Katsuki never dwelled on his pain. Pain was equal to weakness, and weakness was nothing Katsuki wanted to be defined by. 

Suffice it to say though that being confined to the hospital with a tight strap over his mending heart and a cast over his mangled right arm is not a fucking problem, thank you very much. It didn't matter how much it might’ve seemed weak, because it wasn't. Healing was a challenge, and Katsuki would never miss a chance at a challenge. This was the challenge he had to surmount now, and not his work out goals or his thousand-word reports. 

(Not like he was missing out on any of those things in the first place, because there was no school to keep up with right now and no gym to subscribe to. Half of the city was decayed to bits anyway.) 

Setting his full recovery as a goal was a little exciting. Over the past week, he’s started learning to write with his left hand. Even though the stretching of his finger joints left a bit of an ache, it’s a walk in the park, really. Katsuki’s even begun keeping composure for the sake of his blood-pumping organ that still sort of throbs. Considering his recent developments before all this war shit,, that kind of thing’s been easy fucking peasy. 

(Okay, so maybe he's slightly bluffing for the last one.) 

But , you couldn't possibly blame him when his parents were the ones buzzing around him constantly over the past week and giving him daily headaches. He gritted his teeth and muttered out his usual threats more times than he could count (he would count), with an especially biting tone to make up for the fact that he couldn't really yell just yet. But it just never worked with his mom and dad though, did it? Not that Katsuki actually hated them; they had just taken to becoming endeared with him instead of slightly scared of him following his actions over the past two months, and it really freaked him out. 

Yeah, what fucking ever , he'd managed to mellow out just enough to apologize to his childhood friend for being an asshole in middle school. After all that, Katsuki fought both of the biggest bads Japan had to offer; he died the first time, of course, and it was all for Izuku, but it’s not like he stayed dead. He knows he got up; he knows he went and defeated All For One’s ugly mug; and he knows he’s right fucking here, breathing just fine.

 (He doesn’t really want to think about how desperate and weak he was on that battlefield, or how he begged for forgiveness from the stars in the middle of daylight, or even how he’d accepted his own death right at the very end. He’s choosing to concentrate on the fact that he overcame; everything else, he’s gonna think about later.)

All those fluctuating stress levels changed his parents just as much as they changed him, though; obviously watching your son die on livestream is bound to shake you to the core. Now that Katsuki is alive and isn't able to raise his voice lest he go into cardiac arrest, Bakugou Masaru and Mitsuki now simply coo at their son's efforts to still be a menace outside of hero work.

Long story short: headache, headache, headache. Katsuki is starting to think he’s gonna concuss himself all over again just by processing too hard. 

It all changes though when he gets the news that Izuku has finally woken up. His mother is fluffing his pillows up after his doctor leaves, and as he curls inward and rests his arms on his knees, he still has a scowl on his face as he ruminates. He feels his pulse between his eyebrows, twitching on his temples, throbbing right at the tip of his chin, all through the bandages that stretch across his face. But again, the pain is no big deal; it's non-existent until he says something out loud (and he won't).

Katsuki wishes he could tune out his mom's incessant worrisome muttering. For a split second, it reminds him of someone… but he buries the thought and shuts his eyes to avoid ogling his crotch like a sentimental, maybe hormonal weirdo. 

His dad arrives then, sliding the door open and stepping inside. “Just got off the phone with Inko-san,” he says, or rather exclaims, like he's at the doorstep of a toddler's birthday party. “Izuku’s still surprisingly stable and responsive. He’s eating fairly well too, thank god—!”

Mitsuki makes a strained sound that sounds like choking. She shoots upright and moves to try and shush her husband, but it's too late. Katsuki’s already perked up and swiveled his body around. His legs hang partway off the edge of the bed, but because it's a fairly tall frame, he’d still have to hop a little to get off; and that's exactly that he does. His bare feet slap the cold tiling and he shivers a bit despite him. The burning feeling he suddenly gets in his stomach is also, unfortunately, despite him. 

“What’s—?” starts Masaru, but he's interrupted when a hand slaps over his mouth and his wife grips his shoulders. 

“Izuku’s awake and none of you fuckers told me !?” Katsuki tries to roar, but the words leave his throat as a raspy whine.

Mitsuki rolls her eyes, a hint of a smile playing on her lips when she processes her son expressing care. And then she scowls. 

“Of fucking course we didn't tell you,” she hisses. “You've been confined to bedrest, you little brat.”

Katsuki knows what she means. Bedrest doesn't involve getting up to go sprint to anyone’s room at full speed; his parents know that that's exactly what he plans on doing because that's what happened the last time Katsuki tried to sacrifice himself and ended up soulbound to a bed and room drenched in ethanol.

It's a good thing (or is it?) he doesn't give much of a shit about what others might want for him. 

Right before he barges into Izuku's room full force, Katsuki's ears catch the wisps of a conversation between two hushed voices—at least, he knows they’re trying to be hushed, but he can hear every word from behind the sliding door. With an unspoken prayer, he sincerely hopes no one else is in or near the room aside from Katsuki himself. 

“I still feel energy coursing through me, though; what does that mean?”

A thoughtful hum. “The way I see it, all you have left is One For All as the base. All of that stockpiled power will stay, just without the extra quirks.” 

A pause.

“I'm not too mad about that. After all, they said my body—”

Fuck it. Katsuki grabs the door handle and pulls, distributing the rest of his weight onto his IV drip pole. His parents tag behind him, his father keeping one hand hovering over his shoulder and his mother clutching his wrist with a glowering expression. 

The mop of green curls nestled into the pillow turns to face him. Under those messy bangs and the bandages that snug his head tight on his right side is one left eye, sparkling emerald green.

Wait. No. Katsuki blinks. The eye is supposed to have a twinkle in it, but it doesn't, and he's sure the eye right underneath the white wraps doesn't, either. No, Izuku's eyes are almost dead . They're also tired, sunken, and dark. 

Katsuki's stomach twists. He'd been hoping for shoulder-sagging relief, walking into here. 

Despite the grim expression, the sight of the blond opening the door puts a smile on Izuku's face. It doesn't quite reach his eyes and doesn't crinkle them near-shut—and his teeth don't show—but the happiness shows.

“Kacchan,” he says. He tries to shimmy upwards and sit up, to no avail, and it's then that Katsuki realizes that both of Izuku's arms are wrapped in thick casts and set straight at his sides. He can't help the shocked expression that paints his face.

Izuku follows Katsuki's gaze down. He chuckles. “Ah, they're not gone or broken beyond repair, if that's what you're worried about!” 

Katsuki hesitates. “... What—?” 

“I guess you weren't awake to see it. After they were both decayed by Shigaraki, Eri-chan cut off her horn to restore them.” At those words Izuku's deadpan expression briefly returns. He stares at the empty space at the foot of his bed, his eyes glazed over.

It takes a second for Katsuki to process all of this. When he realizes that 1) Izuku had both his fucking arms disintegrated and 2) The little kid who'd been tagging behind him and admiring him for months had probably just given up her fucking quirk to restore said arms, he stumbles into the room, clutching at the collar of his hospital gown. 

Okay, so he's definitely not getting any relief from being in this room. 

His father finally closes his grip, but doesn't pull him back, only takes a tiny step forward and ushers his wife to loosen her own grip. The gestures stabilize him just a bit. As Katsuki lets go of his pole, Masaru pushes it forward with his foot. 

“That's— Not that,” Katsuki strains. “Well. Yes—but no.” He curses himself in his head for being unable to voice a single coherent thought; he sounds like a total idiot. “Your— One F— your quirk. What did all that—?” 

From behind Izuku, the second voice from before speaks up. “Young Bakugou, if we are to have this conversation, I'm not sure your parents should be here.” 

Behind him Katsuki's mother straightens. Mistuki leans a little into the room as she bows. “I'm so sorry for the bother, All Might. Katsuki is supposed to be on bedrest right now.” In saying those words she shoots a glare at her son. “I tried my best to keep the brat from running here. Apologies, truly.” 

“I'm staying,” Katsuki declares without turning around. He lays a flat hand on the wall beside him as if to emphasize his point. “You both can leave.” 

It takes a lot of protests and close calls to his heart rate raising beyond what he can currently take, but within two minutes only the three of them fill the room. Katsuki pulled up a chair sort of between the two ends of the beds, although he's closer to Izuku's. Being the only one in the room able to stand he was asked to toggle the switch that would let Izuku and his mentor actually sit up on their beds without strain. He'd reluctantly complied. Now, Katsuki could probably rest his good hand on Izuku's knee easily. He doesn't dare try; he doesn't even put his left elbow on the bed. 

Finally things are explained.

“I woke up thinking I was quirkless,” Izuku starts. The way the boy's voice sounds so deep, so grim, it makes Katsuki's stomach lurch again. “During the fight Shigaraki did take my quirk for a bit along with my arms, but I guess it came back when Eri-chan helped me out. I didn’t know that until now, though. I could barely feel One For All the way it’d been feeling as of recently,” he continues. “But, uhm, I was wrong.” He looks a little sheepish, his cheeks brushed a rosy shade of pink. “Actually, all I lost were the quirks of the previous vestiges. It felt so much weaker because I was so used to the sheer power of all 7 quirks combined, y’know?” 

Katsuki pauses. Then, he deadpans, a smirk on his lips. “Wow. Way to rub it in, nerd.” 

Izuku tilts his head, frowning. “Whaddya mean, Kacchan?” 

“One For All alone can blow shit into smithereens almost as well as I can, and you're saying you felt quirkless when that power is all you have left?” 

Izuku meets his eyes and raises an eyebrow. “Kacchan, I thought you wanted me to surpass you.” 

Katsuki scoffs. “Yeah,” he says, “Because it'd set a goal for me to surpass you.” He points to himself, then to Izuku. “Now that there's no point to rankings, if I can't be number one I at least want to beat you to a pulp a few more times.” He ends by banging his left fist against his sternum, ignoring the throb that results from it and the cough that threatens its way up his throat. 

At that, Izuku smiles again, and it's brief, but this time it's genuine and real and his eyes turn into crescents and he grins and bares all his teeth and shit, something in Katsuki's heart squeezes really fucking tight, and he can tell it's not a problem with Edgeshot’s suturing skills. It must show on his face, because when he averts his gaze lest he go red he looks over to All Might, whose expression is almost fond as his eyes flit between the two teenagers. Katsuki narrows his eyes at him, but holds back a retort; in all honesty, he's too exhausted to be all that mean (his parents don't count).

“I'm so glad you two are okay,” All Might finally says. “I knew you could do it.”

At that, Katsuki grins. “Yeah. Obviously we were gonna turn out fine. Who’d you take us for, All Might?” He turns back to Izuku, whose eyes are boring holes into his intently and, although the spark isn't really back yet, there's a split second where he looks overjoyed, just how he'd always been while looking at Katsuki.

They spend the next two hours filling each other in on anything missed. For Katsuki, he mostly learns of things that happened during the last fight and for Izuku, it's things that happened while he was going in and out of consciousness the past week or so. Izuku gets that distant look in his eyes anytime someone they know is mentioned to have experienced some sort of significant change. When Katsuki tells him about Jirou losing her ear and Hawks losing his quirk, he swears Izuku flinches a little. 

Eventually, there’s a palpable silence in the room as All Might—who closed his eyes half an hour ago—begins to drift off, and Izuku breaks it with a whisper.

“Kacchan?” 

Katsuki looks up from where he’s been staring at the floor. “Huh?”

“Can I ask you a favour?” 

Katsuki nods.

Izuku takes a deep breath. “From now on, can we try our best to not talk too much about what happened, or what it implies? Like, how bad everything was? I just—” He hesitates. “I don’t know. I want a distraction.” 

He scoffs. “Yeah, sure, whatever. I don’t wanna think too much about it either. The state of the world’s all everyone else talks about, anyway.”

And that was that. 

The conversation turns to more mundane things, which is a little difficult when nothing mundane has happened at all the past eight weeks. They make it somewhat work, though, by discussing the little things about the war that they both find a little hilarious—like, for example, how ugly baby All For One was.

“He had these huge-ass bug eyes, and the most crooked nose I’ve ever seen.” Katsuki says when the topic comes up. “And he was, like, completely naked.” He makes a gagging gesture.

Izuku lets out a little laugh. “Did you… see anything, if you know what I mean?” 

“God, I wish my vision had been blurrier so I could say no.”

"Gross.”

It's a little—no, very— strange; they haven't had a talk like this ever, Katsuki thinks, and he also thinks that it definitely isn't like him to even welcome gossipy small talk and whispered jokes into his life in the first place. Especially not with the former subject of his preteen rage. But something about being able to see even a glimpse of the light returning to Izuku's eyes makes everything worth it, somehow. God, Katsuki kind of wants to shove his face into his hands, run back into his own room and make a pillow explode for actually liking this, thinking like this.

“So when the hell are you gonna be able to actually get up and walk?” Katsuki asks eventually. They're trying their best to really speak in hushed voices this time, what with All Might knocked out in the corner.

Izuku opens his mouth like he's about to say something, but he's interrupted by his mentor letting out a loud snore. It almost shatters the windows. 

There's a mirth-heavy silence that fills the air. Katsuki breaks it, snorting and puffing out his cheeks. Izuku looks at him, his lips pursed, smiling coyly. His cheeks are flushed pink. 

“They're taking my casts out later tonight,” Izuku finally says, “And then it's one day of physical therapy and extra healing before I can start wandering this place.” He suddenly goes quiet. Katsuki isn't looking at him, so he doesn't see emerald eyes lingering on his right arm. “What about you, Kacchan?” Izuku adds. 

The blond looks up. “Me? I can walk, Izuku, you saw me.” 

Izuku's eyebrows furrow together. He frowns. “I meant your arm. I didn't get to take a good look at it when you showed up to help me, but you mangled it pretty badly, right?” 

Katsuki spares a glance at his limb. “It's fine. The fishface doctor said I should do rehab or whatever, but… shit, I don't want to.” 

“What?! Why not?!" he exclaims, "Your quirk depends on your hand most of the time. What’ll happen to your hero career?” Izuku instinctively tries to use his arms as leverage to lean forward, but his casts slide on the bed and he slips down onto his back. “Oof.”

“Look, I'm just not doing rehab, because my arm being fucked up doesn't bother me,” Katsuki says. It’s only partially a lie, of course; but he's also not sure what the truth is. “I'll get better gear, and then it'll all be fine.” 

Izuku doesn't reply. Maybe, Katsuki thinks, he can see right through him. 

“You better be able to walk soon, ya nerd,” continues the blond. “Then you can come  to my room down the hall. It's really embarrassing talking when All Might could be listening to everything we're saying like a nosy creep.” 

Izuku is almost smirking. “Kacchan, is there something you want to say that you don't want All Might or anyone else to hear?” 

A pause. 

“I dunno. I wanna hug you.” The blurted words leave Katsuki's mouth as a whisper. He curses himself internally; he’d been trying not to say anything stupid.

Another pause. 

"That's the big secret?” 

Katsuki sputters. “'Course not. There is no secret.”

Izuku tries to cross his arms; instead his casts make an X shape across his chest. It looks a little silly, but Katsuki doesn't say a word about it. “Well, in that case, you can just hug me whenever, Kacchan. You don’t have to ask me.” 

He tuts. “Screw off. It's not a hug if I just have one arm and you can't even move any arms.”

Izuku seems to hesitate for a couple seconds. “We can try. Just once. Not like All Might’s watching.” Then: “I'd really like a hug.”

In the silence that follows, the eye contact Katsuki and Izuku make is… fondly tense, if that makes any sense at all.  It's thirty seconds before Katsuki gets up from his chair, stumbling a bit on the rise, and starts to round the corner of the bed. The closer he gets to Izuku, the more doubt clouds his face. It doesn't go unnoticed. 

“Kacchan, it's just a trial run of a hug,” Izuku says, lightly chuckling at the mental image he gets from trial run.

One minute free trial of Hugging Kacchan™—cancel subscription anytime.

Katsuki doesn't speak. His left hand grazes the other's shoulder through the thin fabric of the hospital gown, and Izuku wishes he could shudder at the touch. But he feels like it’d be too dramatic, like it'd push the boy away. He leans forward, letting Katsuki wrap his good arm around him. A single knee droops into the mattress of the bed, lightly knocking against the little handle on the side, and then, two chests bump together. Katsuki digs his chin into the curve of the other boys' shoulder. Izuku lets his head fall, one side of his face tickled by the blond's soft spikes. In that moment, he figures he can let himself quietly sigh and lean into it. Katsuki smells all warm, sugary, sweet. He always does, but today, there's an acrid hint of rubbing alcohol, and maybe a bit of blood somewhere in the mix; it's a bitter reminder of where they stand and why. 

“Kacchan?” he whispers, the image of Katsuki in a pool of blood, sprawled out on yellowed grass flashing in his mind for a split second.

He gets a grunt as a reply. 

A deep breath. “Are we… friends now?” 

Another grunt. “I guess. I mean, I'd hope so. I don't get sappy with just anyone, dumbass.” Katsuki's voice is slightly muffled. With a bit of an effort he pulls away, nearly tripping over his feet when he stands back up. 

Izuku's coy smile from earlier returns. “That's good. I was starting to really hate being apart from you.” 

Katsuki scoffs. “I haven't left yet.” 

He shakes his head. “Our whole life we've had some sort of distance between us,” Izuku explains. “But this closeness is different. I like it.”

With a hastily written room number on a sticky note by his bedside, Katsuki leaves not long afterwards. He bluntly mutters a goodbye with averted eyes, his hand scratching the back of his head. 

“I'll get my mom to bring in some All Might DVDs, or something or other,” he says. “We’ll watch them in my room when you can walk.” 

“Sounds great!” 

The idea of movie nights with Katsuki makes Izuku feel less horrible. Of course, his elevated mood had already kind of started the second he walked into his room that afternoon. To Izuku, there's just something about having a new constant amongst all this change. The guy he's known and admired his whole life through ups and downs is finally his friend again, and now here they are, after all the fights and all the carnage, talking about ugly babies and hugging, and organizing silly, nostalgic movie nights to the discretion of no one but themselves. 

Yeah, Izuku could definitely get used to this. 

–

It takes a while after the casts are cut and the facial bandages unwrapped for him to start doing normal things. Two days after the hug and declaration of devoted friendship, Izuku, still riding the high of his freed limbs, is cleared to walk, but told to take it easy. So take it easy he does, and as soon as the wheelchair is shoved back into the supply room, he's strolling to Katsuki's room. He does it with a slight pep in his step, but still he keeps his shoulders hunched and sticks to the emptier hallways where things aren't so chaotic. Where there are way less eyes. 

When he knocks on the door, there's a series of curses on the other end. The yelling comes to an abrupt stop.

“Who's that?” says a woman's voice. Mitsuki, for sure. “A classmate? Is it Kirishima?”

Izuku chokes a little at that. At least he knows who's been coming by to check. Maybe Kirishima stopped by his room, too, back when he was unconscious. 

“No! Probably. I don't— None of your business anyway, ya nosy hag!” 

“I'm not nosy, I simply care about you and the friends you make. Ungrateful brat!”

“Uhm, can I come in?” Izuku finally pipes up. Even though he's been given the go-ahead it's a little hard on his knees to stay idle too long.

There's a pause inside the room. 

“Izuku-kun! Just a second.” 

“I'll do it.”

When the door slides open, Katsuki takes one look at him before his mouth hangs open in shock. 

“Scar,” he only says.

There are two, angry, pink ropes of half-clotted scar tissue decorating the right side of Izuku's face; one of them starts right at his puffy eyebags and zigzags down and across his cheek, an almost unsettling display when Katsuki realizes just how close it is to actually touching his eye. The second streaks upward into his scalp, untouched by any of the shaved down hair follicles that lead up to it.

Izuku brings a hand to the one on his cheek, and his mouth forms a thin smile. “Oh, yeah. They had to shave my head to treat these. No big deal, though.” He looks back at Katsuki and smiles a little wider. “You got your bandages off, too, Kacchan.” 

All that’s left on Katsuki's face is a square strip of gauze. The rest of it is bruised and covered in tiny clotting scratches, but he is otherwise fine.

Noticing Izuku's lingering gaze he points to the gauze, smirking. “I had fifteen stitches done here. Won't come off for a while.” 

Mitsuki rises from her crouched position over the bed. “You doing okay, Izuku-kun?” she asks, slinging a purse over her shoulder. 

He nods. “Yeah, as good as I can be. Are you going back already, Auntie?” 

Katsuki's mother nods back. “Couldn't be here too long, but for my son? I just had to make the timing work.” 

Izuku steps into the room, squeezing past his friend. When she's got all her things in her hands Mistuki steps back, and with one hand on her hips she studies him.  It takes a minute, but without a word, she then grabs the folded chair leaning on the wall and opens it. 

“Do you need to sit down, dear? Your knees are shaking.” 

Izuku's shoulders sag. “Yes. Thank you.” 

Katsuki huffs and starts the trek back to his bed, lugging his pole behind him. Once his mother leaves, he breaks the awkward silence. “What, did you only just get cleared to walk?” 

The other's reluctance to answer is answer enough.

“You idiot.” 

Izuku sputters from where he's sitting, with his legs glued together and his hands resting on his knees. His casts are removed, but there’s still clinging gauze wrapped around both limbs to keep things padded and safe. “I just really wanted to see you, Kacchan.” He lets his shoulders fall, then stares into the distance again. “I missed you.” 

It's Katsuki's turn to sputter now, and he misses his landing on the bed by a few inches. When he lands square on his ass on the cold tiles, he tries his best not to wince;  he opts for a groan instead. “Oh, screw you.” 

Izuku's lips twitch. “Me, or the floor?” 

“Goddamn it—both of you! ”

He chuckles and rises from his seat to help him up. This time, Katsuki takes the hand, although it's with the slightest hesitation. When they're both standing, he tugs the blond towards him before Katsuki can balance on his own two feet. 

“Huh—?” 

When he falls into his chest, Izuku wraps both arms around him and holds him tight.

“We can actually hug now!” he exclaims. “You said you wanted to hug me once I actually had limbs to use, right? So here I am.” 

Katsuki heaves from where his face is buried into Izuku's shoulder. “D’ya still remember every word we said that day or something?” 

“Sure do. I was waiting for this.” 

“I was still high on meds. Couldn't control my emotions. You can forget I said anything at all,” he grumbles. 

Frowning, Izuku pulls away. “So, does that mean we aren't friends again?” 

A pause.

He groans again. “Fine. You got me there—yes, we're still friends.” 

“I thought so!”

“So, which movies did your mom bring in?” asks Izuku once they're both settled. There's a huge stack of DVD cases on the bedside, and Izuku grabs them all as Katsuki gets up to fiddle with the TV bolted to the wall. 

The blond shrugs. “They're mostly adaptations of the Silver Age comics and the documentaries. Had ‘em for years.” 

Izuku chuckles as he thumbs through the collection. “Of course they're nearly all Silver Age. That was always our favorite era along with Bronze anyway.” 

He feels a twinge of giddiness realizing just how numerous the DVDs are. It's gotta mean that Katsuki wants to sit down like this with him often. 

He sits back down on the bed, remote in hand. “Yeah, cause you gotta be stupid to think the Golden Age and Post-Prime comics were any good,” he says, lips curling up in disgust. “Movies were even worse.”  

“They weren't that bad Kacchan, don't say that,” his friend chides, shoving him playfully. “They're just different.”

“Money-grabbers is what they are,” Katsuki grumbles. Glancing over, he catches a glimpse of Izuku's lips stretched wide into a grin. His heart stutters a bit. “Good thing it was only the fictional stuff that sucked.” 

Izuku nods. “Golden Age was the best merch era…”

“Exactly.”

When they're past the selection scene and waiting through all the various company title rolls, Katsuki speaks again. 

“Do you remember,” he starts, unable to hold back a laugh, “When we were, like, four, and—ha!—you nearly threw up from stress watching this movie the first time? All because of that sidekick?”

Indeed, this movie had an overarching side plot where the sidekick was secretly working for the villain group without All Might knowing. There were so many scenes of the sidekick going behind the hero's back to reveal key information, and right now Katsuki remembers like it was yesterday just how the tiny Izuku was crying and shaking, whispering pleas through the screen for All Might to find out and end up okay.

Izuku half-grimaces, his bottom lip slightly wobbling. “Kacchan, please,” he whines. “I was emotionally attached.” 

The movie starts. Throughout its course, the pair barely speak, too entranced by the action, the framing, and the soundtrack. With every scene portraying the betrayal, Katsuki watches out of the corner of his eye as Izuku brings his fingers to his mouth to bite his nails nervously. He jumps when, just as the climax of the movie starts, Izuku subconsciously grips his hand with what feels like the force of a thousand stars, still staring directly at the screen with wide, unblinking eyes. 

When the movie ends, and Izuku's grip loosens, Katsuki pulls his hand out, switches the TV off and tuts. “And you're still emotionally attached.”

“Well,” Izuku huffs, “It's not my fault they framed the suspense in this movie so well.”

They watch a second movie right there and then; Izuku has an almost identical reaction, but it’s to a side plot about a found family of little kids kidnapped by villains instead. Katsuki awkwardly pats him on the shoulder without thinking when Izuku almost tears up. The next day, the movie they watch has a scene of All Might losing his fictional girlfriend to a villain, and it has them both reacting strongly, surprisingly. Katsuki convinces himself it’s an effect of his heart medication again—definitely not the possibility of Izuku’s precarious emotional personality rubbing off on him and making him all permanently ooey gooey. 

–

Two days later, Izuku barges into Katsuki’s room in the early evening with his phone in hand, stepping past a nurse doing rounds. He greets her with a tremor in his voice—he’s a little stressed tonight.

He tucked his phone away with all his things in the makeshift 1A dorms right before the final battle, right after that call with Aoyama, and was just now getting it back from Aizawa. This was a fairly new phone—All Might gifted him this one after returning to UA, as his last one was totaled fighting Lady Nagant—it’s a pretty recent model from a fancy American company who usually makes special phones for pro-heroes, and Izuku remembers having trouble getting used to some settings (he’d always been a little bit clueless with mobile technology beyond texting apps and social media.) Thus, when he switched it back on, he was bombarded with more notifications and alerts than he’d ever received in his life. As expected, a lot were from his mother and his friends. Inko, over the course of the battle and his week-long coma post-battle, texted him random greetings and long messages hoping for his well-being. 

The others were… weird. Somehow, back at the dorms waiting for the LOV’s next move he probably toggled some sort of function where he’d get alerts through a news app for not only incidents with villains in the immediate area, but also any and all articles involving his name—this, apparently included both Deku and Midoriya Izuku. 

This meant that, when he reset his phone and opened the lock screen, at least ninety percent of his notifications were pure chaos. Headlines and alerts, of course, temporarily paused right after the Jaku Hospital Battle due to the damage sustained to the cities. There was also the evacuation, rescue and sheltering efforts; but the end of the war meant a sudden rush of headlines about everything that had gone down, and a shit ton of alerts about push backs and revolts from civilians and villains alike. Because of course, the war had left behind only fragments of their hero society, thus messes were bound to happen. 

Some of the headlines make Izuku’s head throb:

UA High School Totaled During Intense Battle: Watch Recording Headed By Two Business Course Students Here!

Deku and Other UA Hero Students in Precarious Condition: School Asks For Complete Privacy, Updates to Follow

A Full Timeline of the Paranormal Liberation War: From Jaku Hospital to Shigaraki’s Death, In Images

Who is Midoriya Izuku? An Insight on the UA Hero Course Student We All Watched On Our Screens With Fervent Anticipation

The Rise and Fall of Bakugou Katsuki, The Infamous UA Hero Course Student

Hero Billboard Japan to be Permanently Privatized, HPSC Announces

HPSC To Appoint Former No.2 Pro-Hero Hawks as President Following Reconstruction and Rehabilitation Efforts

HPSC Announces Plans to Work with Film Studios to Craft Insight Documentary on All For One and Shigaraki Tomura: Release Date TBD

The first thing Katsuki takes note of when his friend enters for their third movie night is the sheer fatigue etched into every crease of his face and every bend of his posture. Izuku is leaning on the doorframe, his sleek new phone in one hand. He's heavily breathing, shifting and fidgeting in an anxiety-ridden way that Katsuki hasn’t seen since middle school.
“Kacchan,” he starts, “Can you help me with something?” He walks over and shoves the device in his face. 

“You got your phone back?” Katsuki first says, but before he can expect an answer his eyes catch onto what Izuku is trying to make him see. “Huh?”

Ding! Another notification for a headline comes in. Impostor(s) At UA: The Real Reason The War Got As Bad As It Did

“I know,” says Izuku. “There’s too much, and they just keep coming. How do I make it stop?” 

Katsuki frowns. “What are you talking about? You mean you didn’t do this on purpose?” 

Ding! For some reason, this article is in English. Five Familiar Faces From The War on Japan You May Recognize!

“Of course I didn’t do this on purpose!” Izuku exclaims. The foldable chair is already out, so he leaves his phone on Katsuki’s lap and sits, then shoves his head in his hands.

He starts to ramble. “I was serious when I said I wanted a distraction. I don’t know—All Might said usually American pro-heroes use this kind of phone, ‘cause it’s got default settings or something that lets them know of things going on. I must’ve messed something up right before the fight, and I didn’t realize until now because I haven’t touched my phone since. I just need the notifications to stop.” 

A third ping lights up the screen. Another English one. BLOG POST: Will Hero Deku Ever Address His Connection to All For One?

“What the hell,” Katsuki mutters, reading the headline out loud. Izuku lets out an anguished whimper. “What’s your password?” 

Izuku sighs. “64448.” When Katsuki raises an eyebrow at that, he sighs again and looks up. “It uses all the letters to spell M-I-G-H-T.” 

A pause. Katsuki unlocks the phone, then opens the settings. “Nerd.” 

A smile pierces through all his worries, tugs at the corners of Izuku’s lips. “Kacchan.”

When the issue is fixed, and Katsuki hands the phone back, Izuku’s hand is slightly trembling, despite the sigh of relief he let out just seconds before. 

“Did you even sleep at all?” Katsuki asks finally. He doesn’t think he shows it, but he’s worried about how unstable Izuku seems. 

(He’s been worried since Izuku’s dead eyes and his shaking knees and the way he doesn’t seem to be this happy around anyone except a few select people. Katsuki, Inko, All Might, Masaru and Mitsuki are who he can name off the top of his head. Actually Katsuki’s been worried for months—he just doesn’t know how to put a name to how different it feels from the way he normally worries for people, as rarely as it happens.)

Izuku shakes his head. “No, I slept fine, Kacchan. I just— I dunno.” He sighs a whopping third time. “I should have expected attention from the public after everything I’ve done, but this is just overwhelming.” 

Katsuki huffs. He can tell there’s multiple lies hidden somewhere in there, but he doesn’t push. “Well, most of those articles were just stupidly negative or nosy on purpose. That’s not the shit you should be reading anyway, once you're ready.” 

He pauses. “I guess not,” he mumbles. “Thanks.”

Izuku gets a hum as a reply. 

There’s a short silence where both boy’s eyes are locked onto each other, silently watching. Izuku wants to reach out, put his hand on Katsuki's knee, or maybe lay his head there and take a breather. There’s another affectionate urge hidden deep in there; the urge to get up and approach him, make it look like he’s about to hug Katsuki, but instead he’d pucker up his lips and lean closer and—

Nope.

Screw that. There are more serious things to worry about, Izuku, get yourself together.

He chucks the idea of it into the void. He's still feeling a pit in his stomach, still kind of feels like throwing up from all those headlines; all he wants is comfort. But he pulls the racing thoughts away from the forefront of his mind and looks towards the stack of DVDs to his left, where he notices the number of movies has grown. Katsuki follows his gaze. 

“My mom dropped off some more yesterday while you were in that quirk analysis appointment,” he explains.

Izuku’s breath hitches. His nausea settles just a bit. “So, more movie nights?” he asks incredulously. 

Katsuki shrugs. “Nothin’ better to do around here.” Then, he grabs the first DVD in the pile, shifts on the bed to the left and gestures to his side. “Sit.” 

Izuku’s jaw hangs open a bit. He flushes a little pink. “On— On the bed ?” he squeaks.

With the tiniest of strains, Katsuki hops off the bed and makes his way towards the TV. “No,” he sarcastically retorts, a hand waving behind him. “Take your Float quirk back from All For One and sit in the air.” Snorting, he adds, “Yeah, on the bed, ya nerd.”

Izuku tilts his head, a slight frown on his lips. “Won’t our combined weight break the frame?” 

Katsuki finds the idea ridiculous. He’d gained weight during his bedrest, sure, but not that much. He barks a laugh. “Stop overthinking and sit, Izuku.”

So Izuku climbs up and sits, with crossed legs, but he teeters one folded knee on the edge of the bed with uncertainty. A few minutes later, when their fourth total movie starts, Izuku pipes up during the production credits. 

“Kacchan,” he whispers. 

“Yeah?”

“Since you know my password now, can I know yours?” 

He huffs. “No way. Just change yours if you’re insecure.” 

“I’m not insecure,” he retorts. “I just wanna know if yours is also weird.” 

He’s met with silence. 

About an hour later, after the most awkward small talk about the happenings of the movie and the vague memories about the first few times they watched this as teeny tiny brats, there’s a quiet moment in the film. Katsuki looks over, and through the dim light of the screen bouncing off their faces he can see Izuku losing his focus; his hands are fidgeting in his lap nervously. It takes a second, takes a thought, a scenario racing across Katsuki’s mind that includes a really embarrassing outcome. He takes a deep breath as silently as he can. 

“8668,” Katsuki whispers suddenly. 

Izuku startles, his eyes tearing away from the TV. “Huh?”

“My password, Izuku. It’s 8668.” 

Izuku processes the numbers for a second or two. Then, he grins, which turns into a snort. “T-N-T? Really?” 

Katsuki goes red. He looks away and down. “Shut up. Action’s starting back up.” 

By the time the movie is starting to draw to a close, Izuku is quieter than usual. On previous iterations of their movie nights (i.e the last few days), he’d mutter things about the soundtrack and the way that the screenwriters utilized the cinematography and the lighting and whatnot, all typical nerdy shit—but tonight, Izuku is dead quiet. Katsuki hasn’t actually looked at him since he revealed his embarrassing little tidbit of personal information, so he isn’t really sure what’s going on. He blanches with realization when, all of a sudden, a heavy dead weight falls into his side, and a head of viridian curls lolls onto his shoulder. 

Izuku is out cold. 

(He really hadn’t slept much recently at all, had he? Katsuki groans to himself quietly. He should have seen it earlier in the way Izuku’s eyes drooped more than usual.)

He wants to move his friend, wake him up, tell him to get the fuck back to his room, but he also really doesn’t want to. It’s definitely not because he can feel his heart stammering and squeezing again—although the thought of his EKG speeding up and waking Izuku also plagues his mind just as much.

The end credits kick in right then. Switching the TV off, he lets himself sink a little bit into the pillows with a shaky sigh, then closes his eyes.  

When Katsuki comes to from his sleep, much later than his usual waking time, it’s to the sound of a few low voices out in the hallway muttering things he can’t make out. To his relief, he can still feel the weight on his right side pressing into his shoulder and his cast—so Katsuki imagines that it’s a nurse and a doctor coming in to discuss his meds. That’s already embarrassing enough, though, so he starts to groggily open his eyes.

When he processes his surroundings a few seconds later, reality is much worse. 

There’s a soft gasp. “You were right. They’re in here, All Might.”

Katsuki eyes fly open. Sitting there right at the doorframe in his wheelchair, being pushed by his friend’s fucking mom is his childhood idol. He’s staring at him with the usual dark eyes; at least they have a bit of a twinkle, though. 

“Young man,” says All Might, in that stupid smile filled with fondness. “Good morning.”

Suddenly Katsuki is hyper-aware of the remote in his hand, the nerdy movies on the bedside table, and the form sleeping on his shoulder. He startles and coughs, and as the two walk (roll?) into the room he shoves the remote in between the mattress and the frame. He thinks about reaching over to shove the DVDs into a drawer, but the sudden movement from earlier jerks Izuku a little. His friend lets out a sleepy whine, barely audible, then shifts his position ever so slightly so that his face nestles further into Katsuki’s chest.

“Fuck,” Katsuki whispers. He suddenly wants to scream into his pillow again; he never meant to disturb Izuku, and now he can feel his stupid healing heart throb in his temples again and it’s all so ridiculous he wishes he could jump out of that window to his far left. He knows it’s probably bolted shut, though.

Midoriya Inko steps back from the wheelchair and approaches the bed. “I’m gonna bring him back to his room,” she says. Then she hesitates. “Uhm, All Might—”

“It’s okay, Midoriya-san,” the man says with a wider smile. “I can wait here.” 

Inko huffs, and with an impressive feat of what the two males assume is typical ED nurse strength, she slides her arms underneath Izuku’s neck and legs and picks him up. Katsuki almost shivers at the lack of warmth that the empty space leaves behind.

When she exits the room, there’s a heavy silence that fills it in her stead. Katsuki doesn’t want to meet eyes with the former hero still idling somewhere in front of him; his face is a little red and he’s a little scared of what he’s gonna find if he studies his idol’s eyes too hard. Still, he’s got this urge to look up because he can feel a gaze boring a hole on the top of his hung head. 

“Got something to say, old man?” 

All Might just sighs. 

“You know,” he suddenly starts, “I’m very glad Young Midoriya has you by his side.” 

Katsuki finally raises his head. “Huh?”

“I’ve always felt this special bond between you two,” he explains, shrugging. “And lately, with Young Midoriya’s mental state, I’m just happy he has something tangible to hold onto—something that hasn’t changed or disappeared.” When Katsuki doesn’t seem to understand, he adds: “That being your bond, of course.” 

Katsuki narrows his eyes. For a second, he wants to brush All Might off as semi-senile, but he decides against it. “But we have changed,” he argues. “I made a real effort to change for him, and Izuku definitely changed from all the shit that happened on that battlefield.”

All Might laughs softly, leaning his head back. “That’s what I’m trying to get at. Your connection to Midoriya never really changed; outside circumstances made you change the way you think and act about that connection.” Then he brings a hand to his chin. “Oh. That didn’t make much sense, did it?”

Katsuki barks out a laugh. He feels his chest tense up again and his thoughts begin to race; this time, the feelings come with an irrepressible urge to burst into tears. “Not one bit,” he lies. 

When Inko comes back to escort All Might away, it’s with a little bento box in hand that she prepared that morning before coming here. She profusely apologizes for not coming to see him or giving him anything up to this point, and Katsuki assures her a few times that it’s fine, that his parents bugging him nonstop the past thirteen days was enough, that Inko isn’t Katsuki’s mom anyway. Then, he’s stuck watching a few different doctors and nurses walk in and out of his room to give him updates about this and that, and they all chide him on how stupid he is for not choosing rehab or prosthetics for his dumb, mangled right arm. He doesn’t see Izuku that evening, or the next. Part of him is glad about that, because at the end of those two days, when he’s finally given time in his own head, he comes to a terrifying realization.

It’s almost comically stupid how it happens, though, because Katsuki spends an hour sifting through memories of him and Izuku in his mind; everything from their very first interaction to both of the times he died for him. He then, briefly, sifts through everything he remembers from the guilty pleasure shoujo manga organized by volumes on his dorm room’s shelf. 

When the conclusion flashes in his brain, in big bold letters like he’s in an old school advertisement for couches, he finally gives in, shoves his head into his pillow and screams.  

He’s in love with Izuku, has been since forever, and for once, his too-smart brain fumbles on whether or not Izuku loves him back. 

–

Izuku gets the news that he’s being discharged in twenty-four hours, seven days after he first woke up. Strangely enough, he isn’t all that relieved; he knows he should be delighted to leave, because he remembers spending the past week pushing through occasional nightmares and near-panic attacks from the whiffs of blood in the hallway and the awkward looks on the nurses’ faces when they realize who they’re treating. 

The thing is, Izuku's feeling more tense than ever. All he can think about is how awful he is for not finding any time to go see Katsuki the past two days. It kind of feels like wasted time, to the selfish part of his brain. 

Now, most of his absence in Katsuki's room isn’t his fault at all—he’s been caught up, going through appointment after appointment, and he’s had no one to talk to other than his mom, the doctors and All Might, whenever he’s free. 

(The other part of it is definitely his bad, though.

When he woke up in his own bed after his third movie night with his best friend, with his first sight being his mother fussing over his sheets, and with no memory of dragging his feet down the hallway at midnight like usual whatsoever, Izuku was confused out of his mind—that confusion turned into horror when Inko explained how she’d found him. 

“You looked too peaceful, sleeping there next to Katsuki-kun,” his mom sighed out. “So none of us woke you up.” 

Izuku had his head in his hands, sitting cross-legged on his bed. He let out a quiet groan, but he thanked his mom a little louder. 

Then, Inko reached into her bag. “Anyway, Izuku, I got that thing you told me about the other day!” she said. “It took me a while to find it in all the other memorabilia you have but—” She produced a tiny, flat rectangular box and beams. “I found it!”

Izuku froze. He recognized the box almost immediately, but for a few seconds he was too engrossed in his tender but guilty feelings to remember why his mom brought it here. He then gently took the box from his mother’s grasp and opened it. 

Inside, nestled in a little hole made of cushiony black velvet, was a card. 

Their card.

It takes those two days of guilt—and his discharge announcement—for Izuku to gather up the courage to do what he’s been planning.)

When his mom leaves his side in the early evening to go home and prepare for a graveyard shift, the first thing Izuku does is run to Katsuki’s room. His legs ache less than they did five days ago, so sprinting a little isn’t a big deal. 

The second thing Izuku does, when he slides open the door to his friend’s hospital room, is almost go weak in the knees. When that door opens, and a head turns towards him, there’s something in the blond’s eyes that is so incredibly indecipherable —but it’s also so beautiful it sends Izuku’s pulse into a frenzy. 

“Hey,” he breathes.

“I need to give you something before I leave,” Izuku immediately blurts. 

“Leave?” Something in Katsuki’s face falls; then, when he realizes that Izuku is still dressed in his hospital gown, arms still tightly wrapped in gauze, he frowns. “You’re getting discharged? Now?” 

Izuku startles, then shakes his head. “No— No!” he exclaims, waving his hands around. “Not for another twenty-four hours, give or take.” And then his shoulders sag as he sighs. “But I didn’t wanna wait any longer.” 

He pulls the box out of his pocket, and Katsuki only now realizes there was a suspicious bulge there. 

“What are you—?”

As Izuku approaches the bed, he continues. 

“Plus, I wanted one last movie night with you before I go home.” He thrusts the box out when he’s right at Katsuki’s side. He scratches the back of his head nervously and begins to explain. “See, I missed your birthday while I was gone… like, after I left UA,” Izuku begins to explain. “And, well, obviously, because of the wars there aren’t any stores open right now where I could get you something real; so I asked my mom to bring this from home. Actually, at first, I wasn’t sure if it was in my room at home, or somewhere in my dorms, because I took a couple things back to Musutafu in my backpack when… Well, that’s not important. It would have been awkward if it was at the Troy dorms, or even at the Heights dorms because then, y’know… who would look through my things and bring it here? But, good thing my mom could find it, because I’d been thinking of gifting you this for a really long time and—”

“Okay , I got it. Give me the damn thing.”

“Right.”

Katsuki takes the box, twisting his back so he can grab it with his good arm. Before he can attempt to open it with his single hand, Izuku exhales and speaks again. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come by earlier, Kacchan.” 

The blond huffs. “Don’t apologize for that. It’s fine—I was caught up, too.” He turns the box upside down and shakes it, and for a few seconds Izuku watches on with confusion until he remembers why Katsuki is struggling. He flushes pink, mumbles a short apology, then tugs the box out of Katsuki’s grasp. 

“Didn’t need the help,” he mutters, but the complaint stops abruptly there.

When Izuku opens it up, right in front of Katsuki’s blown out pupils, the latter can’t help the way he freezes up, can’t help the way his breath catches, or the way his crimson eyes widen to the size of fucking stars. The card inside is in mint condition, holographic and shining, with bold rainbow letters at the very top spelling out ‘ALL MIGHT’. 

It’s Izuku’s card. It’s their card. 

“I… I don’t understand,” Katsuki mutters. He looks up, and for the first time in a really long time, Izuku’s eyes are shining. Some of it is from his usual sparkle, but a lot of it is because he’s on the verge of tears. 

Izuku’s voice is low, and it cracks a little with every word. “When I saw you there, on that field— you had yours with you. And—  And it was all ruined.”

Slowly, Katsuki nods. His card was bloodied and ripped down a quarter of its length somewhere, but he remembers, right before his reckless act saving All Might from All For One, leaving it with Best Jeanist. The hero would pocket it, and later, hand it to his mom in a plastic baggie while stopping by his hospital room sometime last week. 

“That’s why I’m giving you this,” Izuku continues. He takes the card out, lays it into Katsuki’s palm, then takes that hand with both of his. “Now that we’re friends again, and this meant a lot to us as kids, and you lugged it around with you that whole time, I just think you deserve it more than I do.”

Katsuki’s eyes keep growing wider. His eyes are flitting between Izuku’s frigid hands cradling his warm one, and the serious look in Izuku’s emerald eyes. 

“You can’t be serious,” he says. 

“I am.” 

Katsuki shakes his head. “This was yours. You keep it. You’re stupid if you think I’m gonna throw out mine and drag this around just because it looks nicer.”

Izuku tilts his head. “You didn’t… throw yours out?” 

He scoffs. “It’s too valuable to throw out, covered in blood or not. You should know this, Izuku, the way you’ve boxed yours up in velvet like it’s worth a million yen.” 

His friend straightens and pulls his hands away. “Well, I won’t take it back. It’s yours now, Kacchan.” 

Katsuki almost grits his teeth as he replies, with force: “Absolutely not.”

“Then, we’ll share custody of it! One month with you, one week with me.” 

“What is it, our child of divorce? No!”

Simultaneously, the both of them get a really funny feeling at the thought of that; that is, the absolutely ridiculous idea of them having a child to fight over.

Izuku hangs his head. He speaks after a lengthy silence. “Okay, consider this: you hold onto it for a few weeks, until I can find you a good enough birthday present.” 

Another, shorter, silence. Katsuki huffs. “Fine. If that makes you happy. But if you start this up again when you've got your shitty gift I'm blowing this thing up, and then no one gets it.”

“Like you'd ever dare.”

The conversation about their cards promptly ends there. Katsuki stores his gift, then takes out the DVDs and asks a stubbornly grumpy Izuku to pick out a movie.

He doesn’t dwell on their banter too long, and neither does his friend, because as soon as the movie starts, they throw themselves into their regular conversations, and Katsuki feels… comfortable. This time, he doesn’t think too hard about how different things are between him and Izuku, and doesn't think about how much he wants something to happen. 

This is, of course, until something does happen. Because between them both, there can never ever be just nothing.  

In this movie, their fifth so far out of a stack of, like, ten, All Might gets sucked into a portal that brings him to a different universe where Earth is very scientifically advanced and has socially progressed, but quirks never appeared; the entire plot has their hero saving lives in this wildly different world, while also working with a suspicious scientist who claims he can help All Might return to the right dimension. There’s also a side plot where All Might has a fling with an objectively gorgeous woman from the quirkless world, but it’s not dwelled on, and both Izuku and Katsuki know their story won’t go anywhere.

There’s this really intense moment almost halfway through the movie, though, where there’s no way to predict if Suspicious Scientist is a villain or not. 

(Izuku and Katsuki can predict it, though, because they’ve already watched this movie—Suspicious is innocent, it’s actually the fling’s best friend, secretly a grafter with a mind control quirk from All Might’s universe, who was the perpetrator of all their misfortunes all along.)

It’s during this moment where, despite him already knowing exactly how this scene plays out, Izuku lays his hand onto Katsuki’s where it’s pressed into the mattress and holds it again, just like he had a few days earlier. Unlike that last time, though, it’s not much of a squeeze; it feels more like a regular hold , like a casual touch. Like it’s second nature, now, for Izuku to hold onto Katsuki like it’s nothing, to rub his thumb in circles around the blond’s knuckles without hesitation. 

It should be meaningless, the way no one really physically reacts to it, or the way none of their heartbeats go crazy at it.

But in Katsuki’s head, it’s something like a sign. It tells him that if he doesn’t get his stupid feelings off his chest right the fuck now, he’s going to go absolutely bonkers. 

For two good seconds, Katsuki relishes in how refreshing Izuku’s hands feel on his too-sweaty palms, before tearing his hand away and reaching for the remote between his knees. In his head, he knows that he’s about to change everything, maybe even ruin a something-friendship only seven days in the making (with a two-year headstart and a ten-year pause). He knows that Izuku could never love him back, not in a million years, so saying this means letting go. He’s got this whole plan in his head to make this as casual, subtle, and spontaneous as possible. 

Katsuki leans over and mutters, “Think the sound’s a little too loud. Might disturb someone next door.” 

Izuku glances over to him and blinks. “Oh. That's true.” Then: “That’s really considerate of you, Kacchan.”

The volume is turned down a couple notches. He throws the remote to the side, then sighs. With how discreet Katsuki is trying to be, it comes out as a short exhale from his nose.

His friend glances back down to where their hands were embraced moments ago. Then, he looks up at the ceiling. 

Izuku chuckles. “There something you want to say?”

Is he on to me?  

(Sometimes, Katsuki hates how smart and insightful his something-friend is.)

Katsuki goes quiet. “I think I like you.”  

It's like all the air gets sucked out of the room right then. Izuku's head whips around, his pupils blown out just as wide as his eyes and his face nearly as red as his friend's irises. “What?!”

The blond scoffs. “Should we turn the movie down even more? I said I like you, Izuku.” 

Immediately Izuku is fumbling for the remote. He spots it teetering on the edge of the bed not too far from where his hands can reach. He sets a hand on Katsuki's thigh as he stretches forward. 

“No— No. I just—” When the movie is paused, he turns back to Katsuki. “You… like me, Kacchan? Like, romance? You wanna… boyfriend… and date stuff?” 

Katsuki frowns. “Somehow this is worse than your mumbling. Couldn't understand a word of that.”

A dry, breathy laugh leaves his throat. Izuku shifts around on the bed, bringing his knees to his chest and swiveling to face Katsuki. “I just need to confirm. You wanna— You like me in a romantic way, Kacchan?” 

Katsuki shrugs. His lips tug upward, so slightly it's barely visible, and he narrows his eyes. “Yeah. I think so. Your—” He doesn’t let any explanation leave his brain, because he knows it’s going to send him on a tangent that would expose his little white lie.

I think I love you. You're beautiful. I think I want you and your stupid green hair, and your arms covered in keloids, and your terrifying overpowered quirk, and I want all of it beside me for the rest of our lives. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. I'd probably die for you again and then a thousand times over. 

“I don't know how to make it... sound right." Read: not sound stupid and sappy and soft. "But you get the gist.” 

Izuku tries to grin. It looks a little half-hearted, or maybe a little bit like fear; blame the shrill screaming looping in his head for the past two minutes. “It's— That's okay, Kacchan.” He takes a deep breath, then: “I like you like that, too.” 

Suddenly, Katsuki's smile falls. He looks away. Clears his throat. “You don't have to pretend, Izuku. Don't force yourself.” 

Izuku stops. His heart sinks. “What do you mean?” 

“It's—” He fidgets with the hem of his shirt. “I know how self-sacrificial and self-sabotaging you get, so I'm stopping you now. I really don't mind just getting this off my chest and moving on.” 

“Kacchan,” he starts, “Who said I was pretending?” 

And then Katsuki is looking back at him. His eyes, crimson red with the tiniest flecks of brown, aren't quite meeting Izuku's. They're slightly glazed over and wandering. “It's written all over your— your stupid face. You look awkward as shit, and you can't even smile like an idiot the way you always do. I might not be good at my own feelings but I can fuckin' read you like a book, Izuku.” 

The silence that follows is so thick, and so sudden, it hurts. 

When it's cut through, it’s Izuku who does it with a steak knife, speaking in a low, almost pained voice. “You’re wrong. I'm not pretending, Kacchan. I've always lo—” He stops for a second, unsure if he should really say it. He figures it couldn't hurt. He doesn't hear Katsuki's breath hitch at the first syllable of the word. “I've always loved you.”

Silence. 

“Oh.”

“I've always wanted to exist on the same level as you, Kacchan. Just like this.

“I mean, everything’s been such a mess lately, what with the reconstruction and the casualties, and the fact that I couldn't even save Shigaraki, and half our friends got hurt. Nothing's gonna be the same anymore. It’s all I think about—but you, Kacchan, being able to kill time like this with you makes it all feel a little better. Not to mention, you literally died ” Izuku takes a shuddering breath. His arms, once gesturing wildly as he spoke, flop down to his sides. “I love knowing that you're still breathing, and– and I love being able to touch you when you can touch back.” He pauses again. “You—” 

“Why?” 

Katsuki cuts him off. He's looking away again, down on the bed. His voice cracks on the word, and it clenches Izuku's chest. It's almost like the question has sharp, pointed claws, and they're grabbing at every part of Izuku they can reach. Without much of a second thought, he cradles one of Katsuki's cheeks and turns his face back to him. 

“Why do you have to love me?” he strains. 

I'd do it all for you. I've done all the things that would make you hate me, so you can't love me back.

“Well,” Izuku breathes in reply, “You're amazing.” He leans forward so that their foreheads bump. “That's all there is to it.”

Katsuki doesn't realize he's crying until the fat tear drops into his lap. Izuku doesn't see it coming either. Part of the drop catches onto Izuku's fingers, riding down the side of his thumb. Katsuki is really fucking nauseous, but not in a bad way; he kind of wants to cut his brain and heart open and spill it all out right here, every single one of his stupid, feely thoughts. 

They're silent for a while, and all any of them can hear is the other's slow, steady breathing. Before long their inhales and exhales are synced, and there's barely any way to distinguish the two from one another. 

Fuck it.

“I don't want to let go of you,” Katsuki mutters, his voice thick with emotion. “I told All Might I'd keep you at arm's length, so that's what I tried to do. But then you got sucked into the wrong portal, and all that shit back there happened, and—”

“You won't have to let go. I'm right here.” 

Another silence. 

“I'm sorry.”

Izuku doesn’t have to ask what he’s sorry about. It’s many things, but it’s also nothing at all. 

“I know,” he only says.

It feels like hours pass like this, basking in the too-warm touch of their foreheads pressed together, the quiet sobs Katsuki can't help but let out, and the tears that Izuku keeps wiping away with his thumb.

Eventually the drip stops. 

“Kacchan?” Izuku asks. 

“Yeah, Izuku?”

“You can say no, but, uhm, I just need to know.” 

A pause. “Wha’?”

“Can I kiss you?” 

Katsuki feels his heart skip a beat. He huffs, then sniffles. “I'll be bad at it.” 

A soft chuckle. “That's okay, Kacchan. So will I.”

When Izuku closes the distance, now with both hands holding his face, he tilts his head, presses his chapped, dry lips to Katsuki's. It's a little small, and scratchy and it's also a little awkward because the blond’s not sure how to kiss back. But something about the way they fit together almost perfectly, down to the way their noses slide against each other; Katsuki knows this is right. 

They pull away after a good ten seconds, but don't break any of the other searing contact points.

“Will you answer my question from before?” 

Katsuki raises an eyebrow. “Hm?” 

“I asked you if you wanted to… maybe, be boyfriends, and go on dates and stuff?” 

Katsuki blinks. “That's what you were trying to say?” 

He nods, blushing. “I thought that much was obvious.”

“Definitely wasn't.” And then Katsuki mulls the offer over in his mind. “Shit— I dunno about regular dating stuff. I’m not sure I want the whole world to know, Izuku.” 

Izuku grimaces a bit at that. He’s reminded of just how many eyes have been on him since their first year started, and how much worse it got after the Jaku Hospital Battle. He flashes back to a few days ago, to all those stupid headlines prying into their lives. As heroes to be, Izuku figured he was supposed to welcome attention, welcome all the criticism and the personal questions and work around it; but god, it's just been too much. He knows that, once the world is done settling down, it'll only get worse from here, and it makes part of him want to shut himself off and go underground, ike Aizawa-sensei. He doesn't even want to imagine what a public relationship with Katsuki would bring as headlines while they're still in highschool. 

“I get that.” He leans back and starts to fidget with his hands. “After everything, after this war, I want privacy, too." He shrugs. "So, we can go slow, Kacchan. If you'd like.”

It’s a while before Katsuki answers. “Slow is fine,” he mumbles. “Still need to work on some things.” 

Izuku chuckles again, and his shoulders shake a little. "Yeah, you can say that again." 

They unpause and finish the movie they started, then speed through a second one; this time, they watch it all with their arms and legs and souls intertwined, side by side on the bed, with little looming thoughts about anything else. 

There is no doubt about it: label or no label, there is no way to untangle how deeply wound together Katsuki and Izuku are.