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.

Chapter Text

Izuku gets ready to leave the next day around noon. Dressed in a hoodie and basketball shorts, with compression sleeves around his legs, he’s heaving a little in the May heat. It's made only worse by the thickly insulated walls. But, Izuku isn’t supposed to take anything off. The nurses made that clear a few hours ago, when he woke up coughing and sniffling. 

It’s a good thing they aren’t keeping him here for longer, is what they told him. 

He can almost sense Katsuki from the hallway (blame some weird inexplicable aspect of One for All), and is already at the door when he is. He launches forward and holds his arms out, but Katsuki freezes, looks up. They meet eyes, and at once Izuku is being studied top to bottom by carmine eyes furrowed in confusion. 

“Why the hell are you in so many layers?” 

“Well—” A furtive gaze goes from Katsuki's eyes, to his lips, then upwards to the ceiling. 

“Well?” 

“I have a little bit of a cold,” he blurts. “Which I only realized even existed, uh, this morning? I’m supposed to stay… warm.” 

“ Huh? ”

Now that he's said it, Katsuki's starting to see it. It’s laughably obvious, so he’s glad the other didn’t immediately resort to denial. There's red, irritated skin around Izuku's nose, and the bruised eye bags he's had the past week are slightly swollen. 

He grins, sheepish. “I was gonna put a mask on, ‘cause they gave me a pack of them right here in my bag, but then I remembered you said you’d pass by before I left, and I figured— Well —” 

When Katsuki realizes, when he hears the unsaid words hung in the short silence, he steps back and barks out a laugh, palming his face. Something flutters in his chest, alongside the mirth, because oh my god, Katsuki almost forgot about the goddamned  kiss . The disbelief of it all; like he could ever gloss over something like that .

“You gave me your cold?” 

“That's not definitive!” Izuku squeaks, and rushes to slide the door shut. “I swear, Kacchan, I had no clue until I woke up all stuffy this morning.” He adds. “It probably didn't pass onto you if there weren't any symptoms when—” 

“That’s not how that works. You should know that.” 

Izuku slumps. “Yeah. Sorry.” 

Katsuki sighs, a short exhale through his nose. Walking past the boy, over to where Izuku's beat up yellow backpack is sitting on the floor, he squats and reaches in, feeling around for the aforementioned box of masks. Izuku makes a little sound of confusion and spins around. 

“Why the hell haven't you replaced this thing already?” Katsuki grumbles, studying the backpack. “Bag's ripped in at least fifteen places now. Your shit’s gonna fall out when classes restart.” 

Izuku shrugs. “Emotional attachment. I'll get a new one when classes restart, Kacchan.” 

“Oh yeah,” Katsuki rolls his eyes, sarcastic. A smirk plays on his lips. “And it'll be fully identical to this one, won't it?” 

“... Most likely.” 

The smirk grows into a smile. 

“Figures.” He stands back up and thrusts out a singular blue mask. “Here. Put this on now before it's too late.” 

Izuku’s mouth silently forms an ‘O’. He takes the mask and slips it on sheepishly. It hangs a little loose on his babyface, so he moves to tighten the straps. 

“Late for you, or late for me ?” he teases.

Blush warms its way up both their necks, seeping into their cheeks. With a pang of fondness, then a second pang of fond annoyance , Katsuki reaches out to tangle his fingers into Izuku's viridian curls, pushing his bangs back. 

“Nah, you're too far gone. This is for me and your poor mother.” 

The two move to sit on the bed, side by side. 

It’s awkward silence for a while. 

It's awkward, knowing that they're in love with each other, but not really knowing how love works, or if it's okay to do everything according to their desires; they're meant to be going slow, right? What even is going slow? Who the hell started that ? 

Katsuki wants to kiss him. He’s sure Izuku wants to, too. They probably picture, in sync, a tacky scene where they stare at each other and lean in with half-lidded eyes. Especially after last night, that feels like it’s something that normal teens in their situation would do. 

But, normal teens wouldn’t be in this situation, specifically. They don't make girly shoujo mangas or Western highschool coming-of-age movies about yearnful, ambitious heroics students with a complicated past who've just finished fighting a war, do they? 

Maybe they’ll be the first of these stories. One of them, nerds they both are, will have to check. 

Their hands interlink in the little space between their thighs. It's kind of on instinct, taking over the urge to press their lips together, because so far they’ve held hands more times than they’ve kissed; but part of it is also some unspoken agreement that it'll help things feel less awkward . Fingers slot between knuckles, but eyes never meet. It used to be the opposite, just a few months ago.

“If you're so sick,” Katsuki starts, shattering the quiet. “Why’re you already leaving, anyway?”

Izuku laughs softly at that, then looks down at his hands littered with scars. One on his lap, and one underneath Katsuki's hand. “I'll be fine, Kacchan. My immune system isn't horrible . It'll be bedrest and a bit of quarantine as soon as I'm home—y’know, just in case. And since my mom's a nurse too, they trust her with my health.” 

“Well,” he huffs. “You better use that fancy-ass phone All Might got you and keep some contact.” 

Izuku barks a laugh. “If I can fully figure it out, I’ll text everyday. Maybe even call, if you’d like.”

“Nah. Hate calls.” 

“Texts it is, then.” Suddenly he chokes a little, before gasping and looking back up. “ Wait . Kacchan, I don’t think I even have your number .” 

He considers calling bullshit, but no, Izuku’s right . 

He’s so right it hurts. 

The number might have been in reach this whole time, through the stupid LINE group chat between all of Class A—one that he kept leaving and getting re-added to against his will throughout the past year—but Katsuki had never cared to look. The last time they were close enough to want to keep contact, neither Izuku nor Katsuki were old enough to even have their own phones. He remembers with horror now, being asked (what was months ago but now feels like years ago) to exchange numbers for the purpose of their work studies with Endeavour. At the time he just figured Todoroki would be a good enough messenger between the two. As it stood, he’d been pushed to accept the guy’s contact information for their provisional license courses. Not having Izuku’s number never once hindered them, so the question never again resurfaced. 

God, Katsuki was such a self-centered idiot back then, wasn’t he?

Slowly, Izuku’s expression morphs into some strange amalgamation of glee and embarrassment. Wide, incredulous green eyes and two thin eyebrows furrowing together. 

He bursts into laughter and falls back into the bed, clutching his stomach. 

“I just— Can’t believe it, Kacchan!” he wheezes. “We’ve shared our passwords, but we don’t even have each other's numbers ?!” 

When Izuku meets his gaze again, he sees fear and uneasiness engraved into Katsuki’s features. Wide, incredulous red eyes and two thin eyebrows furrowing together. 

His face falls. Okay, maybe it isn’t that funny. 

“Don’t think too hard about it. It’s okay,” he says. 

“You say that a lot without meaning it.” 

That comes out with more of a bite than intended.

“This time I’m serious, alright? Gimme your phone.” 

With a swiftness and sureness that both teens would previously find to be unlike him, he takes his phone out of his pocket and hands it over. Izuku sits up and takes it and unlocks it, but not without a little giggle from tapping in the password. 

(Katsuki nearly rolls his eyes fondly at that, if not for the acidic bile sloshing in his insides, almost threatening its way up.)

“Oh, I’ll send myself a text so you know it’s me later.” 

When Izuku hands the device back, the screen is open on a contact page with a blank picture. The name says Deku , complete with a little emoticon. 

Katsuki stares at it blankly for a second or two. “You still want me to call you that.” 

“Well, it is my hero name.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” he relents, “So I’ll use it when we’re out on the field. Otherwise I refuse. You didn’t— You didn’t even make it your official name because of me, anyway.” 

Spreading out his hands in what looks like a gesture of surrender, the corners of his lips tugging slightly upwards, Izuku answers truthfully: “Alright. You don’t have to call me Deku outside of hero work if you don’t want to, Kacchan. But…”

Katsuki raises a single eyebrow.

“I still like it as a nickname when it comes from you. Seriously.” 

Katsuki feels his face grow a little warmer at that, but he sobers up quick; he only just decided on the permanent switch by his own volition, the moment he woke up last week. 

So he looks back down at the screen and changes the contact name to Izuku ; he keeps the emoticon, thanks to the invasion of green in his field of vision that he can almost hear holding in a breath as he backspaces on the keyboard. 

(Even if Izuku wasn't watching, Katsuki'd probably still keep it there, but that's not for anyone to know.)

“Might take a while,” he grumbles, shoving the device back into his pocket. 

“Alright then. I don't mind that, either.” 

His mother calls him ten seconds later, the tacky default ringtone cutting through the delicate stillness of the room. Leaning back on the bed, Katsuki silently listens to Izuku's half of the conversation with his eyes half-lidded. 

“Yeah, mom? … Mhm, I'm ready, so you can start—Oh, you're on your way? … Okay, okay.” He glances behind him. “I’m with Kacchan right now… Ah, no rush, mom, so take your time! … Yes, I ate something earlier—! Was it good? N–No …” 

It's about two minutes before the call ends. Izuku spins around, his shoulders slumping down. “My mom's gonna be here soon.” 

“I know . I’m not deaf, yet, Izuku.” He starts to lift himself off the bed. “I can go, if you need time to finish packing.” 

Katsuki turns and makes his way to the door, as, silently, the other watches. 

“Wait.”

Just as he's a few steps from being able to reach out and grab the handle, a pair of roughened hands spin him around with a tug of his wrist. 

“Will you…come over when you're discharged?” 

“I will if you won't pass me anymore germs.” 

“… Fair enough.”

In the blink of an eye, Izuku pulls his mask slightly down and places a chaste kiss on Katsuki’s mouth.

“Then I’ll see you later,” he whispers. 

Face warm, cheeks tinged a bright pink, bottom lip half caught between his canines, Katsuki promptly clears his throat and turns on his heels. 

“Uh huh.”

Later that evening, Katsuki feels his nose clog up and start running. The first thing he does is open his SMS.

The first message he and Izuku ever have in their conversation is a stupidly cute winking kaomoji, which the other sent from Katsuki’s phone as a signalling text. Here he was, thinking it’d be a simple greeting, but he figures it’s a good thing Izuku is comfortable enough to be a little lighthearted in texts, too.

The next slew came an hour later.

13:06

Izuku >.<

It’s me!

Just got home

I hope everything is okay

Did you show any symptoms yet?

Not without a chiding groan and a few mumbles under his breath about how ridiculously selfless Izuku is, Katsuki pulls up the keyboard to reply. 

Izuku is home alone; his mother was paged earlier in the afternoon for an emergency; which was to be expected. He startles from a short nap, nestled into cold but welcoming sheets, when the text from Katsuki comes through. 

He waits a minute or two before taking a peek, not wanting to accidentally reply too fast, for fear of coming off too enthusiastic, despite him. 

20:35

Kacchan

Nothing huge

Just a stuffy nose .

Oh no

You CAUGHT it

I'm so sorry

Don’t apologize 

Worry about yourself

I Don't care anyways

And so their conversation keeps going. They banter, like they always have, and they keep up the promise of distractions. Katsuki tells him about his friends visiting, how their classmates were so incredibly apologetic of the fact that only Kirishima was able to stop by in the weeks since everything. He talks about how Ashido isn’t completely pink anymore ('Can't even call her Pinkface’ ‘Half-Pink, perhaps?’ ‘I’m rubbing off on you with the nicknames, Jesus’ 'No!! Forget I said anything!!' ), and how Sero started learning French in the hospital, for some reason ( ‘Not even planning to move to Europe so he's just a dumbass’  ‘It’s enrichment, Kacchan!’ ).

For once, there’s something completely irrelevant to the war to laugh about, and for this, Izuku is glad. 

Because he finally figured out his settings on his phone, he also holds conversations with his own friends. There’s Todoroki, who gives him little updates on his family and sends him pictures of cute kids—fans of his—and Uraraka, who tells him about Toga and assures him that she’s fine. That they’re both fine.

At around nine Katsuki goes offline to be assessed by a doctor for his (albeit mild) cold, and when Izuku lays the phone down, he feels exhaustion weighing him down almost immediately. 

Despite him, despite his eyebags and the concern that he knows is going to show in Katsuki's eyes later (if they can meet anytime soon), he really doesn’t want to fall asleep. 

Not when he’s all alone. 

Hours later, he wakes in a cold sweat enveloped by the inky darkness of his room. A nightmare, again, but this time it rattles him worse than anything ever has, because it’s new, and isn’t as vague as the last few ones. 

Something, many things, maybe the bed or maybe his bones, creaks as he gets up to orient himself. His phone fell to the floor, somehow, so he picks it up. When he double taps and the screen lights up, there are a few messages from Katsuki, and Uraraka, too, but almost nothing else.

21:03

Kacchan

Good news 

I can leave in 4 days

I’m gonna sleep

Good night

03:55

Awesome, Kacchan :)

Too bad the dorms already reopen by then

We’ll see each other anyway of course :D

Good night

That’s when things start to shift a little more. 

–

Three days later, most shelters across the country are removed, and Heights Alliance is reopened for all UA students; classes don’t restart for another three weeks, so no one will be forced to move back in until that happens, but at the end of the day, it’s an effort to instill some sense of normalcy. This especially went for Class 2-A; they’re in need of a goddamned break, and everyone knows it, but they have to do it as a team like they’d been doing everything else. 

As students, they all find a strange solace in routine. The war caused uneven days and no assurance in their tomorrow being anything like their today, so there’s something soothing about cross-referencing timings and desires, now. As such, on a Sunday night the class put together an actual schedule listing out activities for each day of the week; it’s Iida’s idea at first, but everyone readily agrees with their class president in no time. All of it’s spontaneous, done in ninety minutes, and it consists of a bunch of scribbled-on index cards stuck to the fridge with hero-themed clip magnets, but it works:

Mondays are for sleepovers, Tuesdays are game days with 2-B, and Fridays and Saturdays are for cooking and baking, stocking up leftovers and whatnot. The rest of the week they keep relatively free to wind down and go with the flow.

–

The first Monday is calm enough. Izuku sits on the floor, his knees tucked under his chin as he listens to his friends gush about rehabilitation processes.

“Himiko-chan and I have been talking nearly everyday,” says Uraraka at a certain point. “She’s still in the hospital we were recovering at, and from what they can tell me they’re seeing a lot of progress. I mean, her wounds are all better already, but—you know. She goes through a few different kinds of therapies, and has to be on iron deficiency medication…” 

Izuku tunes out the conversation without quite meaning to, keeping his eyes glued to the ground. His ears make out something to do with food. Soba, or udon, maybe both? 

Izuku's finding it hard to act normal the way his friends are acting normal. 

(He can't stop thinking about how he had the same horrible dream all three nights since his discharge. He doesn't understand why this dream of all dreams waited until now to plague him. It would have been easier to deal with in the hospital—maybe. 

God, Izuku really, really hates his brain and how insane it drives him.) 

A part of the room listening in suddenly bursts into soft coos and giggles. A head of pink turns to Izuku from across the room, addressing him, and he startles. 

“Oh, Midoriya!” Ashido pipes up, “You and Bakugou were in the same hospital, too, weren’t you? How were things?” 

Izuku chokes and tilts his head slightly upward so he can catch a glimpse of Katsuki. The latter rises a little from where he’s almost slipping off the couch. 

“It was… okay.”

“Nurses were way too nosy,” Katsuki then deadpans, waving a hand in the air. “One of them even wanted my autograph. Who even does that?” 

And then Izuku’s mouth breaks into a small smile that just barely reaches his eyes. “I remember that. She had to wait for your mom to leave and everything, didn’t she?”

Katsuki groans. “Had to tell her I couldn’t sign with my left yet just to get her to go away. As if she wasn’t treating me for my shit arm in the first place.” He looks down, his carmine red eyes first sliding across his right arm in its sling, then peering into Izuku’s with a softer gaze; he adds, "Can’t believe she didn’t even want yours, too. You were right there .”

“Bakugou and Midoriya spending time together? On purpose?” asks Todoroki. “That’s new.” 

“Oh! That explains why you’re both wearing masks!” 

He shoves a hand into green curls and ruffles them until they fall over green eyes. “You can blame this guy right here for being so contagious without realizing it,” he accuses with a last push. “And for forgetting basic fuckin’ biology.”

By midnight all of them conk out in the same places they sat at for hours. They’ve got the coffee table and the beanbags strewn out to the side, multiple futons laid out in the middle instead to make one mega-futon. Just as planned. 

Izuku sleeps face down on a couch with his hand hanging off the edge, right above where Katsuki is laid out face up—the pair just barely link their pinkies together once the lights go out. 

In the morning, when Aizawa walks in for a check-up he lays eyes on a massive pile of sleeping teenagers, half of which are rolling off their mega-mattress and drooling onto the carpeted floor. Not a single word of disciplinary action leaves his mouth; instead, he tiptoes out of the building and lets them be. 

–

On the first Thursday Katsuki stays downstairs to play stupid idle RPG bullshit in the common room with Kaminari and Monoma (go figure) until the sun dips beneath the horizon. 

He goes upstairs, once the lamplights outside the floor-to-ceiling windows flip on—but it’s not to his own room. 

Three knocks hit Izuku's door at seven sharp. When it’s opened, Izuku rubs his eyes sleepily and steps aside to let his visitor in.

“Kacchan,” he mumbles, because he knows. “What’s up?” 

Katsuki goes straight to the issue at hand. No time to waste when things are bleak. 

“You’ve never slept this early before. Something’s wrong.” 

Something has to be wrong, and Katsuki knows it—Izuku’s been acting differently, and he's only realized it too late.

See, Monday and Tuesday were fine if not awkward, but on Wednesday Izuku woke up with darker eyebags, and spent the day speaking way less. He was damn near a wallflower, actually.

Izuku barely saw anyone in person, yesterday and today, other than for meals. He retreated to his room regularly, then left for the night right after sunset. At first, anyone who tried to knock and check on him—notably, Katsuki himself, then Todoroki, Kirishima, Iida and Uraraka—just got the answer that he didn’t want to spread germs to anyone; it would have made sense, if it wasn’t for the fact that yesterday afternoon he and Katsuki both achieved full health almost in immediate succession. 

Izuku only kept putting up his little walls. And like always, Katsuki was nothing short of worried sick.

Izuku sputters. “It’s— I’m sick , Kacchan,” he lies, “And it still kind of hurts to stand for too long. But I’m fine.” After a pause, he adds: “It’s almost your usual bedtime, anyways. Go sleep.” 

“I love you.”

Katsuki wants to say it like it’s a reminder. Like it’ll get him to spill. 

His phone, the texts he woke up to a week ago, and their two cards pressed together in a Ziploc feel like they burn his skin through the pocket of his shorts.

“Good night, Kacchan.”

Izuku replies with nothing else in the end, like the coward he’s become. 

So Katsuki turns and goes back to his room, where he spends an hour trying not to puke.

–

On the first Saturday, Katsuki’s cast is removed, and he’s given a, really, really uncomfortable, full, robotic-looking arm brace that snugs his limb too tight on the straps. He can’t flex a single joint, except for the one at his shoulder. He can't even straighten the arm yet; it's still stuck at a ninety-degree angle and hanging from a flimsy sling. According to the physical therapist, this is on purpose—he can’t risk strain just yet, but there also isn’t any need for padded protection.
His early-morning appointment to get everything done causes him to miss the start of Class A’s baking session. When he walks back into the common room, the first thing he hears is a lot of giggling. A good sign, probably, if the sound didn’t annoy him on instinct. He’s trying to be different, now, though, so he doesn’t book it straight to the stairs; no, instead he trudges into the kitchen with a hunched back. 

Practically their entire class is huddled together in their shared kitchen, either tending to some mixing bowl or to something inside one of the three ovens they have installed—courtesy of Sato, of course. 

A quick scan of the room puts Katsuki at a bit of unease, though, noticing the apparent lack of green that he thought he’d find. 

He makes a little noise of confusion despite him, alerting of his presence to quite a few of the people inside, all of whom crane their necks to stare at him. Some of them freeze in their tracks, expecting a few expletives and insults to leave Katsuki’s mouth despite them; instead, the blond stands there, a little dumbfounded.

“Hey, Bakugou!” calls Kirishima, breaking the awkward silence. “You want some banana bread? Sero and I are making a second batch right now.” 

“Where is he?” grunts Katsuki. 

Kirishima’s grin falters. No one has to ask who’s being asked about. “Midoriya… uh, was here a while ago. But he kinda tired himself out quick, so he’s up there taking a break.” His friend juts his chin in the direction of the ceiling. 

Uraraka nods solemnly, but she’s biting at her lip a little nervously. “He said he’d be a few hours at most. It’s been three.”

“Huh?”

“Hours. Three hours,” echoes Kirishima. 

“No, I heard that. What do you mean, he tired himself out? Again?” 

A fourth voice breaks their tense silence. “Midoriya-chan still looks a little sick, kero. I hope he’s okay.” 

He’s not okay.

Maybe he says that out loud, because he can feel lingering stares on him. Not like it matters, because everyone knows it. Like they haven’t discussed themselves being not okay as well. Katsuki stuffs his mouth with the bread, then slumps into a couch in the common room. 

Not an hour later, when Izuku is back down again, they only share a few glances, not exchanging more than ten words. 

–

Saturday night, Izuku dreams of broken bloodied bodies turning to dust. He sees an eldritch horror figure of a hand, unfathomably large and imposing with so many fingers inch closer and closer to him, to the familiar building in the background, to everything. 

“Do you like my little present!?”  

Present . The word drips with bitterness, curling unpleasantly in the air and in Izuku’s gut.

He’s heard this before, but it never fails to switch off the controls in his brain—for his quirk, for his rationality too. 

There’s a limp, unmoving, unfeeling, dead body in the grass, right behind this figure. He sees ash-blond tufts of hair stained with blood, a glinting object settled a few centimeters to the right. 

Kacchan. 

Izuku feels green-tinged lightning coursing around his limbs, smells the faint smell of ozone. 

Last of all, Izuku sees eyes— endless pairs of them, all scrutinizing, watching, knowing . They ask through disconnected voices if he's really a savior at the end of it all. They ask if heroes murder.

Again and again Izuku sees , and hears —until he thinks he opens his eyes, only to be met with pitch black, and suddenly there is nothing to be sensed at all. 

He almost falls over when he's actually awake, sitting up to clutch at his chest, surrounded by the soft aura of his One for All. It hurts , worse than it ever has the last ten times Izuku's had this exact nightmare. 

The first time it struck, he woke up in little physical pain. He wiped his tears alone then went back to sleep alone, then acted like he’d never dreamt it all. Within that facade was the hope it’d never happen again; but promises can never be kept between his own body and mind these days. This time, there are no tears to be felt, only a nauseating squeeze somewhere under his sternum. 

Izuku curses, lying back down to stare at the expanse of darkness above him. 

(He wishes it were easier to just go back to ignoring and hope that he’d be able to wait out the bad dreams like he waited out the healing processes of his numerous scars.)

He’s standing in front of Katsuki's room before he even realizes it. He’d originally been meaning to tiptoe down into the common room and get some water, maybe stuff a few protein bars down his gullet and try to sneak out for a midnight run like he’d done a few times already; but Izuku’s instincts got mixed up somewhere on the way. Somewhere, somehow, he climbed two floors up instead of two floors down and turned the corner.

He raises a curled fist to the door and knocks, three times in succession.

He's still light on his toes, bouncing and shifting around like he’s ready to be met with silence and ready to trudge all the way downstairs. 

Apparently, though, tonight Katsuki is a light sleeper. 

Cue the sound of bare arms rubbing against a cotton duvet, and the echoing of a sniffle. Then, the slow creaking of a bed. A sleepy, whiny voice asks, through the door: “Who th’ hell —?” 

“ Kacchan ,” Izuku whispers shakily. “Can I come in?” 

“ Izuku —?!” 

When the door opens ten seconds later, Izuku doesn’t hesitate to bury his face into Katsuki’s shoulder, one hand pressed against his chest. He activates One for All without realizing it, just like he had when he woke up, steadily pulsing at a percentage below one. 

Katsuki wheezes a little at the sudden strengthened contact. “Wha' happened? You… ‘kay?” 

At first, Izuku's thought is to lie and tell him that it wasn't anything at all, thanks for the concern, I’ll just get going now, forget this ever happened , but there's nothing about his current position that would clear him of any doubt in the other boy’s mind. It’s way past any of their regular bedtimes, and he’s clutching Katsuki against him like a lifeline.

“I had a weird dream,” is what Izuku ends up blurting out right then.

Yeah, that'll do it, won’t it? ‘Weird dream’ is ambiguous enough compared to ‘bad dream’ or ‘nightmare’. 

“I knew it. You’re an awful liar.” 

Sighing, Katsuki tears himself from Izuku’s loosened grasp and backwalks further into his room. 

He sits down on his bed. “ Talk to me . Who else knows about this, Izuku?” 

“About what , Kacchan?” Izuku supplies. He pulls the chair from out of the desk across the room and settles in it, then faces Katsuki. “There's nothing to know.” 

“ Nothing to know—? It's two in the morning and you activated your quirk when you grabbed me. I doubt that's nothing , Izuku.”

“It’s nothing at all . Kacchan .”

“If it’s nothing , then why are you still here?”

Silence. 

"I—"

“See? So, no one knows, then, huh?” Katsuki remarks, finally. “Not even your mom? A doctor?” 

Another silence. 

“No one at all.” 

“ Why ?” he asks, voice quivering through half-gritted teeth.

“I don't know!” Izuku exclaims. He throws his hands up in the hair, and then grips his head. His palms dig into his eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe— Maybe I just don't want to be pitied or coddled by people. Or maybe,” he huffs. Tears start to pool in his eyes, and he seethes, “Maybe I don’t want people—especially you, Kacchan—knowing I see your dead body everytime I close my eyes!”

“Izuku—”

And then, quieter: “Everyone just seems like they’re doing so well, compared to me.” 

Something falters in his expression. He frowns. “So, what? Is that why you shut yourself off this whole time? Because you think no one else is hurting ? Bullshit .”

“Kacchan, I—” 

Katsuki groans, palming his face. "Everyone’s hurting, Izuku. We’re all having fuckin'— rough nights. We talk about them, but you’re never there for that.” He takes a trembling breath. “Shit, I won’t speak for anyone else, but I get scared to fall asleep sometimes because it reminds me of dying .” 

Something dawns on Izuku’s face, ever-so-slightly. He sobs, shakily, drily. “Oh god . That’s worse . You do get how that’s so much worse, right, Kacchan? You’re all in horrible condition because I pulled you all into this, and—”

“No, you didn’t ,” Katsuki snaps. He settles his hand on one of Izuku’s, stretching his left arm forward as he does it. “Don't— Don't you dare say that again, asshole. We chose to join you, Izuku. Because you’re a goddamned idiot who always takes burdens onto yourself. And now, you’re acting like you’re the only one who has regrets.” He scoffs, but it’s more pained than angry. “See, you’re trying so hard to be selfless you just come off as selfish.” 

“Maybe I am selfish,” he declares. “But it’s because I care. Because I want to protect people." 

I want to protect you.

Katsuki shakes his head, pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. I know.  But I don't need to be protected. This is what I mean ,” he says, and he tugs the chair closer with one foot. Just until the edges bump together. “Look. We said we have to work on things, so let’s work on them now, Izuku.”

Izuku whispers, “Yeah? And how do you wanna go about that, Kacchan?” 

He sighs. “Tell me more about what the hell is bothering you, for one. No distractions.”

Silence. 

And then, because he figures there aren’t many more secrets besides the one he’s been refusing to tell: “Fine. Okay.” 

Whatever Katsuki and Izuku have between them, it’s sort of like a push and pull. A constant rhythm they've kept going for years, comparable to an ebb and flow at a riverbank; one of them would always push, and push and push, and the other would always pull, and pull and pull, and over and over again they would trip on their feet, forwards or backwards, then get up without tending to any of their bruises. And if their lifelong connection was a tide, then their time in the hospital was the flash flood rushing in after a monsoon, or maybe a singular violent storm. It left behind a new surge of life, but also the need to rebuild what was once there. 

Uncertainty flickers in Izuku’s expression, but he nods to himself. Shivering, he bites his lip until the corner of it pops. When he finally answers, it’s straight to the point. No time to waste when things are bleak.

“I keep dreaming about the same thing,” he divulges finally, and he squeezes Katsuki’s hand. “About Shigaraki, about you, about my failure—”

“What are you talking about?” spits Katsuki, although without any bite. “You didn’t fail, Izuku . We saved the world—” 

Izuku’s interruption cuts sharply through the air: “But I didn’t save him ! I couldn’t save you at first, either! You don’t understand .” 

“Then make me understand.”

Silence. Izuku shuffles closer. “When— When One For All and All For One converged there, when he was taking my quirk, I saw all of Tenko’s  memories, and— and—” he chokes back a sob. “It was awful , Kacchan. He wasn’t in control of himself at all. He never had been. All For One killed you back there, Kacchan, not him. That… That asshole is the one who made your heart explode, and told me you were supposed to be my present all to get a reaction out of me. But I killed Tenko . I killed his original body. And I think about it all the goddamn time.

"I know you don't need me to worry about you— I do. But thinking about how much I messed up, how I flew into this rage and killed because I wasn't there fighting beside you— I just can't get it out of my head."

Katsuki hooks a leg around one of Izuku’s and pulls, so that they're mere inches apart, breathing in one another. When he stumbles forward off the chair with a little yelp, Katsuki takes one, all-encompassing breath. 

And he reels backwards. The impact of them hitting the mattress forces a light wheeze out of Izuku and it tickles all the way down Katsuki’s neck.

They stay like that for a while, half-overtop one another, legs hanging off the edge of Katsuki’s bed frame.

“You don’t have to say anything, you know,” Izuku mumbles, into the dip of a collarbone, after a long silence. “I don’t expect you to.” 

And Katsuki is well aware of that, but still he goes, “I— I want to. I have to. I don’t say much when the others talk about their shit, so I need to try.” 

“But—”

“ No , Izuku. I want— I want to contribute to you being okay." I just suck at words sometimes. "Give me some fuckin' time.” 

Izuku laughs, a breathy, endeared one. “You have all of mine. You’re already doing more than enough, right now. I’ll always be okay if it means you.” 

Neither of them speak. After a while Katsuki takes a deep breath, grabs Izuku’s hand from where it’s draped across his chest. He presses the hand to the spot right above his heart. 

“Izuku,” he starts, when the teen gasps softly at the contact. 

“Mhm?”

“You were doing this earlier,” mutters Katsuki. “When you came in.”

“I… needed to feel a pulse,” Izuku admits, in a voice so quiet the other strains to hear it at first. “Just an instinct.” 

Katsuki hesitates, opening his mouth like he's about to say something. And then he huffs out. “I'm gonna— Gonna try something. Don't freak out on me.” 

“Hm—?” 

Their hands slide down his chest before slipping underneath Katsuki's loose skull tee, then up against his skin. Izuku holds his breath as, slowly, they come to a stop over thin, rough, starburst-shaped scar tissue; there's a steady rhythm pulsing in the center, much stronger than how it felt a few minutes earlier. 

Katsuki hates the dark like he hates the rain. Not because he can’t use his quirk in both environments; because both of those things remind him of death—of his death. So, the past week, he’s kept his lights dimmed, practically all the way down, but not off. 

It’s in this dimmed light that Katsuki studies the boy before him. He does it carefully, feature by feature.

Naturally his eyes itch to look over to the two scars that adorn Izuku's face, one of them ripping through a spatter of freckles on his cheek. But he tears away, and looks instead to where things are mostly untouched. 

First, long, fluttering eyelashes of a green so dark they’re almost black. The eyes that they shield, eyes that Katsuki’s always looked into with different kinds of gazes over the years, are much darker than his almost-teal hair, but sometimes, they twinkle and glisten brighter than the stars. Below those eyes, a fleshy nose ridden with blackheads, and then bitten, cracked pink lips almost permanently stuck in a slight pout, almost always slightly hanging open. 

It’s those lips that Katsuki then takes with his own, tentative and slow, until Izuku responds, which is pretty much immediately. 

(They shift into more comfortable positions after that, when Izuku admits that his legs are starting to get tingly. This is how they end up with Katsuki sprawled out on his back, and Izuku sprawled out on his front, sharing a single pillow.)

An almost-silence soon settles over them both, for much longer this time; it's the drone of the air conditioning, and the fact that they almost feel completely alone. It's their slow, drowsy breaths puffed out of pouted lips and hands tenderly intertwined between skin and fabric. It's the heat from Izuku's dorky hoodie, the heat from the duvet under their bodies, and the gentle summer nighttime breeze drifting in from where the balcony window is slightly ajar. It's the distant sound of cars revving off-campus, maybe some too-loud conversations from insomniac classmates idling in the hallways. 

But, most important of all, amongst all the bustling and the awkward way that things regrow and repair, it is the hope that they will be whole again. 

_

The second and third weeks of break end up going by much smoother from then on.

Of course, the changes and the perfection aren't immediate; there are still days where Izuku will get a queasy feeling, an image or two flashing in his mind again. He’ll mention it to his classmates, who try their best; Izuku tries his best, too. 

On top of this, there will always be a prospect, the anticipation of a quick squeeze of his knee underneath the dinner table to ask a silent question, and three knocks at a door later in the evening. Calloused fingers, still hesitant yet gentle nonetheless, will rub slow circles on his back and between his shoulders, and in one of their rooms honest, quiet conversations will be held. Then, sometimes, their hands will slot together right above a starburst etched into skin, and their eyelids will droop closed.

It’s routine, at this point. Like how their schedule with their cohort was helping normalcy come easy, intertwining their bodies overtop a warm duvet made rest come easy. It let them awake somewhat peacefully, sunrise drawing halos around their smushed-together faces several hours later.

There are some nights where instead of peace, a scream or a gasp of sheer panic will rip serene silence and bedsheets apart with sharp, but bitten-down nails. On those nights, a few texted messages, maybe a call, will come in stead of the silent questions, before the three quick knocks.

As is everything, it's something to overcome. 

Chapter Text

As soon as their discharge dates had come in, the two of them were banned from any sort of physical activity (save for physical therapy, of course) for a full two months. After all, out of all of the people who’d participated in the war, they’d exerted themselves the most, well beyond their limits.

Katsuki and Izuku had a lot of time to unpack over the course of their break, both for themselves and for the… thing that they’ve been slowly building up. 

Trusting their hearts before their heads the past four weeks was just a continuation of how they’d always done things. They were young, and stupid, and a bundle of immature and confusing emotions, in spite of (or maybe due to?) all their insane skill and innate heroic strength, as well as the fact that they just saved the world. Suffice it to say that this was just a new normal, in development.

–

Second Year, Late May to Early June

[16, 17]

Their talks, littered throughout the layoff days in their routine with their classmates, went as such. 

First came one about their past; it was a soft and tender thing, a back-and-forth held the morning after their first night so closely wound together. Izuku had woken up first that day, too, and was immediately struck by the remnants of stinging guilt as he opened his eyes, guilt that grew into a mix of various feelings as he took note of his position, on his stomach and sprawled yet tucked in so closely to Katsuki, like he was unsure yet still desperate.

Izuku had been stubborn, that was clear enough. He’d been feeling numb ever since the nightmares began, true. He’d been numb since Jaku Hospital, numb since he'd woken up and realized he'd killed someone. Numb since the nightmares, numb since the early bedtimes. 

When he answered to his instincts last night, all that numbness dissipated, like his body had been begging for him to realize that the answer was not further retreating, but seeking out assurance. 

Assurance was exactly how he’d professed his love to Katsuki, by telling him just how much he wanted to keep him close by. Katsuki had taken that declaration to heart, had deeply engraved it into his psyche; and he’d begun to accept his need for touch just as Izuku rejected his own. Even before that, Katsuki had already exposed himself raw, down to all his nerves and muscles, and his bones, and his deepest darkest secrets. He'd gotten his hands and chest torn apart, coated in his blood. He'd apologized to him in his weakest state, expecting nothing in return. He'd accepted death, expecting nothing in return.

Izuku had been staring at Katsuki in complete silence, both of their backs against the headboard, when the talk happened. He had been tracing his eyes along the curve of his nose, watching the way the early morning daylight made his hair dissolve into an amber gold at the tips. His cheek pressed into his hand where his elbow dug into his thigh, drooping his eyes a little shut as he stared ahead. Briefly Izuku considered meeting his gaze to ask if he could move in a little closer. He anticipated a slow blink and an imperceptible nod. Instead, Izuku startled when he fell upon glassy eyes rippled with a hint of… doubt?

It was hard to put a finger on it. 

“Kacchan? Everything okay?” 

“Izuku,” He narrowed his eyes, still staring into the distance. “You— You forgive me, yeah?” 

“Uh, do I forgive you, Kacchan?” 

“For… what I did to you,” he rasped. His voice was low and still a little sleep-addled. “Being an asshole in middle school.” 

“What do you mean—? Oh. ”

“I—” Katsuki stopped abruptly. “What the hell else could it be?”

“Sorry.”  Izuku laughed, meekly. “It’s not that. I just got carried away looking at you. You’ve got a nice face.”

Oops. That wasn't supposed to come out.

Silence. Katsuki’s ears went warm and red, and he averted his gaze with wide eyes. 

“Sorry! I’ll— I'll be serious, now. Go ahead.” 

Katsuki swallowed down the way his chest did a little stammer, swallowed the flips of his stomach, swallowed the reflex to start sputtering. There was a pressing matter at hand, to him, and talking about his serious feelings always made him less nauseous than acknowledging the… softer ones. 

He exhaled through his nose. “Izuku?”

“Yeah?” 

“You remember when I apologized in the rain?”

Eyes closed, he nodded. “I couldn’t ever forget.”

A deep breath. “You passed out for a really long time. I wanted to hold you, when we carried you back to UA, but I ended up being too tired. After we bathed you, uh, after those people in the shelters let us through, and you woke up, we went back into all that strategy stuff for the war so it just…” He palmed his face. “The talk never came up again. Then, after everything, we just went straight into this — ” He gestured a little with his hand, circling, unsure. “I really wanted to start over with you, Izuku.  

“I think I've just been… uneasy, though. I didn’t get a verbal confirmation or something that let me know you forgave me before we went into all of this.” Katsuki shoves his face into his hands. “Fuck. Sorry. It’s stupid. I didn't say shit ‘cause I didn't wanna backtrack, but—” 

“It’s not stupid, Kacchan,” Izuku assured . “I get it. I figured it’d be enough for me to show rather than tell.” 

Without realizing it, he'd been imitating Katsuki in doing this, mirroring the way the blond showed his care and his thoughts through actions over words. There was, obviously, the way he'd taken multiple hits for Izuku, and died for him, yes —but aside from that, anyone who was to observe him long enough would find out he’s a sensitive person, deep down . 

“I know,” Katsuki breathed out. “You— When you ran away, I realized I messed up with you. You care so much about me and I just… did nothing . Not until the hospital and the past week. I need— Just—” And then he gulped down hard and hung his head. “Say something. Anything.”

Izuku smiled. “Okay.” 

That morning, at half past six, Izuku pulled Katsuki with him by his shoulders. Within seconds they were facing one another—Izuku with his legs folded beneath him, back straight, and Katsuki with his legs politely crossed, hunched over. Peering into carnine eyes, hands still affixed on arms, Izuku then declared, a grin tugging at his lips: 

“I accepted your apology, Kacchan. I forgive you, for everything you have ever done and said to me when we were kids. Well, actually—” He pressed a finger to his lips. “I… should say I already forgave you, ages ago. Past tense. I forgave you because I trust you more than anything. So—” He takes a deep breath. “I trusted that you were capable of setting things right.

“I’ve admired you my whole life, from the moment we met, and, not once did I take your words to heart when you started being mean to me, because—” He takes a breath. “Because I knew the circumstances weren’t in your favour, the same way they weren’t in mine. There weren’t many people willing to tell you that you were doing something wrong, just— just like how there weren't many people around to tell me that I wasn’t useless without a quirk. So, I forgave you, from the very start, because I knew that you were amazing enough to, well, to overcome that, and realize that you could do better.”

As he spoke, he inched himself closer and closer to Katsuki, shifting forward one knee at a time. Katsuki only lifted his head further upwards, until he was craning his neck. He blinked clumsily, like it hurt to blink. His pupils danced around Izuku's face; eyes, nose, scar, lips!, eyes, nose, scar. He let out a breath, so small it was almost insignificant—something like a huff. Izuku felt it ricochet off the skin of his neck.

He tilted his head. “Was— Was that too much? Did it make sense?” 

“No,” Katsuki assured. “Not too much. It definitely made sense. So, don't worry your sappy ass about that.” 

His shoulders slumped. “Good.” 

And then, Izuku cupped his hand to one of Katsuki’s cheeks and stared. 

Katsuki stared back. “Listen,” he whispered. 

“Yeah?” 

“I didn’t ask last night.” 

Izuku frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“I  kissed you and didn't ask. You, uh, asked in the hospital,” Katsuki replied. “‘M sorry about that.” 

“I didn't mind.” 

“I know that. But let me do it again for real.”

Before any of them knew it, Izuku closed their distance, and readied himself for a chaste peck. He didn’t expect for Katsuki to eagerly respond the second they connected, parting his lips and reaching his good hand up to finger through the tuft of waves at the back of Izuku’s head. Immediately his knees went weak, and Izuku fell back down into a sitting position with a thump. This kiss was different , not perfect by any means, but a little more desperate, than quick and tender like their two previous ones. It flipped Izuku upside down, burst in his chest, let out a million nervous flutters, made him feel like he was floating mid air. His hand felt the stretch of a cheek, and with a start he realized that Kacchan was smiling—grinning stupidly to himself. 

They pulled apart a minute later with a short, resonating wet sound that made both their chests pound with energy in perfect sync.

Katsuki was coloured a deep red not unlike his eyes, which were darting around again. He mumbled, quietly into the little box that was the space between their open mouths. “Huh.” 

Izuku giggled. “I didn't know you were able to do that. You don't—” He paused for a second to think. “You don't have experience , do you?” 

If it was possible for Katsuki to go even redder, then that's exactly what happened. Otherwise Izuku probably just imagined it in the soft early daylight, with his giddy, lovesick, morning brain that had just acted on pure instincts. 

Katsuki answered, “If I did, you'd know.” 

"Yeah, I would."  

Assurance (and touch, and occasional electric, klutzy kisses) thus became a part of their new normal. 

A few days later was another important talk, this one about going to nosy shrinks , as Katsuki aptly put it. 

Therapy was something briefly brought up by Aizawa one afternoon when visiting the dorms, then discussed in great length amongst their classmates over their second break week—this was mainly through their self-dubbed ‘Trauma Talks’ they held as a group every so often. The name was a little ridiculous, if all of Katsuki's complaints were any sign, but if making things a little stupid helped, then so be it.

Apparently, Uraraka had already started seeing a counselor of sorts during her stay in the hospital, having been motivated by Toga Himiko and her different rehabilitation therapists; Katsuki reluctantly admitted that he had occasionally been to a few appointments for anger management in his childhood. 

This in turn motivated at least half of 2-A into considering either counseling with Hound Dog or seeing a specialized psychologist. 

Izuku on his end debated the idea of contacting a psychiatrist from his mother's hospital, one focused on regulating suppressed emotions. Now that there was no major threat to his world he’d vowed to protect, he could acknowledge that he needed to talk —to someone who wasn’t Katsuki, that is.

.

The two sat side-by-side again as they conversed, except this time, they were eagerly leaning into each other, fitted together like puzzle pieces. It was a calm evening, and Izuku was only here and not in his own room because he had texted Katsuki admitting to having trouble falling asleep again. 

“If my new shrink tries to get me to talk about anything other than the war, I'm walking the hell out,” Katsuki grumbled, bottom lip jutting out in an adorable little pout. “Not talking about my sappy feelings with a goddamned stranger.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Izuku cooed, reaching over to card fingers through his spikes in one swift movement. “Does that mean you'll come to me about all your gooey thoughts?”

Katsuki barked a laugh. “Screw off, Izu." 

Izuku had also spent a few minutes before this trying to re-convince Katsuki that calling him ‘Deku’ as a nickname was totally fine, and not negative anymore in the slightest , that he'd stopped taking it as an insult ages ago, and Kacchan don’t beat yourself up over this please . Evidently, it was less of a real argument and more of a playful, meaningless bout of banter, because if he insisted, then Izuku wouldn’t push. They’d already established this. 

It wasn't long though, before Izuku took back every single one of his little pleading words when Katsuki tutted, and his two hands pressed into his shoulders, held him up, and: 

“Listen. I'll just stick to nerd. No hard feelings, or whatever, but it’s gonna take a shit ton more time for me to call you that name normally again, Izu.”

And Izuku froze like a deer in headlights. That prompted Katsuki to then realize what he’d just said.

“Izu?”

Katsuki hung his head low and let go. "Nope. Forget— Forget I said that.” 

“But—” 

His ears burned. “Forget it.”

“Wait no, Kacchan!” He held up his hands. “I– I liked that! Izu is nice! It's better than Deku, actually!”

Actually, he liked it more than he could actually admit.  

Izuku would probably never not get flustered at that new diminutive; his heart would probably always stammer, go a little crazy, thrum a quick uneven beat like a child playing drums. Even as he and Katsuki turn all old and white and geriatric, there wasn’t anything the guy could do that wouldn’t make his heart swell.

“It’s so corny,” he whined. 

“But it’s sweet! It’s cute!”

“Fucking awesome , sure. Yeah. Two things I definitely want to be known for,” Katsuki deadpanned, although not without a tiny smile. “Sweet and cute.”

“Kacchan,” he chides.

“Okay. I’ll use it if you like it.” For him, Katsuki would in a heartbeat. “But don’t call it…” He groaned and palmed his face. “Cute . Never again.”

At least Katsuki had been able to conserve some parts of his old modesty. 

“Fine…” Izuku felt a buzz of energy then, a little swoop in his stomach. “Consider… Izu-chan? So we can match,” he teased. “Kacchan and Izu-chan. I’d also really like that.”

His mildly pleased, mildly endeared expression fell into horror: “... Hell no?”

“ Aw. Worth the try, I suppose.”

“Don't even think about trying that again.”

A third (or perhaps fourth?) talk came when Katsuki awoke in a panic from a nightmare. He’d gotten his brace replaced earlier that day by a compression sleeve not too different from the one Izuku had been wearing since last year, and had finally started reworking his quirk and the muscles of his fingers, much to the encouragement of his friends, but it was hard to ignore the look of uneasiness on his face. 

His nightmare had originated from a nauseating hole in his brain about being unable to ever be back to his old self again. His quirk had awakened during that final battle, so, maybe the prospect of his fucked up arm wasn’t awful , but sue him for being a fucking worrywart. He had grown to accept his turbulent, ridiculous emotions after dying for the sake of them and realizing he loved someone because of shoujo manga. 

This, he realized—the fear of change—was what Katsuki had been so reluctant to admit to himself at first, back in the hospital. One thing led to another, and two weeks after coming back to the dorms, his stupid fucking brain betrayed him. 

He dreamt of being stuck at an unfulfilling office job with a useless right arm. Sometimes the arm would disappear and become a useless nub, other times it would turn into a flimsy robotic prosthetic. He saw himself watching the news, watching how far Izuku was getting in his Pro Hero career. He dreamt of Izuku leaving him behind after graduation, of them having a heated argument at night on a bridge before Katsuki was looking at his back forever and ever .

It hurt more than he could tell. Katsuki felt himself keel over and throw up into the water, then stumble and fall off the ledge, later engulfed by cold and dark water. 

The water morphed, slowly, horrifyingly, one blob and wave at a time into Shigaraki’s unfathomable evolved figure. A single, meter-long finger poked the middle of his chest. 

Katsuki dreamt of disintegrating into a million tiny particles, dreamt of an anguished Izuku screaming and reaching out to swipe his hands through his dust.  

The first thing he did when he awoke clutching at his chest was pick up his phone and check the time. It was well past midnight, but he was guaranteed to find Izuku awake; if he was lucky (unlucky, really), Izuku would also be in a state of turbulence like him. 

When he pounded three times on Izuku’s door, he was proven semi-right. 

“Had a nightmare,” he murmured, when his eyes fell upon Izuku’s mussed up bedhead, no sign of fatigue in his dark green eyes. 

Izuku opened his mouth and closed it, and then opened it again to say, “Come inside.” He tugged on his arm and led him in. “Wanna talk? Or do you just want to sleep?” 

Hesitation. “Talk.” He sat on the bed, waited for Izuku to join him.

Izuku—bless his heart—proceeded to turn the lights on, then dimmed them fully before making his way to the bed.

“Is it fine, with all the All Might posters?” Izuku asked, laughing coyly. “I don’t wanna make this uncomfortable.”

“‘S all good, Izu, I don’t care,” Katsuki assured. And then he leaned back and sighed.

“So, what's up?”

After a short silence he spoke up, without any stalling: “I get scared I won’t be able to be… normal anymore.

“In my dream, I’m stuck forever working on this stupid arm, and I’m never able to catch up to you.” He pushed his hair back and curled into himself. “I’ve been thinkin’, like, what if I just never become a hero? What if I’m working at some— some dumb fucking office job, not even related to heroics in the slightest? What if—” He groaned. ”Think you get the idea.” 

“But you will be a hero, Kacchan. I know that. I’ll make sure of it. You’ll be at your strongest before you even know it, and we’ll be saving people together.” He smiled and suggested, “Say, didn’t you mention prosthetics, back in the hospital?”

Katsuki nodded. “Yeah, I did. But I just— Feels like resorting to that would just be giving the hell up.” 

Izuku paused, for a second, fingers to his chin not unlike the telltale signs of a ramble coming on. He looked back to Katsuki, then sighed with a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“It won’t,” he said. "Because I believe in you." 

–

Second Year, Early June

[16, 17]

On the last morning before classes go back into session, Izuku awakes first; not a dreamless sleep, but not an awful one, either. It was a nightmare, before he woke up and ended up in Katsuki's room. The first thing he senses, before he even opens his eyes, is a steady rhythm at his fingertips. He almost wants to stay here, and drink up the feeling forever, basking in how gentle Katsuki’s touch is. He wants to do nothing but enjoy just how unreal this is, how cherished he feels. 

However, Izuku absolutely needs to know what time it is. The sunlight glinting through the blinds is a little too bright—and well, if it's late in the morning, then surely people are gonna come looking for either of them. If that happens, then the embarrassment might just make Izuku literally shrivel up, turn inside out and live out his days under a rock, heroism be damned. 

Two pounds at the door pull him from his thoughts and rip his eyelids apart. 

“Bakugou, dude, you gotta get up!” says a frantic voice. Three more pounds. “I think— I think Midoriya’s gone again! Wake the hell up, dude!”  

Kirishima.

(Izuku's starting to think the universe hates his guts. It just keeps doing everything out of spite, these past few months. Maybe, he should be grateful it’s less angst-filled this time around. Perhaps then fate shall forgive him.)

Izuku untangles himself from Katsuki’s limbs, slowly, carefully, not wanting to wake the other, then rises from the bed; it’s made easier by the fact that he wasn’t on the side pressed into the corner between the wall and the shelf. 

For a second, he toys with the idea of pretending to be Katsuki, imitating his gruff drawl, his expletives. But Izuku’s tried something like it in the past, in the mirror, and also during some Heroics Basics stealth assignment— and it's not very easy. So it’s out of the question, because Izuku would be clocked almost immediately. 

Might as well come out with his hands up in surrender. 

So Izuku opens up and peeks his head through the door. He watches as his redhead classmate’s furrowed, concerned expression melts into something… peculiar. 

“Ah, good morning, Kirishima-kun!” he greets, flashing a clumsy, lopsided smile. 

Kirishima blinks. And blinks again. And again. 

Realization dawns on his face when he studies his classmate. There’s Izuku’s insane bedhead for him to note, the dark green hair on his non-shaved side poking out in all directions—and also, the fact that Izuku may or may not have his corny sleep shirt two thirds off his torso, its left sleeve experiencing an apparent lack of left arm. 

Kirishima then looks over Izuku’s shoulder at the Bakugou-shaped mound on the bed, and the very obvious Midoriya-shaped dip in the mattress right next to him.

“Oh .” 

“It’s… not… what you… think? It's complicated,” he says, and it’s the truth. 

Just a little complicated. 

After a short pause, when the sounds of frantic shuffling around the dorm start to sound like they’re getting closer, Kirishima leans forward and whispers, “Do you need this to be a secret, man?” 

“Uhm, ideally?” he squeaks. 

Kirishima grins, and promises, miming a key sliding across his mouth: “Then my lips are sealed.” He then advises, with a finger gun vaguely pointing at his face, “You should escape from the balcony, Midoriya. It’s only been about five minutes since anyone’s noticed. No one’s looked outside— yet.” 

When the door shuts, Izuku hears Kirishima spin on his heels to call out into the hallways. 

“Bakugou’s getting dressed! Has anyone checked the common baths?”

Another voice, much further away, replies. “Good idea! I’ll get Tokoyami on that.” 

“Great!”

Without a second to spare, Izuku gets through to following his classmate’s advice. First, he shoots Katsuki a text: 

07:24

Izuku >.<

Left out of the window. I’ll explain later, promise! 

Also Kirishima knows, sort of

When the message is sent, he then figures Katsuki would wake up too distraught at the absence of green at his side to check his phone first, so the second thing Izuku does is steal a post-it note from the desk and scribble an almost identical message onto it, then sticks it onto his open hand.  The third thing he does is walk out through the balcony, then grab onto the railing and launch himself off. Being on the fourth floor, he has to awkwardly repeat the process on Iida’s, then Aoyama’s respective balconies, swinging to and fro with each platform, before landing on his toes on the ground floor, then toppling backwards onto his ass.

Mission complete.

He wipes his palms on his legs, hoping it gets rid of the metallic smell the railings left behind. He'll tell Katsuki how great and insightful his other best friend is in the evening, when he gets the chance. 

Two minutes later, Izuku walks through the front door fanning himself with his shirt. 

“Morning guys!” he calls out. “Lots of people out here earlier than usual.”

At least thirteen heads swivel on their axis to stare right at him; Izuku almost shudders. It’s been ages since he’s seen his classmates so terrified . Iida is the first to make a move, jumping over a couch to grab him by his shoulders and violently shake him. 

“Where have you been, Midoriya-kun?!” he exclaims. “We were all worried sick thinking you’d left us again!” 

A series of affirming murmurs makes their way across the room.

“We were so close to contacting Principal Nedzu again like last time!” says Hagakure. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” 

Izuku puts his hands up in surrender, grinning sheepishly. “I was taking a little morning run, honest!” Not honest, Izuku. Great going. “I’ve been doing it most weekends since middle school, and, uhm, just started again recently, after—” He gestures vaguely, scratches the back of his ear. “You know. To get used to my body again.” 

That seems to calm the crowd down. Izuku is very glad the activity from earlier—what he was really doing—made him all sweaty, otherwise his story would not stick for shit. 

Ojiro, of all people, is the next to speak up. “I hope you aren’t overexerting yourself, Midoriya. You’re one of the most injured out of all of us.” 

“Yeah,” goes Sero. “Not running too hard, are you?” 

Izuku shakes his head and lets his hands drop. “No, no. All’s good, and I mean it this time.” He flashes a smile. “Anyway, what’s for breakfast?” 

Breakfast ends up being pancakes. 

Half an hour later, Katsuki enters the common room from the stairs—the last of their entire class to wake—with a disgruntled pout, and shoots Izuku a really, really confused look. 

(It dissipates just a little when their classmates start to explain how crazy their morning started out. Later on, when Izuku explains the cold hard, awkward truth, Katsuki clutches his stomach and shakes with mirth in his room, pounding a fist on his bed repeatedly as he gasps for air.

“So, you— ha! — you jumped out of the balcony just because Red told you to?” Katsuki wheezes. “You’re so stupid!”

“I am not stupid,” Izuku pouts. “I was doing some… some quick thinking.” 

“Clearly , you need to save that shit for fights only.”

“Well, what the hell would you have done in my situation, Kacchan?! Tell me.”

“Well first of all …” 

He ends up explaining his way through a really long and convoluted plan that just has a bunch of plotholes. Izuku tackles him and calls him a ‘ goddamned hypocrite’ through his giggles. Kacchan giggles, too, through all his protests. It’s a beautiful, messy thing with a lot of wet snorts, and neither of them have heard it leave his mouth in years. Izuku falls in love a little more. He’s sure Katsuki does, too.

That evening, before they go back to their rooms, Izuku does try to tell Katsuki how amazing Kirishima is, but the other still doesn’t really believe him yet.)

–

When school goes back into session, they’re told they’ll soon start aiding the rebuilding efforts every two days as a merging, and a temporary replacement, of their Heroics Training and Physical Education courses. At first, both Katsuki and Izuku, and a few other classmates are placed on light duty, but the rule is soon lifted for the latters.

(Katsuki still feels a twinge of uneasiness when he’s relegated to these lesser jobs, but Izuku's words gnaw at the back of his mind just he takes a deep breath and feels the stomachache dissipate.)

Classes are calmer, more laidback, mostly because the rescue efforts take up most of their energy (both mental and physical); it’s something more resembling their old life; and everyone’s content with it. 

Because of this improvement, and the fact that there’s no longer any threat posed to UA, the dormitory system turned into something much looser, stripping the rules of mandatory staying, and that of asking permission before leaving campus. Where many students moved back home, most of 2-A stayed, and instead began to spend their afternoons and weekends with their families; Izuku and Katsuki were no different. 

They've been having sleepovers alternating between their respective homes. 

One Sunday evening, three weeks into their second year, is quiet, with both literally to their own devices in Katsuki's house. He fights the urge to hum contentedly as Izuku’s arm wraps around his shoulder, as his thick fingers pull through his hair and scratch down his scalp absentmindedly. There’s music coming softly from a speaker set down on a shelf tablet across the room—a bunch of indie rock songs that Izuku insisted on playing to set a calming ambience , as he put it. Exactly how a bunch of corny love and heartbreak songs with a whining guitar constantly strumming in the background created any calm, Katsuki had no idea—not that he could speak, or play anything of his own instead, because all the ancient, pre-quirk and early-quirk, English grunge and punk rock in his playlists that he puts on to unwind isn’t exactly as romantic . Some of the songs are actually pleasing to his ears, though, and it’s also really soothing to listen to Izuku hum along, and watch him bounce his foot up and down with the rhytm. 

Right then, taking note of just how casual and comfortable they are with one another. Katsuki knows. It’s like how he knew in the hospital, except filled with no guilt and fear. 

“Izu,” he mutters, setting his phone down. The other follows suit. 

“Mhm?” 

“Let me take you out.”

Eyebrows shoot up into his bangs. “Take me out, Kacchan?” 

Katsuki slumps, then turns his head. He scratches the back of his head.  “In the hospital you asked me if I was down to do date stuff. I want to, now. Y’know, do the date stuff.”

Izuku beams. “You do? What kind of date are you thinking of? Crepes? A dinner, maybe?”

After a short pause, Katsuki answers with, “Nothing too corny yet, nerd.” He isn’t that kind of person, and that’s okay. “I’ll work on it.” 

"Alright, then. So will I." 

–

Second Year, Late July

[17]

They already spent the real birthday, the 15th—a Monday—cutting a small cake in the evening after a day of inside classes, and Izuku got a couple of gifts from Todoroki and Uraraka. Katsuki tried to gift him the All Might card back, but was met with refusal. Izuku insisted, not yet, that he was still nearly done on his own belated gift for Katsuki's seventeenth, so he just had to wait a little longer. Izuku also ended up, sappily, admitting that being with Katsuki like this was the best gift he could ask for in times like these. That night, Katsuki asked him out for real, and asked him if they could meet up somewhere in their neighborhood the following weekend. 

That following Friday, they spontaneously decided to stall their time in the dorms going into most of Saturday, with the idea being that they’d drop their clothes off at home and get ready in the afternoon before the date, then return to campus the next day, being Sunday evening. 

When he’s getting ready, Izuku shoots a text asking for Katsuki to bring the All Might card with him. Katsuki replies that it’s always with him, so there’s no need to even ask. Izuku flops onto his bed and giddily, childishly kicks his feet when the message comes through. It almost musses up the hairdo he’d so carefully tried to make look right, trying to work with his overgrowing side fuzz. 

His mom left for the night again, and he’s still too embarrassed and unsure to tell his mom that he’s leaving for a date. So, Izuku decides on sneaking out. 

He takes the bus from his apartment to get to a location set up by Katsuki, a park within walking distance of both of their homes. The jungle gym there is a mess of dust and debris, with bent yellow ladders, broken orange monkey bars and decaying green slides, all vaguely familiar to Izuku. In the back, past a square sandbox, is a little path that leads deep into a forest. 

He’s startled by a voice calling out to him, a gruff question of, “Why did you bring your backpack?” 

Izuku spins, activating his quirk and dropping into a fight stance; it’s an unwanted reflex from his dark hero days, but not many would ever know that. He’s relieved when he’s simply met with more familiarity—blond spikes, a slouched posture, hands in pockets, a deadpan expression. 

(Except, his expression isn’t quite as deadpan, it’s much fonder. That, Izuku figures, is what is unfamiliar about the scene, but it’s an unfamiliarity he shall gladly welcome.)  

He straightens. “Kacchan. You’re here!” 

It’s a date, by their own definition, yes, but neither of them are wearing anything particularly special. Izuku’s got on a pair of simple cargoes, and a t-shirt that might be a little too tight on the torso. He almost wanted to pick out one of his old, cornier punny tees (notably one with a big ‘The Date Shirt’ on the front with his birth date at the bottom—that he’d customized and bought online as a genuine gag in middle school), but he decided against it, so as to not ruin the mood. Katsuki's wearing loose pants and a plain black t-shirt. The breast pocket of it has a little, handmade Dynamight X sewn on—homemade merch prototype, Izuku thinks. The idea of it makes him a little giddy. It makes him picture their future, for a split second; a hero agency, neck-to-neck rankings, their synced fighting styles, a nice apartment, a shared office space, a fragrant kitchen he’s semi-banned from, one bed to themselves—

He imperceptibly shakes his head. Too soon. 

“Your backpack , Izuku,” Katsuki says as he approaches. He puts his chin out to point at it, then nudges it with his foot, and gestures to the messenger bag on his shoulder. “Thought I was bringing the food. You got something important in there, nerd?” 

“I do, actually. That's why I asked you to bring the card.” 

Something in Katsuki's expression flickers. “'Thought so.” 

He holds a hand out. “Give it here.”

Katsuki steps back a little, protective of his right pocket. “Not yet.”

Izuku giggles, confused. “I thought you didn’t even want to keep it, Kacchan.”

“I don’t,” he answers, and it’s true. “But I have a plan to stick to, okay? So, save it for later.” And then he turns around, smiling, to walk through the path into the woods. 

“Where are we—?”

His head tilts. “Just follow me.” 

Izuku tries his best not to keep his eyes trained on only Katsuki as they trudge through the forest. Some of the trees they pass are tall and imposing, with the sunset shining through, and others are uprooted, laid on the side, burnt to a crisp. The path their feet drag upon is, also, vaguely familiar, winding with a lot of twists and turns. Izuku gets flashes of a time long gone, grubby toddler hands wrapped around bug nets and baskets, churning out childish tunes. 

For a few, delicate seconds, Izuku dreams of the future again, holding out the hope that one day, children would be able to do the same again. 

They don’t talk; they don’t touch. Something about the jitters of a first date making them all nervous about eachother again. The two walk slowly, instead, prying their feet out of holes in the dirt, unsticking mud from summer rain out of their soles as they hop on one foot, wiping their shoes on patches of grass; they do this over and over again, with their quieter version of small talk, for what feels like half an hour, just until they reach a clearing, an open area with a sudden drop leading to a stream. It’s hidden deep enough that the place is barely scathed. There’s a log going across the stream, and looking at it Izuku holds in a breath. 

Katsuki crouches to lay a hand on the ground, then starts to climb down the ledge, right over a patch where there’s just enough grass to sit. 

Instinctively Izuku reaches an arm out in concern. “Kacchan—” 

“I’m fine,” he strains. He tries to use his bad arm the least possible, so he descends slowly. He points. “We’ll drop right there.” 

Izuku starts to descend at the same pace. Before long they both have their feet on solid flat ground. 

“Truth is, I come around here sometimes when we go back home,” Katsuki starts. “We used to play here when we were kids. Don’t know if you remember.” 

Izuku beams. “I do. We used to walk on that log up there with the others singing that silly song, right?” He points up. “What was it? The Bakugou Agen—?”

He shoves him. “Okay, fuck you.” 

His arms fall back to their sides, and Izuku sheepishly goes, “Alright.” 

Silence. Katsuki drops his bag onto the floor, then kicks his shoes off one by one. He dips the soles into the water, shaking off the mud, then rolls his pant legs up and steps inside with bare feet. Izuku makes this little sound, one of confusion and concern again, but Katsuki speaks before he can ask anything. 

“Point is— There was one day, I fell off that log, into the water, and you came and you tried to help me up.” Katsuki turns around. “Do you remember that?”

Izuku smiles. “A little? It’s vague.” 

He laughs, unfeelingly, and brings a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Then it’s stupid, really.”

Izuku furrows his eyebrows. “Again, nothing’s stupid if it’s you Kacchan,” he says. “Tell me.” 

“You reached your hand out to me, and I—” He mimes the action half heartedly, then drops his hand and his head. “I refused to take it, because I was a shitty kid, and now sometimes it kind of, I dunno. It haunts me.” He looks at Izuku's shoes, then reaches again and demands, “Take your shoes off. Come here.” 

Without hesitation, Izuku strips his feet bare, too. He doesn’t sit down to carefully untie the laces of his flat soled sneakers, and slip them off—he does it quickly, with gusto, with fervor. He takes Kacchan’s outstretched hand, and hugs him tight, and when the contact is made, the other’s lips stutter before cracking into a smile, big and ditzy—it’s the widest smile he’s ever seen on the teen, and Izuku’s heart stutters, so he pictures the future again. 

A few minutes later they’re sitting on the patch of grass, with their legs outstretched, their toes dipped into the water, foam plates on their laps. Katsuki is pulling container after container from his little bag, with homemade sandwiches and brownies and spicy tuna onigiris, and soon enough they’re stuffing their mouths with an impromptu dinner. Izuku asks how he made the food without his mom suspecting anything, and Katsuki tells him that his parents aren’t even home tonight in the first place. 

He pipes up excitedly after a few minutes of silent eating. 

“Oh! I should show you my present now,” he goes, and he reaches into his bag. Katsuki watches as he pulls out a little notebook, with familiar writing on the front, and his jaw drops. “Here it is,” he says. And then, softer, whispered like a delicate secret. “Happy late birthday, Kacchan.” 

(Hero Analysis For The Future #20 , it says on the front in neat handwriting, with an intricate sketch of Katsuki’s headgear in a blank space. Half the edges are worn, like he’s had this for a while.)

“I’ve been working on this since our first year, here and there. I wasn’t going to give it to you at all, at first. Then, I thought of giving it at graduation. But now, this seems like the best time,” Izuku starts to explain as he flips through the pages one by one, leaning to the side so the other can take a look. 

“Huh—?”

The first dozen are old and faded, indeed, all with words and words and words of basic analysis on Katsuki’s quirk. Something about hyperhidrosis, about the resemblance of Katsuki’s sweat to certain chemicals, about the effects it could have on the heart and the ears. It would all be nosy stuff, stuff that Katsuki would have dismissed and raged at maybe ten months ago, but with recent developments in their lives it seems endearing , thoughtful. 

“It’s not actually number twenty,” Izuku then clarifies with a laugh, briefly flipping back to the cover and pointing at the number. “Out of my notebooks, I mean. It’s probably closer to thirty. Just thought it’d be fun, with your birthdate being the twentieth and all.” 

He steals a glance to the side, and relishes in how Katsuki has not stopped flitting from Izuku’s gentle expression and the contents of the pages. 

“You— What ?”

Izuku then gets to the more recent pages, where Katsuki’s awe only grows. “You, uhm, mentioned once that your quirk awakened during the final battle. You can make explosions from any sweat now, right? It gave me an idea.” 

One of the pages analyses exactly this, with a simple sketch of a Katsuki surrounded by sparks. The page after that has a more detailed sketch of a shoulder with a contraption attached to it. Thin tubes come out from the back and circle tight around the arm. 

Izuku turns the page. “You know how my gloves have these holes at the knuckles that help me with Air Force? I started thinking, well, maybe you could do something like that with your sweat. Project it out of holes to make it explode, kind of like your gauntlets, since some of the sweat glands on your palm were damaged.” He continues. “Not all of the holes are attached to tubes, some of them lead straight to your palms, so you can still do your AP Shot.” 

He turns the page, where there’s a closer look at the glove.

Katsuki breathes, grabs the notebook, and keeps staring at it. "Izuku—"

(Something in his heart, something like the remnants of his nausea, something like adoration and love and admiration, surge until he feels like bursting.) 

“Yeah.” Izuku grins, and then adds, gesturing around wildly with his arms; behind his neck, clenching nervously into fists, nails into his mouth. “It’s not perfect by any means, not yet! I also have a page after this where there’s another version, one where the tubes are underneath the costume so that you don’t, uh, snag them on anything. I should have done that from the start, really. But, uhm, it’s a concept I was going to show to Hatsume-san, and then— then she could work some more on it, and you’d be able to add it to your costume, and— Oh. You’re crying?”

When he looks up, Katsuki has tears pooling in his eyes.

“No— I'm not— You shouldn’t have done— Why?”

“I wanted to. Honest,” Izuku says, and as he does so he shrugs and flashes his teeth. “I mean, I wanted to do you a favour and thank you, Kacchan.” He hesitantly cradles his cheek and swipes a tear with his thumb. “To thank you for being in my life.” 

Katsuki then pulls away, breaking the contact. He reaches into his pocket, takes out the Ziploc with the two cards, and hands the untouched one to Izuku. 

“My turn, nerd,” he says, shaky and sheepish for what Izuku thinks might be the first time since the hospital. “Take it. For your birthday.”

When he puts his hand over the card, and their fingers brush together as the merchandise slides out of Katsuki's grasp, the feeling tingles through the blond's entire body. He blinks.

A soft nighttime breeze blows through. It ruffles Izuku’s growing hair, makes him scrunch his face up and shiver and curl his arms around himself for a brief second. Katsuki gets the urge to hold him close and make sure he’s warm. He wishes he had a flannel in that bag of his, but it’s filled to the brim with containers upon containers. Katsuki looks up, and gazes at the moon for a few seconds, and right then, he knows again. He sets the notebook down in the grass, then gets up and gets his feet wet once more. One foot in the stream, then the second, then he wades further in. He takes a bit of water in his hands, rinses his face with it. 

“Let’s make it official.” 

One full beat of silence echoes. It's an almost-silence, really, what with the sounds of nature that envelop them; the crickets and cicadas chirping incessantly, the ebb and flow of the river's tide, the blades of grass and leaves of trees ruffling in the mild wind.

Izuku, who's just finished putting the card back into his backpack, freezes. His head shoots up. “What? ” 

"Date me."

When he turns back around, Katsuki leans to tug on his arm until Izuku rises and stumbles back into the river. Water splashes around their bare ankles, ebbs and circles out a little, softly spatters their skin. Izuku's hand is warm, warm, warm in his and they both breathe out.

“That— Shit , that could have come out better. But you heard me,” he says when they’re inches apart, hands on shoulders and squeezing waists. “You don’t have to say yes just yet. We can still work on things if—” 

“I think we’ve worked enough,” he interrupts, grinning. 

“'Think so?” 

“I know so, Kacchan. Let's be boyfriends.”

When they're out of the forest, they end up taking the long route out, instead of waiting for a nighttime bus. They walk side by side to Katsuki’s house, limbs knocking together for a few minutes until one of them, maybe both of them at the same time, surges to grab the other’s hand. When they’re at his door, one pulls the other in close and kisses him gently, smooth lips on chapped ones.

The door opens just then, and they’re met with the comically shocked faces of both their parents.

–

In the seven months since the war ended, and the four months since Izuku and Katsuki officially labeled their something , they've been able to settle into something much more comfortable; and everyone's noticed the change. 

There were a lot of things that demonstrated this. 

For one, Katsuki doesn't really lash out as strongly as he used to; and at first, when they all returned to the dorms, he didn't even seem to get frustrated, not once. The first month or so, he had this almost permanent expression of nausea, going to clutch at his heart or press a few fingers to a pulse point every so often. The ‘almost' is only relevant because, after the first week, there was always one person who would wipe off the uneasiness from Katsuki's face quite literally in a heartbeat—and that person was Izuku. 

Everyone noticed; everyone knew there was something between the two that couldn't be explained. 

This became even more apparent after the first two months, after classes started for real, when one of them would sit down in the common room and the other would always follow suit right next to him without much hesitation, if there was even a sliver of space—even if it was just the armrest of a loveseat.  It became apparent when they started being comfortable enough to lean into each other when they laughed—because yes, Katsuki laughed now, however rare. He laughed like there was someone he wanted to be watching.

The thing is, though, not many around them really knew how to categorize this new development between Izuku and Katsuki, whether romantic or bro-mantic or a denial-filled platonic—no one except the pair themselves, when they shared their secret kisses or squeezed hands under the table.

The rest of their class will just have to keep guessing.

Chapter Text

Second Year, Late July

[17]

There are two ditzy little smiles plastered on both of their faces for their entire walk back from the river. Katsuki and Izuku have never been ones for small talk; and in fact with their past it’d be almost idiotic to pretend like starting over meant forgetting everything they’d known about one another like the back of their hands. Instead they resort to more of the awkward life updates about those around them, littered with little pauses of tender stillness. 

Izuku breaks one of these with a question, still picturing the future with glistening eyes. 

“What do you say we become hero partners when we're older?” he asks. “Open our own agency and all?”

“Sure,” Katsuki answers.

Izuku tilts his head. His eyes go wide. “That quick?” 

“You suggested the same thing last year, Izuku,” he points out. “And you’ve been suggesting it since we were kids.” 

He stops, half-feigned surprise on his hands pressed to his mouth. “Oh yeah, I did.” 

“I wanted exactly that from the start,” he mutters. “We'd have to be sidekicks or somethin’, for a few years, save up money—” Maybe live together. He glances over. “But I’d be real fuckin’ miserable if I didn’t become a hero with you someday. Was always my goal.” 

Izuku's breath stops in his throat. “Always?” 

“Always.” He swallows.  “Didn't know that at first, though. But always.”

Izuku chuckles, light and soft and to himself. “Who would you want to be the sidekick of, then?” He kicks a rock across the asphalt and watches it skitter just until it stops at the curb. “We can’t really go to Endeavour anymore, can we?” 

“Yeah, right . I wouldn't go back to that geezer even if he hadn’t lost everything and his whole family. I swore on my life after the first time.” 

“That's fair.”

Katsuki frowns. “He stinks.”

“In that case, who is it? The only ones I have left in my head are…” He counts two fingers on his free hand. “Well, Best Jeanist and Mirko.”

“Where would you go?” Katsuki asks. 

“Hm?” 

He sputters a little. “Tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“Okay—I'll probably go to Togata-senpai, because he's gonna take over the Nighteye agency from Centipeder next year, but I wouldn’t mind trying something new. Like, I wouldn’t mind going to Mirko, because the way she uses her legs could help with my shoot style, since now I don’t have to worry about all the extra quirks —” 

“Then I'll go to Denim Head.” 

Izuku looks up. “Jeanist?”

“Yeah.” 

“That's great!” He grins again. “He did help you a lot during the final battle. I bet you respect him a lot now.”

Katsuki flushes a bit at that, and doesn't end up denying nor confirming. Instead he says, “Just hope the guy doesn’t fuck up my hair again this time.”

(He does respect Best Jeanist, and Edgeshot, too, more than words can express, but Katsuki will wait until he's fully over the nauseating guilt before he admits that out loud.)

Izuku bursts into laughter, a bright and happy sound. Katsuki feels his chest squeeze. “He won’t , Kacchan . He wouldn't.”

They unlock their hands when they get to Katsuki's street so he can fish for his keys as they continue to stroll; only then do they realize they were touching at all. Katsuki runs hot enough that it lingers on Izuku's palm; he closes and opens his hand to feel it over and over again. 

When they’re at his door, there's a slight suspension, an ellipse in the air that lasts about five seconds, and a lilting hum from one of them, before they surge forward. Their lips are warm and sweet, soft and sure in their movements when they later meet. Izuku grins through it all; he tilts his head and blindly, instinctively, answering to nothing but his feelings and Katsuki’s stuttering heartbeat against his, wraps his fingers around his jawline and his neck. 

(They belong ; they fit . They—

They're interrupted by the sound of a door slamming against a wall. 

They’re so fucked. )

“Alright, just what , exactly,” seethes a voice through the door as it creaks, “Were you two thinking, sneaking out , worrying your — Oh my god .” 

Mitsuki, Masaru and Inko, catch in unison the exact moment Katsuki hesitates to slip his tongue between Izuku's lips. 

Honestly, in hindsight, it should have been on them for trying to make out in front of a front door instead of checking to see if the car parked in the front lot was the harmless spare—it wasn't, and in fact it was Inko’s, who came in a hurry because she convinced herself her son disappeared again. In hindsight, as hero students going to classes with the goal of never being caught off guard, it's just really hilarious. Right now, though, it's mortifying . 

Standing a few meters behind, Izuku's mother slaps her hand over her mouth, just as Katsuki and her son jump apart. 

“Oh!” 

“ Mom ?” 

–

Second Year, January

[17]

There are different tributes and dedications in the heart of Tokyo, to the fallen, and to them, and to some villains and to their classmates—and this is a date , by definition, but not by execution. They don’t really take it as such, instead they stand before the statues for a bit, a couple meters between them, silent and almost self-condemning. They waited for a time of day where not many would be around to stare at them. It greatly helps that the gradually chilling weather deters most visitors to any landmark or tribute. 

( Izuku is self-condemning, actually; Katsuki is a little more numb, unfeeling.)

There’s a little frown pulling at his lips as the former studies his dedication; a life-sized statue of Deku, the hero—not Izuku, the boy. Slightly crouched, hand outstretched like an inquiry. 

I’ll save you , it says, almost whispers into their ears. 

Katsuki watches as Izuku’s gloved hand begins to reach out, tentatively, towards that of his bronze coated self, his face scrunched up, like a million thoughts run through his mind. The image of it gnaws at the back of his mind all day. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says, that night, when they've taken the evening train to Katsuki’s house.

“Hm?” Izuku turns, from where his back nestles into Katsuki’s side. He turns his phone down and cranes his neck. “What do you mean?” 

“Everything. None of it was your fault.”

It takes a second for the words to be processed and understood in Izuku’s mind. “ Oh. I know that, Kacchan. I know that, now.”

“Wasn’t your fault, Izuku,” Katsuki repeats, shaking himself out of his train of thought. “I— I want you to hear that from me. Not— Not just what happened to me out there; Shigaraki, too. And the country. You weren’t the cause of it. It wasn’t in your control.” There’s a beat of silence before Izuku fully turns around and wraps his arms around Katsuki’s midriff, winding him just a bit. His face buries into his shirt, and he hums. Craning his back, folding himself in half, Katsuki presses his lips to the top of his head.

“Yeah. I know.” 

“I love you,” Katsuki mumbles. “You never deserved this in the first place.” 

“I love you too,” Izuku replies, and as he does so he lets himself glance down at Katsuki’s arm. “Neither did you.”

–

Third Year, September 

[18]

They had to break out of their own tendencies and patterns for this year's second work studies; that was the assignment from Ectoplasm, their homeroom teacher this year: for one week, step out of the comfort zone. Intern with someone you'd be unlikely to work with, or some place you wouldn't usually consider going to, he said. The goal was to work towards becoming more multifaceted heroes, which was something often needed post-war, what with the loss of quite a few unique but small-scale pros. Katsuki decided on interning with Aizawa for a program across the country. It was a jarring decision, one that surprised half their cohort. Izuku, on his end, decided to intern with the Rabbit Hero: Mirko, hoping her hotheaded-ness and no-nonsense MO would help him gain further confidence in his career and with his own emotions.

The distance is not what the big problem was though, not necessarily—while Izuku does miss the way his boyfriend tucks his head into the crook of his neck sometimes on bad nights, and the way he always pulls away and licks his lips before asking if he can roam his hands around when they kiss lying down, and— 

Well, Izuku liked how good the opportunity was for both of them. It was breathtaking, and squeezed something tight in his chest, watching Katsuki explore different ways to approach heroism in this reconstructed Japan; reflecting on his own desires and the way they’ve changed. 

The thing here, the thing that’s making Izuku itch, was that, as soon as Katsuki returned home, before he'd even gotten a chance to step into the school-provided cab that would take him back to the dorms, he instead stepped in to fight a villain wreaking havoc on the streets near the train station; it landed him in a hospital bed with a cracked collarbone and an oblique fracture on his right wrist. Both things were easily treatable, sure, but still they assigned Katsuki a single overnight stay in order to monitor the integrity of the damaged side.  

When he walks into the reception room of the hospital with their friends, he's trying his hardest not to implode with worry. Gripping at the back of his head, his fingers fidget nervously with the short stubby ponytail that tickles his neck. He's sweating buckets through the thin sweater loosely hanging on his shoulders. 

Izuku’s racing thoughts are interrupted by red and white poking its way into his field of vision; Todoroki, who arrives at his side and hands him a pork bun from the vending machine behind them. Quietly, they start to discuss a bit about what they did during their internships; Shoto runs through his intriguing experience with Rock Lock, training the fine-tuning of his ice. He says, the hero would make him think of an object, then make it by locking his ice into place—or something like that. 

(His hand goes to rest on his shoulder. “Honestly, I don’t think the experience was enough to consider seeking Rock Lock out again. But I’m glad I went through it; it taught me a lot of things.”

“That’s good!” Izuku says, and he unwraps his bun, trying to hide the way his hands tremble. “I– I remember you used to struggle with structural sculpting last year.” 

Todoroki coyly smiles. “I did. Not that it held me back.” He turns. “How about you?” 

Izuku shrugs. “Think I might sidekick Mirko after we graduate.”)

Mid-bite, green eyes catch onto a familiar head of longer, more kempt blond spikes—a comforting presence, rounding the corner from the hallway where the elevators are. She meets eyes with him, and Izuku slumps down. He watches, pulling at his fingers and knuckles absentmindedly, as Todoroki waves and walks off to join Ochako in her quest of sitting in weird ways on loveseats—and seriously, none of the positions they kept shifting into look comfortable in the slightest, feet pulled up to their shoulders, but, Izuku will digress.

“You look a mess, Izuku,” Mitsuki says after waving to the other teens. 

“Do I?”

She reaches over to reposition his sweater, then stands back. “Katsuki is fine . Don't get your panties in a twist.” 

“Just— Just can't help it.” Izuku slumps. “It's…” 

The words go unspoken; it’s the first overnight hospital stay since the war. 

“You aren’t wrong to be worried about him,” Mitsuki says. “Tell you what—you want time alone with the kid, don't you?” She jabs a thumb behind her. “None of those nurses are in there right now. There won't be any of ‘em doing rounds until sunset.” 

With another sheepish laugh, Izuku averts his gaze. He steals a glance behind him, to where his friends peer through the glass of a vending machine. 

“I shouldn't— I can wait for when he's feeling better, when we get back to the dorms—”

“And I can always make an excuse for your friends.” 

“Auntie,” he starts, his hand again going to tangle itself in his hair, “It's fine .” 

“ Not fine.” Mitsuki grabs both of Izuku's shoulders, spins on her heels and almost pushes him towards the stairs. “I'm sure you’d want to do a lot more than just talk .” 

The implications of her statement take a few seconds to settle in Izuku's mind. He flushes a deep red, averts his gaze again.

“Oh god — That's not—”

“Relax, Izu-kun.” The woman grins. “Just teasing you. Go ahead, use that stupidly powerful quirk of yours, and get that head start for the love of god . Can't stand that fidgety, lonely puppy look on your face any longer, as much as I find it adorable.”

Silence. 

He relents, with a, “Yes ma'am.”

As Izuku skids to a halt in front of the right room—he's gotten lost at least twice now in his rush—not a minute and a half later, the first thing he sees is Katsuki taking a nap. It's a serene, beautiful picture, even with the cast on one arm and the sling on the other; Katsuki’s always been breathtaking, even more so in rest. For a second, Izuku stands there, watches the afternoon sun ripple across his pale features through the open blinds; watches his chest rise and fall in a slow rhythm. 

He flutters with worry again, but swallows it down. Katsuki is still breathing. Still alive . Still breathing .

–

Honestly? Katsuki feels a little pathetic right now. It’s technically his fault he’s stuck here, because it’s his ‘ Get Things Done Quick’ MO’s fault he jumped in to move a civilian out of the way, only to crash headfirst into a brick wall because of a stray teleportation quirk. 

(Worse yet, his mother fussing over him earlier made him feel like he was all the way back in second year right after the war: helpless in bed after a battle, with a fucked up arm. 

Because here Katsuki is right now: helpless in bed after a battle, with a fucked up arm. God, do the parallels make him a little dizzy.)

He awakes slowly from a nap, still a little addled from the pills they'd made him take with his lunch, when he feels light fingertips caressing his lips and hears whispered, indecipherable words. He cracks an eye barely open, and the first thing he sees is absolutely nothing. Groaning, he opens the other, and his heart momentarily jumps in his chest when he’s met with two big, glistening green eyes. The monitor at his side goes a little berserk, and he then hears a muffled curse. Then, a hand settles on his cheek. 

Inches away from him is a familiar head of viridian waves, intently studying every inch of his face. When the head takes note of his eyes opening, the stress lines in his forehead immediately smooth out. Katsuki’s worries, too, smooth out just enough for him to smile with one corner of his mouth. And then the world comes into focus, because Izuku is here . 

It’s shoulder-sagging relief, if his shoulders weren’t already propped up and held tight with a sling. 

–

“Hey,” Katsuki rasps. He puts his chin out; a wordless ask. 

“ Kacchan .” He smiles into a brief kiss pressed to his lips. “Are you okay?”

“Nah— No pain. My— my head and my chest are all weird, but—”

“Your chest ?” Izuku straightens even further, and without thinking presses his hand to Katsuki’s sternum. “Is it your heart again? Did you— your—” 

“I’m okay .” He lifts the hand and tosses it back onto the mattress. “Monitor says I'm fine.”

Izuku sighs. “Did you eat?” 

Katsuki tilts his head. “Food situation here is bleak and fucked, but I tried.” 

“Water?” 

“A whole gallon ,” he boasts, corners of his lips curling up. “I pissed it out before you got here.” 

“ Kacchan. ” He rolls his eyes. “Did they give you painkillers?” 

He shrugs. “Several, I think.” 

“Did you sleep?” 

“Obviously. You just woke me up, Izuku.” 

That makes Izuku pause, then press his fingers to his mouth. “If your mom was just here, then that's not long enough. You— You need more rest,” Izuku mumbles. “I mean, fuck , Kacchan—” 

Katsuki snorts. “You kiss your mom with that mouth?” 

Silence.

“ Sleep . Go back to sleep . I'll let the others know, and we can—” 

“‘M awake now. Too late.” 

When Izuku’s eyebrows furrow together again, and his gaze starts to wander around Katsuki's body, the latter sobers just a little more. With a deep breath he reaches out and squeezes Izuku's shoulder. 

“Izuku. Look at me.”

He looks. “Mmh?”

Izuku’s eyes are riddled with concern and uncertainty; the left twitches just a bit as he tries to steer his gaze away from the cast around his limb. 

Katsuki starts to point at his own face with his free hand. “No scratches, no cuts, no eyebags. I’m fine . Doctors said I'm guaranteed to be out of this place by fuckin’... dawn .”

Silence. Izuku takes his own deep breath. 

He lets it out as a heavy sigh. “You let me know if you gotta rest again?” 

“Won’t happen.”

“Kacchan.”

He relents. “Yeah, I promise.” 

Something deep within Izuku's squirming insides settles. He shouldn't divulge all his little quips and worries about this situation just yet, so instead he sighs and leans down to peck Katsuki's cheek. 

“M’kay. How was Eraserhead?”

(And that? That definitely wakes Katsuki all the way up. The kiss, the mention of Aizawa, both all at once.)

“Godawful,” he groans, and he palms his face. “Hey, I didn’t think underground work would be so exhausting .”

“Was it interesting, though?” Izuku wiggles his fingers. “Did you go into any weird alleyways?”

He groans again. “Every single day. I would have preferred to fight a bunch of D-lister villains with stupid quirks robbing fuckin' banks, or even save the world a second time.” 

Izuku cocks an eyebrow at that. “Never would've thought you'd miss that.” 

Katsuki defends. “Don’t wanna talk about it.” He narrows his eyes. “ You , though. What messed up shit did that rabbit make you do out there, huh? You left me on a cliffhanger last time.”

(Three days ago, Izuku called Katsuki to tell him about how he'd caught a stray hatchback flying through the air, and held it a meter off the ground—without using One For All, that is—about halfway through their internships. After some needed virtual fussing, a few chiding words, some Are you okay? ’s,  Katsuki took a sharp, trembling breath and asked him what the absolute fuck Mirko was making him do out there.) 

As he speaks, Izuku starts to fully climb onto the mattress, throwing one leg over Katsuki's form. 

“Mirko was great ,” he promises. “I had so much fun, really. I just wanted to do a few crazy stunts, out of my own volition, since Sensei told us to step out of our comfort zone. Might just join her after graduation if she’ll take me.” 

“You held a car in midair, no quirk.” Katsuki deadpans. “Those shits are three thousand pounds.” His hand goes to squeeze his shoulder again. “I'm worried for your innocent bones.” 

Izuku shrugs. “I’ve lifted worse, Kacchan. All Might used to make me rep so much more.” 

Katsuki huffs. “You’re insane . Batshit insane.”

“But you love my insane.”

Unfortunately , Katsuki thinks , I really do.

Izuku continues, fidgeting with his hands. “Let’s spar next month, okay? I’ve been meaning to show you this other new move I developed—” 

Katsuki does not hesitate to blurt out, painted a bright shade of red. “Give me more time than that.” 

His eyes grow to the size of dinner plates. “This is new.” He goes all the way forward and presses his elbows into Katsuki's chest, cupping his own face with his hands. “You’ve never said later to sparring before.”

“I gotta catch up again, Izu. I didn’t do much fighting with Sensei,” he grumbles. “Not letting you beat me.”

Izuku grins. “Sure thing.” 

They're now only centimeters away, breathing in each other's scents. In sync, after a few seconds, they surge forward. Katsuki grazes his teeth across Izuku's bottom lip. They pull apart, then dive back in, again and again, and again. Izuku’s hands start to travel down, cinching a waist, releasing a small, almost imperceptible groan from Katsuki. 

He giggles and sits up; hands move down to grip somewhere between Izuku’s waist and his hips. 

“Should I keep note of this for later, Kacchan?” 

“Keep— Keep note of what?” 

He lowers his voice: “You know what I mean.” 

“I really don’t.”

“I think you want me to beat you in sparring. You like it—” 

If it was possible for Katsuki to go even redder, then that’s exactly what happens. “Shut up ,” he whispers.

“I’ll talk your ear off about this, actually, Kacchan .” 

A full beat passes in silence. The pair miss the six heads that peek into the room curiously, finally at the right door after endless (maybe purposeful) stalling. Some of them make comically shocked faces at each other when they see the unexpected display; that of Izuku practically straddling a half-risen, beet red Katsuki on a hospital bed.

“For now , you can come back down , asshole.” Katsuki suddenly tightens his grip and pulls. Izuku tumbles down and lands square on his chest, head nestled in the crook of Katsuki's shoulder. He laughs, a breathy sound muffled by the pillows layered behind his boyfriend, and then stretches his legs out. Then, he’s lifting himself up by his arms and kissing Katsuki stupid; on his forehead and between his eyes, on his jawline and his hairline, his Adam's apple and his collarbone. 

A sudden, squeaky voice breaks the bubble they're in: “Uh, should we come back later, guys?” 

Katsuki and Izuku break apart and whip around at breakneck speed. Standing at the door frame, with various expressions of shock, indifference and intrigue, are all their friends. 

It was Kirishima who spoke, blinking a few times, clutching his jacket to his chest. There’s a hint of amusement tugging at the edges of his mouth, however, and a knowing glint in his eye.

Todoroki nods once, not a hint of emotion on his face. “We can give you a minute or two.” 

Izuku jumps up, leaping off of Katsuki. He tumbles off the side of the bed facing the wall, his arms flailing around. 

Katsuki chokes out an incredulous, “ Izuku ?” And then he’s holding back a snort.

Izuku curses on impact. “No! No— It's fine. I’m fine. I'll— I'll just—” He stands up, brushes himself off. Awkwardly, he gestures at Kirishima, then towards Katsuki. “Go ahead.”

He takes the chair folded out by the bed and sits. 

Kirishima opens his mouth like he's about to say something, but Mina starts up instead.

“ So ,” she drawls, fluttering her eyelashes. “I’m positive Baku won't spill. How long has it been?” 

Izuku startles, flushing pinker than Ashido herself. “Well—” It was complicated, he wants to say. “Kacchan—”

“I mean, it was about time. When did it start? This year?”

Katsuki answers in a low mutter before Izuku can. “Since the end of the war. Not that it was any of your business.”

A small portion of the room erupts into exclamations.

Sero’s jaw drops. “Holy shit,” he says. “Like, seriously ? You’ve been together for a whole year?”

Ashido whispers. “You guys are good . You know, I thought this was a pining trope kinda situation. A slow burn, if you will.”

Izuku starts to sputter. Tenya leans over to whisper into Ochako’s ear through the chaos: 

“It seems you already knew about this, Uraraka-kun.”

And Ochako nods. “Yeah, I did. Found out last year after I told Deku to ‘man up and ask Bakugou out.’” She laughs. “Sorry I never told you guys. Deku-kun swore me to secrecy, and I’m a loyal friend, is all.” And then she brings a finger to her lips. “Not even Himiko-chan knows, and I tell her almost everything.”

Izuku’s ears catch that through the sputtering noises of Sero and Mina. He turns around and flashes the two a sheepish smile, hand scratching the back of his head.

“Okay, yeah. Whatever,” chides Katsuki with one last sigh, silencing everyone at once. “It’s not like we were trying that hard at being discreet or anything. You two—” He sticks two fingers at Sero and Mina. “Are just slow .”

“If we’re slow for thinking you guys were just obliviously into each other, then so is half the class, and all of your friends!” 

“What the hell were we supposed to do, make out in front of you all in the common room?” Under his breath he goes, “You guys are voyeuristic freaks.” 

“ You brought it up! How’s that make us the freaks?” 

Izuku snorts into his fist and starts wheezing. 

“ Fuck , okay.” Sero raises his hands and looks around the room. “Show of hands, who else knew about this from the start?”

Timidly, Todoroki raises a hand. He's still taking bites, albeit tiny ones, from his pork bun, and between mouthfuls he smiles and says, “Well, I already sort of figured it out as well. I just didn't wanna say anything. I figured no one else had a clue—except Uraraka, perhaps?—and I thought you’d want the privacy.”

Katsuki huffs at him. “Knowing you it was probably just one of your old conspiracy theories.” 

Izuku coughs into his fist with a smile. “Like the one in first year about All Might being my secret illegitimate dad.” 

Shoto deadpans, waving the bun at him: “At the very least, I was right about there being some strange relationship between you two.” 

Sero speaks up and turns to Todoroki. “Well, what about last year, when you thought Hawks was having a fling with your sister?” 

He frowns. “Well—I got the right family. Just the wrong sibling.”

“Wrong sexuality and moral compass altogether, too.” Katsuki snickers.

Shoto puts his hands up in surrender. “This one I got fully right, everyone. It's a good start.” 

Ochako snorts. “Well, sure. If you were studying to be a detective , Todoroki.” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Todoroki has a corkboard with string in his room connecting dots ‘n shit.” 

“For your information, I do not. ” 

The room bursts into laughter, and with the atmosphere looser than before, they keep talking about things. Later, when they all run out of conversations to be had (ones that can be mentioned out loud, at least), it’s nearly sunset. Everyone ends up leaving to stop by the mall and do some browsing before it closes—everyone ends up leaving, except for Izuku, of course.

“You sure you don't wanna come with, Deku?” asks Ochako. “I'm sure we’ll let you stop by the merch store. Not like Bakugou will be there to hold you back by your collar, like last time.” 

But Izuku laughed at that, laughed harder at the way Katsuki went red in anger, then insisted, and so no one protested.

Perched on the chair, leaning onto the bed with his left hand cupping his cheek, he breaks the silence left behind by their friends’ exit. He looks up at Katsuki, who looks back with one eyebrow cocked. 

“So,” he starts, with a wide grin, and he pushes his hair back with a swipe of his hand. “Where were we, again?” 

(They definitely don't sloppily make out a little more, and a nurse definitely doesn't walk in on them two minutes later when they're pulling apart to take gasping breaths. Katsuki definitely doesn't groan out an exasperated, ‘Fucking again?!’ when this happens. Izuku definitely doesn't giggle, chide Kacchan, then get off and apologize to the woman with a sheepish smile, all polite, throwing out two ‘Thank you for your hard work! ’s, like his default settings omitted the frustration feature.) 

By the time the nurse is gone, they sit side by side on the bed. In the silence, out of the corner of his eye, Katsuki can see a blank, thoughtful expression start to settle across Izuku's face. He sighs, small and imperceptible out of his nose. 

“Something’s on your mind,” Katsuki mumbles.

“Mmh. Just wondering.”

“About? That nurse’s quirk?” 

(He briefly considers looking for a note pad so that Izuku can write all his thoughts down.)

Izuku chuckles. “It was really interesting. But no.”

“Then?”

A short pause fills the air before Izuku shatters it.

“If the war had never happened,” he starts, “You think we'd still be like this?” 

Katsuki’s breath hitches. “Like this? 

“Me and you, Kacchan.” Izuku shrugs. “It's—” he sighs again. “This came out of nowhere, sorry.” 

He frowns and pokes Izuku’s forehead. “Shut it with that. No apologies.”

Izuku grimaces. “It’s like, I wonder how things would be if we hadn't had all that happen to us. If you hadn't… you know… or if I hadn't pulled that runaway stunt.”

Katsuki mulls the prospect over in his mind, once, twice, thrice; it works his still sleep-addled brain just enough for him to wake up a little more. 

Honestly? Katsuki would be lying through his teeth if he said he didn't sometimes, also, overthink the what if s in his head until they hurt to think about. It's strange, he’ll later think, the way they've changed so much yet not at all; they've both become more self-aware of their feelings beyond those around fighting, both about each other and introspectively. That reflection dug deep holes and seeped well into the people they already were before the war.

“Yeah. Definitely.” He pulls Izuku closer to him by his shoulders. “Different circumstances won’t change shit. I would have— Would have apologized by second year.” And you’d have forgiven me still. “Wouldn't waste any time to ask you out either once that was out of the way.” He puffs out. “I’d be way less awkward about it, too.”

Izuku laughs, and wipes away a tear threatening to fall. “We both would. When do you think that would be, though, Kacchan? Third year?” 

“If I'm not a wuss. And I’m not .” 

“Our friends would have actually intervened and set us up by now if that was the case. They’re great like that.” 

He closes his eyes and leans back. “ Fuck, would that be nice, actually. Anything would be better than whatever I ended up doing.” 

Silence. Izuku bursts into soft laughter, and the sound of it takes a weight off Katsuki’s chest that he barely knew was there. 

“ Hey ,” he chides. “It was good enough for how messed up we were, Kacchan.” Izuku pouts and nestles further. “I found it cute.” 

“I told you I liked you in the middle of an All-Might movie, Izuku.” He pokes his forehead again. “We were nerds .” 

“Can’t believe you aren’t denying it now,” he grins, places two hands on Katsuki’s cheeks. “We’ve come so far, you and I, Kacchan.” 

Katsuki averts his gaze and rolls his eyes, but smiles through it all. He waves a hand, dismissive. “I was a nerd for that moment only. You turn into somethin’ else when you have all that shit happen to you.”

“Kacchan, I’ve seen your subtle All Might wallpaper.” 

Legs hook around legs, and arms tuck behind languid, sleepy forms, watching heavy heads drop down, then shoot back up. 

“Are you staying the night?” Katsuki drags out eventually. Better not. Would hate it if someone walks in on us again.

Izuku shakes his head. “I texted my mom when the nurse was working, Kacchan.” He picks his phone up and shakes it in the air. “She’ll be here really soon.” 

Katsuki frowns. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?” 

“I wanted more time with you.” Izuku looks back down, sheepish. “I’ve delayed her like, uh, twice now?” 

At that Katsuki’s eyebrows furrow together. 

He chides him a little more on the stupidity of that. 

When Inko peeks into the doorway a few minutes later, he almost wants to get up and bow down to the woman on behalf of his stupidly clingy boyfriend. Instead, because he can’t really get up, he relents with something else. 

Inko stares right at him while her son fumbles with his backpack in the background. “You okay, Katsuki-kun? Are you getting discharged soon?” 

Katsuki nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. I'll be out by tomorrow morning.” Then he jabs a thumb down at Izuku, face buried in his things. “Sorry for keeping you waiting. ‘Was this idiot’s fault, not mine.” 

Izuku lets out a muffled, “ Hey !”

At that, Inko laughs. “Don’t you worry. I could tell.” 

July 15th

[25]

Perhaps it was a complete coincidence that it was going to be pouring rain for their entire three-day break. Midsummer weather is always unpredictable after all. 

But in Katsuki’s mind, at first it strikes him as a cruel joke from the stars above; because today is Izuku’s twenty-fifth birthday, and they had shit planned. They have had shit planned since yesterday, and the rain fucking ruined it.

When they hit the double digits, ages ago, birthdays on their own stopped being massive deals. In middle school, as well as the first year of highschool, they were corny and not worth the mention. For seventeen and eighteen, when the war jarred things and left everyone fumbling with their last straws craving normalcy, birthdays meant a small cake in the dormitory common room and a few gifts passed around.

(Although for Katsuki, seventeen was, unfortunately, very different, but he wasn't going to dwell on that anymore, because Izuku made it up to him in the best way possible.) 

When they were nineteen, fresh out of highschool, both their birthdays were spent having dinner with both of their families, dodging prying, awkward questions about their work and their new domestic life. 

After twenty, the celebrations started to be split in three. One: a get-together at the most unknown bars in the city with a few of their respective friends, because finally, they could legally get shitfaced. Two: a date night or day, and gift-giving in their apartment with tacky slow music, a movie, and maybe some lovemaking. Three: a family dinner, where the work questions started to turn into marriage questions. Three celebrations, drawn out over three days, the real birth date always somewhere in there if their ambitious hero careers could help it. 

That became Izuku and Katsuki’s routine. It wasn’t always perfect. And, while they switched things around for dates (sometimes a hike, sometimes a childish amusement park run, sometimes a dinner, et cetera), and didn’t always see the same people in bars, and sometimes one of them would be a little too injured or chronically fatigued to travel all the way to Musutafu, six years of this meant that they’d grown used to the prospect of going out, of spending time together.

Not this year, though. This year was the one time they'd managed to get a perfect strike with their respective agencies, simply because of how hard they’d each been working—just over thirteen months ago began their official journey towards opening their own agency, and it was so close to being finalized. 

Three days in a row off, with the 15th landing right in the middle, so absolutely perfect it hit all the right spots in Katsuki’s mind and gave him the same bone-aching thrill of catching up to a villain or figuring out a well-crafted plan—but the weather had other ideas. Of course, it was really Katsuki himself who hated this the most, who hated this because it was something so personal; Izuku only hated rain as an afterthought, as a line on his list of things to worry about his Kacchan for. Not that that was all that bad, because Katsuki loved feeling loved, secretly adored being pampered on bad weather days. If it was Izuku and Izuku only, that is. Maybe that was why the love of his life was so fucking frivolous this July 15th; because he could spoil and be spoiled and still remain content with his life. 

And so could Katsuki, but in a different way. 

Katsuki awakes in a hazy, torn state, met first by the sound of spattering at their window, then second by soft puffs hitting his neck. He shivers a little, for the rain and for the tickles let out through his Izu’s mouth one by one. Katsuki can feel his pulse everywhere, feel it merge with Izu’s where his cheek lifts against his clavicle; where a sternum presses against his ribcage; where a heavily scarred arm is strung across him, fingers just barely skimming the mattress. 

He sighs out; it’s too dark outside, even with their blinds turned upwards instead of down. Meaning it’s probably still the middle of the night, and he’s unsettled again. He doesn't really get flashbacks every other day anymore, doesn't interpret the weightlessness of sleep overtaking his limbs and the darkness of his shut eyes as him dying all over again; but sometimes, just as a new, reflexive instinct of his body and mind, some environments just make him a little uneasy as a default. 

Perhaps Izuku noticed him shift, toss and turn at some point; would explain why he's being held so tightly, nestled and comforted, why there's a second hand reaching up behind him, tangled in his hair, a thumb frozen right over the damp sweaty locks on his forehead that buzz and thrum with his quirk.

He closes his eyes once more.

A soft, “G’morning, Katsuki,” is later slurred drowsily into his ears at what might just be the crack of dawn. Katsuki hasn’t done a morning shift in a really fucking long time; he can’t quite tell. 

He was supposed to say something along the lines of, Good morning , Happy Birthday, Izuku, tell me how you’d like to spend this day cooped up inside, but his brain may or may not have short circuited at… that . 

He rolls over and knees Izuku in the stomach, then blinks his eyes open. “ Katsuki ?” 

“ Ouch .” 

(In the past eight years, his given name has only ever left his boyfriend’s mouth as a joke, or as an indicator to hospital reception staff when things like that are necessary, only ever with a hint of mirth or a stone-faced solemnity. Hell, it never even gets used when they have sex. This time, it comes out fond and full of love.)

“I know that didn’t hurt. Happy birthday.” He leans over to pepper a few kisses along Izuku’s hairline. And then, without a second to waste: “Explain that.” 

“ Katsuki ,” Izuku repeats, dreamily, the cross-eyed, sleep-addled look in his eyes reflecting that. “See, I kind of like the way that rolls off the tongue.” 

He repeats it, again, and again. One in an alluring tone, one with the lilt of a question, one with a steadfast determination; and with every reiteration Katsuki grows warmer, feels something curl inside of him, like worship. Hands go to cup freckled cheeks and fill them with warmth. A thumb swipes absentmindedly over rough scar tissue. 

“What happened to Kacchan , huh? Kacchan this, Kacchan that for ages.” 

Izuku’s eyes refocus, gaze landing on the slope of his nose, then riding down to the curve of his cupid’s bow. “I’m twenty-five, today, Katsuki,” Izuku answers stoutly. “We’re half-way to thirty, now, you and I—feels a little official. Thought I should try your first name out, use it a couple times.” 

He huffs, but not without returning Izuku’s smile. “You calling us old? We aren’t even the age Sensei was in our first year, and that man is fuckin’ geriatric .” 

Izuku flops onto his back; only then does Katsuki realize that he’s clad in a familiar top that compacts his biceps a little too tight. The shirt is tattered, littered with wall paint stains and tiny holes from a decade of wear and use and quirk mishaps; the graphic print is cracked and peeling. 

“Mmh. Well, not old, necessarily,” Izuku mutters under his breath, “Just— big . Big like I didn’t think we’d get to this point.” 

“You wearin’ the Aji Fry shirt?” Katsuki asks, instead of properly processing those words. He lifts himself up with his elbows, and climbs over Izuku, one leg thrown across. The bed creaks, the sound of it echoes.

Izuku blushes a light pink and averts his gaze. He bites his lip. “Maybe?” 

“You are. Take it off.” Gently he tugs at the fabric. “You stretched the collar with your big ass head.” 

“Mean.” Izuku puffs out from underneath him. “Not like you even wear it anymore. I pulled it out of the depths of our shirt drawer.” 

And almost nothing is ever simply mine or yours in their apartment anymore, especially not clothes, compartments, and secrets. The day they first moved in, about four months after graduation, one of the only ownerships they ever established was who got which side of the bed (Katsuki by the edge, Izuku by the wall); and even then, sometimes that rule was wholly ignored on bad patrol days, when they had to tend to wounds and undress each other and dampen sleep shirts with endless tears and snot. 

“Yeah,” he remarks. “‘Cause it’s old .”

Izuku reaches his hands up and into Katsuki’s own oversized top where it droops down, and runs his hands down his back, riding the shirt up, making Katsuki shudder, flinch, at the sharp, cold air of the bedroom. 

“Katsuki,” he starts, his voice low, toxic and enticing, “You can’t just ask me to take this off if you don’t do it first.” 

He almost shudders again when the three syllables of his given name resonate in the air for the seventh time. He narrows his eyes, leans down and captures Izuku’s mouth with his own for a brief moment. Izuku inhales from his nose, deeply, and hums into it. 

“What’re you saying?” 

“I’m saying ,” he purrs, “That you spoil me a little as a present, Katsuki .”

So spoil him Katsuki does. He spoils him up and down, with every inch of himself; because in the eight years since he’s first said he loves Izuku, he’s learned to give in between all the wanting. 

–

“Anythin’ else you want for your birthday?” Katsuki croaks, when they've collapsed back onto their mattress flushed and bitten but wiped clean, in nothing but their boxers. 

Preferably nothing too exhausting. 

Okay. Fuck, maybe they were getting old. A scary thought. Katsuki should look in the mirror later to assure himself that twenty-five isn’t horrible. He knows he still has some cheek fat, still sees youth and ambition in his eyes rippled through all the scars. If he wasn’t so well known as Pro Hero Dynamight, UA alum, he could probably still be mistaken for nineteen. Sometimes, in their civilian clothes, and under a dark enough ambience, bouncers at bars ripple with doubt when he and Izuku try to walk in. Their bones ache sometimes, but not as much as they should with all the bullshit they’ve been put through. He has a lot of things to thank for that; they both do.

“Mhm. Wanna cook for you.” Izuku's voice is muffled from where his mouth latches onto his bare stomach and his numerous scars, thick arms wrapped around his waist.

Katsuki stops. “Cook.” he gapes. “You want to cook.”

“Yeah!” Izuku looks up. “For you.” 

He tangles his fingers in dark green curls. “And burn our kitchen down?” 

“You and I both know I can cook just fine, Kacchan,” he says, and it’s true. “I cook for us a bunch.”

He could already make base-level meals for himself since middle school. Katsuki drilled more complex dishes into him the second they moved into their place, just so that on bad days, they wouldn’t have to chow down cheap cup ramen or takeout from across the block that had a fifty-fifty chance of being horrible (not that Izuku saw that much of an issue in that, because what’s food, is food and sustenance, but Kacchan did.) Today, in Izuku’s mind, definitely consisted of a bad day. 

“Yeah, right,” Katsuki deadpans, and he sits up on his elbows, hoisting Izuku up with him. He starts to count on his fingers. “Let’s see. You’ve made, for us, scrambled eggs, okayu—”

“With green chilli.”

“—that weird cream pasta recipe—”

“That tasted really good. It had gochujang in it!”

“—and chicken noodle soup that was half powder mix.”

“And omurice, once!” the other protests.

He grimaces. “Don’t bring that monstrosity up. It blew up in your face.” 

“Not really ,” Izuku pouts. “It just— Just didn’t turn out the way I’d hoped.”
“ Don’t twist the story, dumbass,” Katsuki says. “It literally blew up in your face. It burst all over the kitchen counter, Izuku.” 

They had to clean up egg yolk from the ceiling for hours . To this day, he puts the blame of the omelette bursting onto a mysterious quirk accident, some Twin Impact knockoff, since he’d just gotten back from a really weird patrol day involving a farting quirk, of all things, so anything was possible, just like it always was in their world. Katsuki never lets him forget it, though.

He pouts. “No comment,” he says. “That was four years ago. Either way, you’ve liked every meal I’ve made for you, Kacchan.” 

“Yeah. ‘Course I did. Because it’s you,” his boyfriend blurts out, and Izuku stops. 

His lips curl into a massive grin. He pushes himself up to peck Katsuki, sweet and short. “Well then,” he coos, “You should be fine with this. You have to be.” He gets up, then grabs the shirts and shorts discarded on the floor. “I’ve improved a lot more than you think, Kacchan.” 

He pauses, two or three seconds, to look out of the window, and lets the thrumming of the rain fill his ears. 

“Yeah, but I’m not fine with it, Izuku,” Katsuki grumbles—whines, almost. “Not even a little bit. You’re having a shit birthday because of me. Because of this weather.” 

Oh.  

Izuku stops, then frowns. “ Kacchan .” He reaches over, caresses Katsuki’s face. “Is that what this is? You feel bad because we can’t leave home?”
Katsuki grimaces and leans into the touch, eyes closed. “My fault. This dumb trauma’s fault. I want to make it up to you, and you aren’t letting me.”

“It’s not a shit birthday, Kacchan, I promise ,” he whispers, clothes still bunched up in his hand. “Home is fine . It’s perfect anywhere with you. Actually—” He fidgets with his hands. “I’ve wanted an opportunity like this for months , since you never let me cook anything concrete,” he admits. “I wanna do something for you this year.” 

The clothes are tossed into their laundry basket. Katsuki starts to get up.

“Izuku—”

 He’s promptly pushed down, with fervor, back into the bed.

“Nope . You stay put. I’m running you a bath while you wait.” Izuku smirks at the dumbfounded expression he falls upon, eyes wide with a mouth forming a little O; and then it fades into something fonder, for the both of them. “I’ll call you when the water’s ready, okay?” 

There’s a short silence, one that is, again, filled by the pattering on their window, and the thrum of the air conditioner, and the shuffling of neighbors by the walls. 

“Fine.” 

So Izuku gets to work, changing into something cleaner, then pulling open their untouched bag of bath salts, lavender-scented—Katsuki’s favorite scent, because Izuku always smells a little like flowers with the shampoo he was coaxed into using when they moved out. He pours a little into the tub, and lets the tap go. He calls out into their bedroom when the water level is high enough, and watches as his boyfriend gets up, grumbling complaints, hand combing through his spikes, other arm rubbing his back. His fingers lightly graze Katsuki’s arm before he steps into the bathroom, and he uses the little pause Katsuki takes to glance back, to lean over and place a fluttering kiss to the side of his neck.

“I love you,” he mumbles, into the dip of a collarbone. “Lots.” 

And Katsuki smiles despite him. “Love you, too, Izu.” 

When he hears the telltale sound of Katsuki dipping into the bath, and the groan that subsides, he slumps with relief, hopes the water is warm enough. Then, he slinks back into the room, picks out clothes from the freshly washed pile by their wardrobe, and makes his way down the hall, back into the bathroom.

“Kacchan?” he calls. “Can I come in?” 

Katsuki chuckles. “You saw my dick out fifteen minutes ago, Izu. Just open the door.” 

So he opens it and sets the clothes onto the closed toilet seat. “Change into these when you’re done, okay?”

Katsuki eyes the pieces individually picked out—cotton pants, nerdy underwear and a tank top—then drags his eyes up and down Izuku’s body, clad in sweats and a long sleeve shirt. 

“Should I be taking this as a date or as a casual lunch?” he asks. “Since you’re pampering me so much.” 

He stands back and smiles, then dips a hand into the water to push through Katsuki’s bangs, soaking them wet. “Both. And neither.”

“Hate how cryptic you are sometimes.” 

“As if you aren’t just as weird.” Izuku sends him a kissy face that Katsuki mimes a gag at, then closes the door, and enters the bedroom one last time to stuff some things into his pockets.

Head against the tiled wall of their bathroom, Katsuki ruminates, like he always has. 

Izuku ends up calling his mom, then Mitsuki, and then he’s at the stove with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Chopping up chives and grounding Sichuan peppercorns, slicing hashes into blocks of tofu, wiping his eyes every so often like the cheesy, heart-on-his-sleeve man he’s always been, the openly vulnerable man he’s learned to re-become since the war. It helps (or doesn’t) that the spices wafting from the wok keep making the tears worse. He scoops up and soaks, and washes and kneads rice in its pot, turns the cooker on, fans at himself, cranks the AC higher. He’s frying gyozas, soaking edamame in salt, soft-boiling eggs, slicing them in halves. Then, he’s test-tasting everything, crying some more at how good and how savory it all is and how much he loves Kacchan , then plating it all carefully. 

The work he’s putting into this, into taking care of katsuki— oh , it invigorates Izuku, reminds him of just how much he put into that notebook, so long ago. It reminds him of scrawling kanji until his hand ached; of flipping through biology textbooks and old plans for costumes of different heroes over the years; of sketching and erasing and sketching again; of almost losing sleep as he poured over faded blue lines while simultaneously keeping up with schoolwork. When he retold the process to his lover not long afterwards, when Katsuki was crafting the blueprints for his improved costume, Izuku got a little bit of a scolding for damn near neglecting his health, but Izuku didn’t care. Because it was Kacchan , he simply could not care.

Devotion, of course, was always both of their strong suits. For scars and for costumes, for fights and for kisses, for better and for worse.

He sets the mats, the utensils, the pots. Almost as if on cue, Katsuki opens the door to the bathroom just as he sets the last plate down. Izuku can see him from the dinner table, sniffing the air and making a face, blinking hard. 

Katsuki knows from the smell, so he asks, incredulously, as he walks into the kitchen with a towel around his neck: “Mapo tofu?”

Izuku holds in a breath as he watches him round the table, then waddle over to the stove, inspecting it carefully.

“Mhm,” affirms Izuku. “Your favorite.”

“You didn’t ruin the kitchen,” Katsuki admits in horribly concealed awe. His eyes linger on Izuku’s, before he leans over to peck his cheek. “And the food looks good.”

You look great. Gorgeous , Izuku thinks. Katsuki is absolutely gorgeous from his tousled spikes to the curve of his nose, to the dimples that only show when he grins. The built, muscled arms, the hands tucked into pockets, the way he slouches a little when he’s off-guard, stands tall and imposing when on duty. The way he settles on his legs, the way he cocks a hip when idle. The way his eyes scour the table hungrily, his lips forming a curious little pout. 

“Flatter me a little more, will you? Sit,” he says, wiping at his eyes again. He pushes Katsuki’s plate, the red one, over to the other side of the table. 

Reluctantly Katsuki settles across the table, leans his head back against the chair and shakes the dampness out of his spikes. 

After a short greeting, he picks his spoon up, and they begin. 

It’s a few minutes of silent eating, from then, until Izuku takes a deep breath. 

“Kacchan.”

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth, Izuku.” 

“No food—Look.” 

Katsuki looks up. “Okay. Go on.” 

“Do you remember,” Izuku starts, “In our third year, I asked you if you thought we’d still be together without the war? And you told me you probably would have confessed before graduation?”

Katsuki pauses, then nods. “What’s this gotta do with lunch, Izu? Or your birthday?” he asks.

It wasn't a problem that his boyfriend was bringing up random nostalgia, because he could feel a ramble coming on, and if there was one thing Katsuki was going to do on Izuku’s fucked up birthday, it was listen to him like he’d always listened to him. He finds comfort in it. If Izuku were ever to stop for good—and he’s stopped in increments before—Katsuki isn’t sure what he’d do with himself.

He grins. “Nothing at all. But also everything. I was wondering recently, you know. About other outcomes. Like, if we only first met at UA. Or, what if your pining lasted well into our adulthood?” Izuku asks. “What if we were just dancing around each other for decades in another universe?” 

Katsuki makes a short sound of discontent, a little whine. “That's too long. Someone would have intervened by then.” 

“Fair enough,” Izuku says. He takes a bite, chews, swallows, shudders at the spice biting at his tongue. “I can't imagine pushing forty and still being too nervous to tell you I love you.” 

And at that, Katsuki barks a laugh. He closes his eyes. Takes a bite, chews, swallows. “Me neither. We'd be such losers .” 

“Yeah, we really would .” Izuku takes a breath, and although Katsuki can't see it, he gets a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Although maybe …” 

“Mmh?”

“If we were older, the climax of our romantic tension could be, like, a real climax .” 

Katsuki nearly chokes. “That’s a sex joke. Are you seriously throwing in a sex joke in the middle of this?” 

“Sorry,” Izuku cheekily whispers. “Just had to, after this morning.” 

Katsuki reaches over to poke Izuku's forehead, then leans back and pauses, pensive. Takes a bite, chews, swallows. “Y’know, there's probably a world where quirks never existed.”

Izuku brightens, and squeaks, and as he keens forward he goes, “Like in that All Might movie?” 

Katsuki chimes in with, “ Nerd .” He laughs when Izuku rolls his eyes. “But, okay. Roll with that.” 

“Kinda hard to imagine it. I mean, what would we be competing for, if not heroism?” 

Katsuki shrugs. “I say sports, or nerdy stuff. Best doctor in the cardiothoracic department. Best World Cup player on the Japan team. Pretty boring.”

Izuku smiles. “It wouldn't be boring if we were living it, Kacchan. It’d just be our life. We’d like it if it was our life.” 

“What else?” 

Silence. Izuku drains his sake. “What if we never knew each other at all?” 

Katsuki huffs. He takes another mouthful of rice. “Wouldn’t happen. I’d still end up with you glued to me somehow , Izuku. Through space and time bullshit.” He smirks and flicks his utensils in his direction, then to himself. “We'd still find some way to be me and you.”

Without breaking eye contact, Izuku reaches into the right pocket of his sweatpants, and sets something onto the table. The noise alerts Katsuki to the object, and when his eyes fall upon it he drops his chopsticks. They both clatter onto the floor to roll around aimlessly. 

He really, really should have seen this coming. Sue him, sue Katsuki to hell for being so incredibly smitten yet wallowed in despair.

“You know what? You're right. I think— I think I'd end up being your biggest admirer in any world, Katsuki. No matter the circumstances.” 

Izuku fumbles with a small blue velvet box, tries to position it so that the opening faces the blond.

“You— You can't be fucking serious.” 

Izuku laughs, and shakes his hair out of his eyes. 

The pouring outside gets a momentary pause, and a glint of light pierces through the clouds and catches onto his features, makes his eyes sparkle, makes his cheek-aching grin seem so much wider, his single crooked canine on the left so much more apparent. Izuku’s hair is short, shorter than it was two years ago, shorter than it was in third year. After making his big decision to stop going to therapy, finally content with himself and his emotions, Izuku cut it all off again. He had been maintaining it evenly, right in the middle of his neck, parted in the middle; pulled tight into a low bun or a half-up ponytail. Now it’s short, tapered in the back just a little, parted right where a white ropey scar drives into his hairline. He’s still a little flushed, warm and pink, from their morning, and perhaps from the steam of the cooking splayed out so meticulously on their dinner table, and oh , through all the immediate fond frustration Katsuki feels, it's all overtaken by his entire chest squeezing with sheer adoration for Izuku, because he's just so fucking awe-inspiring . He’s been awe-inspiring since they first met, when Izuku proved himself to be more heroic than Katsuki could ever be. He thrums with heroism on the field, thrums with love off it. 

“But I am . I had a better plan for this, honestly,” Izuku says, and he gets up and rounds the corner. “Something more romantic, with a better speech probably; but I got carried away crying too hard when you were in the shower. Might cry again right now—won't be able to finish. So here goes.” He laughs and crouches, letting one knee hit the floor; it almost slips against one of the chopsticks once nestled between Katsuki’s fingers and he stumbles. “Kacchan, I— I can't begin to describe what you mean to me. What you've been to me in my life the past twenty years, moreso the past eight. 

“I won't ever be able to forget some of the things we went through when we were just teenagers, you know. For those few hours after you died, I— I was ready to give my own life up just for you . You keep me going in a way that I couldn’t even give a name to, not at first. Maybe, in other universes, we never had to endure so much, or never endured anything at all.” He takes a breath. “At the end of the day, though, I'm grateful for what we ended up with, in a really fucked up, really twisted way, because— because it's our life, Kacchan, and we got through it . We overcame it, and we became heroes like we'd always wanted. You and I have always set each other as our respective goals, for heroism and otherwise. I love you so much, so, so much that I couldn’t imagine a life where you’re not there. I—” He hangs his head low, sniffles, and laughs again. “ Agh , I forgot the rest of my words.” He reaches into his other pocket. “I had some pointers written down—” 

Of course you did , Katsuki thinks. Of course.

“Screw the speech,” he interrupts, thick with emotion. “ Fuck , yes I'll marry you.” 

Katsuki doesn't realize he's crying himself until the fat tear drops into his lap. Precariously he wipes the rest of them off with the sleeve of his shirt. In lightning speed his hands move to grip around Izuku's shoulders, and he sinks down. Katsuki wraps his arms around Izuku, buries his face in green curls that smell of mint and wood and flowers and love. 

Izuku smells like love. Katsuki pulls away and kisses him, then hugs him again. His lips taste like love, too.

“You're crying.” Muffled and tinged with affection is his voice. 

“You—” he sputters. “God, you selfless bastard . This is your birthday.” He gets up, pinches the bridge of his nose, laughs. “I— I should be the one doing this. You one-upped me on your own birthday.”

With a quick glance Izuku looks out the window. “I wanted to give you a good memory of the rain for once,” he mumbles. “Had the rings since last month.” 

“ No , Izuku, I mean I—” He breathes out, shaky, and with a start he runs to their room. 

Izuku makes his distinguishing, adorable little noise of confusion as he watches his lover go. He fumbles with his hands, nervous, anticipation clawing at him, until Katsuki returns a few minutes later with his hands cupped to his chest.

He grins, one that flashes all his canines and twists his lips and almost looks like a grimace. “I was supposed to do this next week on our anniversary , Izu. You literally one-upped me.” 

The hands come undone, revealing a dark, sacramento green velvet box.

And Izuku freezes. “Oh my god .” He keels over and bursts into laughter. “We’re so—” 

“You beat me to it.” Katsuki grins until his cheeks ache. Izuku knows that this is what belonging feels like. “Goddamn you. You’re amazing.” 

He falls to the floor, still overtaken by mirth, and his boyfriend almost fails to catch him.

After lunch, they immediately nestled into each other on the couch.

Izuku’s box opens first eventually; they bantered for a little bit as they finished their food, and came to the conclusion that Katsuki’s rings would be used for the ceremony, because it was ‘ more official’ . 

(“Besides,” Katsuki said. “Mines are much cooler.”

And so, the green box went back into its not-so-secret secret hiding place.)

Inside Izuku’s, tucked between black silk folds, are two gold-tinted rings with gemstones embedded in the middle; one of them a dark, piercing green, the other a bright, all-consuming orange. 

He wipes away the umpteenth tear of the day with a swipe of his finger, and says, voice thick, “The green one's yours; crafted with metal that wouldn't melt from your explosions. I guess I thought it'd be cute to just have our colours on each other like this.” 

And for one of the first times in his life, Katsuki kind of loves cute . He pries the right ring out of its slit and slips it onto his left ring finger, watches the way it glints.

“You know,” Katsuki says eventually, when they’ve basked in their sheer adoration long enough. “I’m gonna one-up you so hard with my vows.”