Chapter Text
The scent of pine and honey wafted in the air like a saccharine haze. For Izuku and Katsuki, it had always been this way—an indistinguishable blend, seeped deeply into their pores–clinging to everything like a second skin. Over time, it was familiar enough to fade into the background. Others might wrinkle their noses at how thick and cloying it was, their two scents tangled together, but for them it was comfort.
Home.
The academy’s lawns were velvet green, trimmed to impossible perfection, dotted with marble fountains and shiny, polished limestone statues of great warriors and scholars past that shimmered under the late afternoon sun. Students of all academic ventures lounged in scattered groups across the grass, the breeze carrying threads of scent that twisted and coiled briefly before dispersing in a neutral mist.
Izuku lay on his back beneath the shade of a birch tree, trying to focus on the lecture notes he had forgotten to review. Beside him, Katsuki sat cross-legged, sharpening a blade against a whetstone. The metallic rasp filled the air, steady as breathing, underscored by the faint creak of leather as Katsuki adjusted his grip.
But what held Izuku captive wasn’t the sound. It was the scent.
Pine and smoke, threaded with something sharper—like lightning trapped in resin. That was Katsuki. His Kacchan. It had been Katsuki since childhood, when Izuku had first curled up against him in a blanket fort, nose buried in his best friend’s shoulder, imprinting before he even understood what imprinting meant.
Over the years, their scents had intertwined so thoroughly that Izuku could no longer separate where his own ended and Katsuki’s began. To others, it must’ve been overwhelming, but to Izuku it was simply home. He breathed it in now, stabilizing the ache in his chest.
If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend. Pretend Katsuki was his, that they were already bound, that one day the tradition of scent-matching would confirm what Izuku’s heart had known forever. He lived on that fragile hope, delicate as spun glass, careful not to let it crack.
“You’re staring again, dork,” Katsuki’s voice broke in, low and amused, nudging Izuku’s shin with the toe of his boot. “What? I got something on my face?”
“I… I’m just—” Izuku stumbled over words, cheeks burning with an embarrassed, pinkened flush. Izuku sat upright, tendrils of curls bouncing, and brushed stray blades of grass from his trousers. “Just… distracted.”
Katsuki smirked handsomely, tossing the whetstone aside and ran his thumb along the edge of the knife. The sunlight caught in his hair, a bright burnished gold, haloing soft, spiky wisps that made Izuku’s throat close at how angelic he appeared. With burning, wanting emerald eyes, Izuku’s gaze slid down the crisp line of his jaw, strong and uncompromising, to exposed skin kissed golden by the sun, a contrast to the deep black of his academy uniform.
His arms, corded with muscle, tugged the fabric tight across his broad, robust chest. He radiated a heat, that same bonfire heat Izuku had always known, something that burned just close enough to sear without permission. Izuku was doomed. He never stood a chance. How was he supposed to not love him? Every little thing—his careless grace, the strength simmering under his movements, the scent that wrapped Izuku in warmth—pulled him deeper.
A flicker of movement in the courtyard drew Izuku’s eyes for just a moment. Shoto Todoroki passed by, tall and calm, a dark shadow cutting through the sunlit paths and huddles of squealing, blushing omegas and simpering betas. The other alpha’s presence was measured, controlled—a quiet contrast to Katsuki’s fire.
Katsuki’s jaw tightened, just slightly, as he followed the motion of Shoto’s walk with his eyes. “Tch… of course he shows up.” His voice was low, more to Izuku than anyone else. “Walking around all perfect and calm… like he’s better than the rest of us.”
Shoto Todoroki, the youngest alpha son of the great Endeavor. His namesake invoking reverent tones of unforgiving brutality, glory, and immense power. He was one of the most sought after alpha despite the tradition of scent-matching. Many have eyed him with longing and awe, craving for the fortunes that come with his legacy. Even with his popularity and title, Shoto remained mysterious, cold, and aloof.
“–Striding around like the world should bend for him,” Katsuki sneered as he rambled, “Just because his father is some famous warrior. Watching everyone from above, all calm and smug. Bet everyone here thinks he’s flawless. Bet he even smells like it. Ugh.”
Katsuki opened his mouth to continue with his tirade, but then—he stilled. The knife lowered. His head lifted slightly, nostrils flaring.
“Do you smell that?”
Izuku blinked. “Smell what?”
“That—” Katsuki sat up, inhaling deeply, as if something invisible had hooked into his lungs. The blonde rose to his feet, the grass flattening under his boots. He inhaled again, glowing crimson-colored eyes narrowing, pupils blown wide with instinct. “That scent. Sweet… sharp… gods, it’s perfect.” His voice went low, reverent. “It has to be my match.”
Izuku’s stomach dropped.
Perfect?
The word lanced through Izuku like cold water. The curly-haired omega forced a shaky laugh, hoping his voice wouldn’t crack.
“P-Probably someone wearing too much perfume.”
Izuku’s throat tightened, his pulse loud in his ears. He had imprinted on Katsuki’s scent years ago, so deeply he no longer noticed the pine-and-honey that clung to everything they owned. But the way Katsuki said it—like it was new, like it wasn’t already here—made something inside Izuku fracture. Katsuki’s expression had shifted into something Izuku had never seen before– wonder, hunger, awe. His whole body leaned toward the scent, like a compass needle straining north.
“It’s them,” Katsuki whispered, eyelids drifting half-mast. “It has to be. My match.”
“K-Kacchan, wait–”
The blonde alpha pushed past him, already grabbing his jacket. “I have to find them.”
And just like that, the frail glass of Izuku’s hope shattered.
He sat frozen in the grass, the birch leaves whispering overhead, while Katsuki strode off across the lawn, following the invisible thread of scent with single-minded certainty. Izuku’s chest ached with a bruised kind of hollowness. The air around him still smelled of pine and smoke. Nails dug crescents into his palms. For the first time, it wasn’t comforting.
It was suffocating.
It made him sick.
Izuku followed and watched Katsuki cut through the throng of students on the lawn. He moved like a hound on the hunt—shoulders taut, nostrils flaring, every step purposeful. Izuku’s stomach twisted. He’s chasing a scent.
Chasing someone else.
The air carried fragments to him as well—sugar and spring blossoms, light as spun air. Pleasant, yes, but faint. Nothing compared to the grounding warmth of pine and smoke. Nothing compared to Katsuki. To his Kacchan.
And yet Katsuki was entranced.
Students turned their heads as the alpha stalked past, eyes following him with curiosity. Some omegas stiffened instinctively at the weight of his presence, while others tilted their heads, intrigued. Izuku trailed behind at a distance, unable to stop himself, though each step felt heavier than the last.
Then Katsuki halted.
Just ahead, near the marble fountain where water caught the light in jeweled arcs, stood her—Uraraka Ochako, an omega from their year. She laughed at something her friends said, tossing her light, brown hair over one shoulder. Everything about her radiated the epitome of a proper omega; gentle voice, approachable warmth, her scent carrying faintly like peaches and wild honey. She didn’t even need to speak loudly to command the group’s attention; they leaned in naturally, charmed by her presence. She was exactly the kind of person alphas noticed. The kind of person an alpha like Kacchan deserved.
And in that moment, the breeze shifted. Her scent bloomed, light and sugary, stronger now.
Izuku saw Katsuki’s whole expression transform. His eyes softened, his lips parted as though he’d stumbled on something holy. Reverence flickered there, sharp and certain.
“Found you,” Katsuki breathed soundlessly.
The words cracked something in Izuku’s chest clean in two.
Ochako turned at the sound of his voice. Her gaze landed on Katsuki, curious, then shyly flattered. She ducked her head, but not before offering a smile—a smile that Katsuki returned, slow and earnest.
The knife in Izuku’s gut twisted deeper.
“Kacchan—” his voice croaked out, but Katsuki didn’t hear him. Or worse, didn’t care. The alpha had already stepped closer to Ochako, speaking low, his posture unconsciously protective, attentive, everything Izuku had once dreamed would be his.
Izuku swallowed hard, the back of his throat burning. He could still smell pine and smoke clinging to him, could still feel the ghost of Katsuki’s presence at his side. But watching Katsuki lean toward someone else—watching him give that scent, that smile, that look—felt like standing outside in the cold after years of being wrapped in warmth.
He turned before the sight could hollow him out further, retreating beneath the birch tree’s shade. His legs trembled as he sank back to the grass.
Around him, the world carried on: fountains sang, laughter carried, sunlight burned bright on marble.
But all Izuku could taste was ash.
Later that night, Izuku lay on his side, staring at the faint glow of their desk lamp, his fleece blanket pulled high under his chin. Across the room, Katsuki stretched out on his bed, his voice spilling into the quiet like he couldn’t keep it contained.
“Can you believe it, Deku?” Katsuki let out a laugh, sharp but oddly buoyant. “I actually found her. My scent-match. Tch, took long enough, but—shit—she’s perfect. Gorgeous. Strong too, not some useless extra.”
Izuku’s throat bobbed. “…That’s… that’s great, Kacchan.” His voice was soft, almost swallowed by the hum of the wind whistling outside their partially open window.
“Damn right it’s great,” Katsuki went on, restless with excitement. He propped himself up on his forearm, bicep bulging, turning to face Izuku. “The way she looked at me—hah—I thought she’d burn holes through me. And her scent? Fucking unreal. Like fire and sugar.”
Izuku forced a sound—something between a hum and agreement. His fingers curled tighter in the blanket. Each word was a punch, slamming harder on the fragile tether inside him that had always stretched toward Katsuki.
“And when she smiled at me—hell, Deku,” Katsuki kept talking, voice rough with awe, “I didn’t think I’d care about shit like that. But it’s different. With her. My match.”
Izuku blinked hard at the wall, vision blurring. The corners of his eyes burned, though no tears fell. He wouldn’t dare let them fall. His chest felt heavy, as though something inside had cracked and was slowly leaking away. He couldn’t breathe deep enough to fill it. His own scent—the faint ozone and greenery Katsuki had teased him for—dulled, curling tight against his skin like it was retreating.
“Guess that means I don’t gotta worry about… y’know. All that soulmate crap anymore.” Katsuki’s laugh was softer this time, almost vulnerable. “I actually got lucky for once.”
“…I’m happy for you, Kacchan,” Izuku whispered, swallowing around the lump in his throat. Silence stretched for a beat. For a moment, Izuku thought Katsuki would catch on that something was horribly wrong, but it was apparent Katsuki didn’t notice the tremor in Izuku’s tone when he flopped back against his pillow, grinning at the ceiling.
Izuku tucked his knees closer to his chest beneath the blanket, heart thrumming too fast. His skin felt prickly, too hot, too cold all at once. The beginnings of something unknown whispered through him—an ache of exhaustion, of fragility, of instincts curling inward for safety he couldn’t reach. His body craved warmth, touch, grounding, but all he had was the empty space between their beds and Katsuki’s voice still full of someone else.
Izuku pressed his face into his pillow and breathed shallowly, hoping Katsuki wouldn’t hear the faint tremor of his breath.