Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

With a loud yelp- Izuku was shoved to the floor in one quick motion.

His head hit off the back of the chalkboard as he let out a hiss of pain. He opens his glossy eyes -threatening to spill with tears- as he stared up at the ruby eyes glaring down at him.

"Fucking hell, shitty Deku." Katsuki spits out with venom in his voice. He glared down at the green-haired boy sitting on the ground, hand holding the back of his head; he turned his back and started walking out of the classroom. As he was walking, he looked over at the shorter male one last time. Letting out a few last words spill from his mouth...

"Hey, Deku." He pauses "Do us all a favor...

And take a swan dive"

...

Izuku stepped through the front door of his house, forcing a half-fake, half-genuine smile. Fake—because today had been hell. Genuine—because, finally, he was home. Home, where he could warm up leftover curry and pretend everything was okay for a little while.

His mom was working a night shift, so the house was quiet. Just him tonight.

It had only been Izuku and Katsuki left in the classroom earlier. Izuku had stayed after school to catch up on assignments he’d missed while sick the past few days. His teacher had left him alone for a bit, trusting him to work quietly. He was supposed to be there for just a few minutes more.

And, of course, just his luck—Katsuki Bakugou had also stayed late. Not for the same class. Izuku didn’t even know why he was still at school, let alone why he decided to interrupt him.

Katsuki had been walking past Class 1-08—Izuku’s homeroom—when he spotted him. The bang of Katsuki’s palm against the desk snapped Izuku out of his focus. He jumped, startled, not realizing the blonde had even walked in. Katsuki stood there with that usual scowl twisting his face, as if just breathing the same air as Izuku pissed him off.

The rest? Honestly, it was kind of a blur.

This kind of thing happened all the time—taunts, jabs, insults. It was like muscle memory at this point.

But never—not once—had Katsuki told him to kill himself.

They’d known each other for what felt like forever. Since diapers, literally. Their moms—Mitsuki and Inko—had been best friends since high school, and they were ecstatic when they found out they were pregnant around the same time. Mitsuki was due first, but the two boys were still close enough in age that everyone expected them to grow up inseparable. And for a while—they were.

Until middle school.

Izuku didn’t know what changed. Something in Katsuki just… shifted.

The boy who used to laugh with him, play with him, call him “Deku” like a nickname—he turned cruel. He shoved Izuku in hallways. Mocked him in front of other kids. “Deku” stopped sounding like a nickname and started sounding like a curse.

It wasn’t until much later Izuku even learned what the word meant.

Useless. Good-for-nothing.

He didn’t understand. He tried to. God, he tried. For years, he twisted himself in knots trying to figure out what he’d done wrong—what had made Kacchan hate him so much.

He would’ve given anything for an answer.

Their mess of a friendship was well-known, honestly. Katsuki didn’t exactly keep his hatred quiet. Still, there was one moment that stood out—one Izuku couldn’t forget.

It happened early in their first year of high school. Just a normal Tuesday. Izuku was walking home when someone slammed him into a brick wall a few blocks from his house.

Of course, it was him. Katsuki. Towering. Furious.

Same old snarl. Same narrow red eyes, burning down at him like he was something Katsuki wanted to crush under his boot.

They were so close.

“What do you want, Kacchan…” Izuku had asked, looking up with wide green eyes.

Katsuki rolled his eyes. “Tch. What the fuck do you think, Deku?”

Izuku furrowed his brow, voice tight. “I don’t know. I can’t read your mind. Kinda stupid if you think I ca—”

He didn’t get to finish. Katsuki grabbed his collar and yanked him closer. Their noses practically touched.

“Oi. Don’t fucking talk to me like that. Who the fuck do you think you are? You’re just a Deku, goddammit. Know your fucking plac—”

Izuku shoved him. Hard.

Katsuki stumbled back, caught off guard.

“No, Kacchan!” Izuku’s voice cracked as he shouted. “Who do you think you are?! You’ve been bullying me for years! And I’m done! I’m done taking your bullshit just because you’re a self-centered, arrogant piece of shit!”

His face was wet before he realized he was crying.

Katsuki froze. His eyes widened. Izuku had never spoken to him like that before.

He didn’t know how to react.

So… he didn’t.

He just turned and walked away.

Left Izuku standing there, stunned and trembling.

And since then—Katsuki hadn’t said a word to him.

...

It was the beginning of Izukus's senior year at UA, the high school off the coast of a beautiful small beach.

It was a nice September morning as Izuku stood at the edge of the school courtyard, gazing at the building that had been his world for the past four years. He had been counting down to this moment, knowing that it would come, but never truly preparing for it. Senior year. The final stretch. The one year everyone talked about, the year that felt like the grand finale.

Izuku wasn’t sure how he felt about it. There was excitement, sure, but there was also a quiet sadness in him. High school had been a rollercoaster, full of moments of joy, defeat, and everything in between. He had friends that he cared about so greatly. Friends that were there for him no matter what. Memories, and moments that would forever be etched in his mind, but it was all about to end.

He felt a tap on his shoulder, breaking his thoughts. He turned around to see Ochaco Uraraka. His best friend, they met start of freshman year- and if he was being honest with himself, he wouldn't know what to do without her. She looked up at Izuku with a grin plastered on her face. Izuku gave a half smile back- and immidetly she knew something was up. "Morning Midoriya! Are you okay? What's up?"

"Yeah, I'm okay..." he paused "I guess it’s just hitting me. Last year, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. Feels like we just started high school, and now it’s almost over." Ochacos eyes scanned the courtyard. "Do you ever think about what comes next?"

Izuku shook his head. "I try not to. It’s like thinking about the future just makes it feel even more real."

Ochaco nodded, but her smile faded slightly. "Yeah. But, maybe it’s time to start thinking about it. I mean, we can’t put it off forever."

The bell rang, signaling the start of another day. As the students scattered to their respective classes, Izuku felt an unfamiliar sense of urgency in his chest. He had always been the kind of guy who coasted through life, taking things one step at a time... well most of the time. But now, the steps were growing fewer, and the unknown was becoming more real with each passing day.

Walking to his first class of the day, Izuku glanced at the other students, some laughing, some focused, and some just existing like him. He realized that, despite the uncertainty of what would come after graduation, he was going to miss the little things—the rushed mornings, the late-night study sessions with his close friends, the inside jokes, the teachers who pushed him to be better even when he didn’t see it.

Izuku looked out the window, one hand resting on his cheek, feeling the weight of the season settling in. The leaves outside were changing colors, just as he was. A new chapter was coming. And he wasn’t sure what it would hold, but one thing was cert-

"Alright, everybody! If you could please take your seats!" Izukus thought's were cut off as his teacher began to speak. "How's everyone doin' this morning?" The teacher asked Enthusiastically.

.

.

Crickets  

.

.

"O-okay! Good to hear, good stuff." The teacher cleared their throat and continued to move on

"My name is Nemuri, but please call me Midnight or Mrs.M, whatever you prefer. I will be your homeroom teacher for the first semes-...."

Izuku was listening to his new teacher speak. She seemed nice, better than his teachers in the past. 

She had nice long silky blue hair- and sharp red glasses that shaped her face well. Her outfit choice however was... well.... never mind. Izuku isn't the one to judge off on their looks or style.

He was honestly pretty bummed out when he found out that Ochaco- or any of his other friends- didn't share any, literally any classes with each other. Like did the universe hate him that much?...

It really did

He knew it because when he looked slightly to his right he saw... ashy..... blonde..... hair......

Wow.

Okay.

So the universe really did just wanna fuck him with a chainsaw. Cool.

He hadn't realized he was starting until a pair of ruby eyes had met his emeralds. He quickly looked away, with a slight blush creeping onto his neck. He heard a scoff to his right- and he let out a small sigh.

It's not like they hadn't been in the same class before. In fact he can't remember a semester where they haven't shared a class. Weather he was sitting on the other side of the classroom, or right infront of him- the universe always seemed to find a way to put them with eachother.

Izuku knew more about Katsuki than he would like too. When they were younger, Katsuki would always force his bestfriend to throw a baseball around with him. Always making comments like "One day- I'm gonna be a star in the MLB! And you're gonna watch me succeeded and be the best baseball player there ever is!" 

He worked for years- working so hard to accomplish that goal he made for himself all those years ago. Evreytime Izuku saw Katsuki, he was either sitting in his chair during class, or out of the diamond.

Anyone could tell how passionate Bakugou Katsuki was for baseball. It was praticly his entire personally. And even though Katskui hated Izuku, Izuku loved seeing his talent grow.

Maybe he could've been by his side to help him grow, rather than being stuck watching.

Maybe next universe.

As the bell rang- Izuku let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding.

He picked up his bright worn out yellow bag from beside his desk, and started making his way out of the classroom. That was until he got to the doorway and was about to leave, when a certain tall male bumped into his shoulder with a scoff

"Get outta the way shitty Deku."

Huh. So those where the first words the blonde had spoken to him in a while. Izuku just rolled his eyes as he watched the athletes back walk away from him.

Weird

It seems evreytime Izuku looks at Katsuki, it's at his back.

Izuku just rolled his eyes at the interaction and started making his way to the outdoor bench, right under a tree where his friends had been eating lunch since they have known eachother.

His friendgroup consisted of 5 people.

Ochaco, Shoto, Iida, Tsu, Shinso, and sometimes Mina would join them. She played for the girls softball team.

The reason why she was kinda back and forth between friendgroups- was beacuse she was dating a guy on the baseball team, Eijiro Kirishima. And surprise surprise, Kirishima was one of Katsuki's close friends.

Katsuki's friendgroup had almost the same amount as Izukus, he had some close friends from the baseball team. There was Kirishima, Bakugou, Denki, Mina, Tokoyami, and Jirro. However he seemed to be closest with Denki and Kirishima.

Izuku honestly liked all of them. They were all really friendly towards Izuku and his friends, infact he was also close to Kirishima. They had shared an art class in junior year, and their friendship grew over time. He would always invite Izuku to any party which honestly most of the time Izuku wouldn't go, but since he was nearing the end of his high-school chapter he thought that he might start going to more. Ochaco is always pushing him to go, however he always tries to find an excuse not to go. Because he knows that someone will be at the same party.

That one athlete.

God. He really wishes he wouldn't need to advoid going out just so he wouldn't had to see a face. But that's just sometimes the way things go.

"Uhm, Izuku, you're mumbling... again..." Ochaco said to Izuku with a slightly concerned face.

Izuku immidetly snapped out of his throughs and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly "S-sorry" he mumbled out.

Shinso looked up at Izuku, half of his mouth stuffed with food "Nah dudy it's gool, it's kinda fun thrying to defode what you're saiing"

Izuku let out a small laugh "Yeah same for you. Maybe try swallowing your food before you talk." Shinso just rolled his eyes playfully and aggressively stuffed more food into his mouth.

The conversation continued to flow between his friends, Todoroki made a unexpected joke and the whole table burst out into laughing, including izuku.

Mid laugh tho- he felt a pair of eyes on him. Looking to his left out onto an empty grass area,

His eyes met red starting back at him.

...

A couple weeks later, Izuku was walking to school with Ochaco. With September nearing it's end, it was still pretty nice out. Nice enough for shorts and a T-shirt, but Izuku knew that was gonna change very soon. With him living so close to the beach it gets colder than usual during the winter beacuse of all the extra wind blowing around.

Ochaco and Izuku arrived at the school, they said their goodbyes and headed off to class. Izuku entered his homeroom class, setting down his bag right next to the blonde.

Couple minutes later Midnight walked into the classroom, setting down a lot of papers on her desk. She pushed up her glasses and clapped her hands together, getting the classes attention.

"Alrighty guys! Take your seats, were doing somthing diffrent today."

Huh? Izuku thought to himself. Thats odd.

"Okay," Midnight spoke " so I've had you guys for a couple of weeks now, and today we're gonna start a new project," some of the students groaned, but she clearly didnt care. "This is a simple language project. You are going to be paired up with someone random, and I dont care how you get this information, whether it's just hanging out or talking to this person, you're going to need to write a poem about your partner."

What.

izukus heart dropped. He was never good at language, wich is odd for him. He talks and writes a lot.

He was kinda exited in a way. He's been hanging out with the same group of people since the start of high-school. Not to say they were getting boring or anything, but it will be nice to talk to some new people. Okay. Maybe this won't be half bad.

"So," Midnight grabbed a box and starting walking around the class, "there's cards in this box. You are to grab one card, and when I say, you can walk around the class and try to find someone who has a matching card with you."

She got to izuku, and he picked out a 9 of hearts

She continued to speak "Whoever you have a matching card with, that will be your partner." She gave out the card to the last person. She put the box back on her desk and said for everyone to go find their partner. 

Izuku stood up and started asking people what card they had.

A minute or so passed by and he still hadn't found his partner. Everyone else was either introducing themselves, or if they were friends already they were breathing a sigh of relief. 

At this point he had basically asked evreyone what their card was. The only person he hadn't asked was-

Was....

He looked down at Katsuki's card, who had stuck it out infront of Izukus face, and Izuku felt his face go pale.

9 of hearts.

He looked up at Katsuki, who looked like he was ready to kill, and let out a very small, very scared smile.

"H-Hey! ...K-Kacchan..."

"Fuck. My. Life."

Chapter Text

Katsuki's head snapped toward Midnight, eyes narrowing. Right now, he and Izuku were the only two students still standing. Everyone else had already taken their seats beside their new partners.

The faint scowl that had lingered on his face twisted—contorting into something darker, fiercer. Rage. Pure, venomous rage.

Izuku opened his mouth, words catching in his throat—but Katsuki beat him to it.

"No."

Heads turned. Every pair of eyes in the room locked on him.

"No, no! Fuck this!"

"Bakugou!" Midnight’s voice was sharp, slicing through the tension. "Watch your language."

But Katsuki wasn’t listening—he never did when anger had taken the wheel.

"I'm not spending the next few months with this pathetic nerd just to dig through his sad little life! I'd rather partner with earlobes than this shitty Deku!"

Ouch. That one pierced more than it should have. Izuku flinched, eyes flicking toward Jiro. She didn’t say a word, just rolled her eyes like she’d heard this too many times to care.

"Bakugou," Midnight said again, voice strained, "your partner is final. I'm not making exceptions just because you're stomping your feet. If I change yours, I have to change everyone’s." Her eyes softened slightly as she glanced at Izuku. "Be more like Midoriya. He's not whining."

Katsuki turned his glare to Izuku, disgust seeping into every inch of his expression. His voice dropped low, dangerously low.

"The last thing I want is to be like Deku."

Izuku blinked, stunned. That... that hurt. Did he hate him that much...?

He opened his mouth slowly, voice unsure. "K-Kacchan... I don’t want this either. But you can’t talk to Midnight like—"

"I don’t give a damn what you think!"

Katsuki growled, clutching at his spiked mullet in frustration, yanking lightly at the strands. That old habit—Izuku recognized it. Katsuki only did that when he was spiraling, when the anger inside him turned inward and got ugly. Izuku’s heart tugged at the sight.

He wanted to help. He always had. But how? Should he say something? Back off? Agree to fail this project? No—he couldn't do that either.

"Fuck this. I’m leaving."

The words ripped him out of his thoughts. Izuku reacted on instinct, reaching out, grabbing Katsuki’s wrist. Not tight. Just enough to stop him.

Katsuki turned, disbelief written across his face.

Izuku met his eyes, desperation flickering through his expression. "Kacchan... please."

For a moment—just a heartbeat—they stood frozen. Katsuki stared at him like he didn’t recognize him. Then, slowly, he ripped his arm away with a loud, sharp 'tsk.'

"Goddammit, Deku. You never know when to quit."

Izuku dropped his gaze, fiddling nervously with the hem of his shirt. Katsuki let out a deep, frustrated sigh.

"Fuck..." he muttered, rubbing at his temple. "I can’t fail this fucking class."

He finally slumped into the chair beside Izuku. "Fine. I’ll do the stupid fucking project."

Izuku felt a tiny warmth bloom in his chest—just enough to keep him going.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Katsuki didn’t meet his eyes.

"I’m not doing this for you," he muttered. "I just need the damn credit. And I’m not about to get benched because of some broccoli-headed dipshit."

Midnight sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Thank you, Bakugou. But that behavior earns you detention for the rest of the week."

Katsuki didn’t even react.

Izuku sank into his seat, mind spinning as Midnight returned to the lesson. The tension didn’t leave the room—it just lingered, heavy and electric.

...

"Ochacoooo!!! I don't know what to do," Izuku whined, dragging out her name like a dying cat.

Two days after learning he was partnered with Katsuki, he was now walking home beside Ochaco, dumping his panic on her like emotional garbage.

"Well, maybe you could—"

"I-I just—ugh! I don’t know! I don’t know what to do!" He clutched his bag straps like a lifeline. "I mean, yeah, we were friends until, like… I dunno, middle school? But now I realize—I know nothing about him! And it’s not like I can just waltz up to him and go, 'Hey Kacchan! I know you hate my guts for no reason at all, but wanna hang out so we can bond for a stupid assignment?!' And I can’t just ask for his number! Hell, I don’t even know how to talk to him! Wait—maybe if I—"

A shadow suddenly fell over them, blocking the late afternoon sun. Ochaco froze, eyes wide as she stared past Izuku.

Frick.

Izuku turned on his heel—and there he was.

Katsuki Bakugou. Six feet of fury, standing there like he’d been summoned by sheer mortification, glaring down with that signature scowl.

"Holy shit, Deku. You talk so much," he scoffed. "That’s something I can write in the stupid poem."

Izuku flushed, rubbing the back of his neck in sheer embarrassment. He opened his mouth to say something, but Katsuki cut him off.

"My apartment’s a ten-minute walk from here."

Uhm… was that… an invite???

No. No way. Was it?

Izuku’s brain spun like a fidget spinner on meth. That’s a weird thing to say out of nowhere. Right?

"Oh my god, Deku, you think so damn much," Katsuki groaned. "I can’t fail this class, and I don’t know jack shit about you."

...Anymore. He didn’t say it, but it hung there, unspoken, heavy.

"So just come over for a few minutes. It’s not like I want you to, but you weren’t gonna ask me, so whatever."

Izuku just blinked, stunned. What??

Katsuki huffed and turned to walk away.

No. No. No.

Not again.

Not like middle school.

No.

"No!" Izuku shouted, louder than he meant to. "I mean—yes! I’ll go! I just—uh—got surprised! I’m sorry, yeah, I’m coming!"

He jogged to catch up, shooting a glance behind him—Ochaco was long gone.

Katsuki rolled his eyes. "Like I said, dipshit. I’m not doing this ‘cause I want to. I just can’t write a damn poem about a broccoli-headed fuck I know nothing about." He smirked.

Izuku’s eyes widened. "Kacchan! What the heck?! Your hair’s not any better—it looks like someone tried to mop the floor and gave up halfway!"

He regretted it immediately. That was a lie. Katsuki’s mullet looked… annoyingly hot.

"Tch. Sure, nerd."

The rest of the walk was filled with awkward silence—except for Izuku nervously fiddling with his straps and Katsuki pretending he didn’t notice.

When they had gotten into his apartment, Izuku finally began to speak

"Kacchan has his own apartment?" Izuku finally asked, eyebrows raised.

"Bought it in the summer," Katsuki muttered. "I’m 19, it’s not a big deal."

"Why?"

"Enough questions." Sharp. Immediate.

They reached the 11th floor. Katsuki unlocked the door and stepped aside.

Holy crap.

The place was stunning.

Sunlight spilled through the balcony window, casting the living room in gold. Sleek kitchen, marble island, tidy living room, and down the hall—probably his bedroom and bathroom. Simple. Clean. Grown-up.

"Oi. You gonna stand there gawking or move your ass?"

"O-oh! Sorry, Kacchan!"

Katsuki tossed his bag and kicked off his shoes, heading toward his room. Izuku followed like a confused duckling, unsure of the protocol.

Katsuki turned to speak but got cut off by Izuku practically shouting:

"Whoa! You play the drums?!"

Katsuki groaned. "Yeah. So?"

Izuku’s eyes sparkled. "That’s so cool!" He beelined to the set, sat down, and picked up the sticks.

Tang. Bang. Brang.

Yikes.

Katsuki’s nose scrunched. It sounded like someone assaulting a metal trash can.

Bang. Boom.

Okay. That’s enough.

Izuku had noticed Katskui walking over to him, and he realized he kinda just started playing and hitting things without even asking Katskui. Before Izuku could apologize, Katsuki was behind him—arms wrapping around him, hands guiding his.

Fuck.

Izuku’s thoughts imploded. Why were Katsuki’s hands soft? He expected calluses, sandpaper roughness—but no. Smooth. Warm. Way too close.

He couldn’t even process what was happening. Katsuki was speaking—something about rhythm, maybe? All Izuku could hear was the pounding of his own heartbeat.

After about thirty seconds, Katsuki stepped back.

Silence.

"T-thank you, Kacchan," Izuku whispered.

Katsuki didn’t answer and walked out of the room. Leaving Izuku flushed and alone.

Time passed. The sun had fully set.

Katsuki was in the kitchen now, apron slung on reading: Kiss my ass. Izuku sat awkwardly on the couch, pretending the ceiling was interesting.

"Oi. Food."

Izuku nearly tripped running to the island. Katsuki slid him a bowl.

Katsudon.

Wait.

Wait.

Did… did Katsuki do this on purpose?

How did he know it was Izuku’s favorite?

"What? You don’t like Katsudon now?" Katskui grumbled as he noticed izuku just starring at his food.

"N-no! I love it! I just—Mitsuki always made the best ones."

Katsuki raised a brow. "My ma does everything best." He paused. "Speaking of Ma’s... how’s Auntie doing?"

Izuku smiled, a little soft. "She’s okay. I don’t see her much though. She works a lot. And… she’s been trying to find me a new dad. Doesn’t work out. They leave when they find out she’s got a kid." He laughed, bitter and light at once.

Katsuki stared for a moment, then said through a mouthful of rice, "That doesn’t sound like her."

"Yeah... she just feels guilty about my dad. Even though it’s been years."

The shimmer in Izuku’s eyes dimmed a little. Katsuki noticed. He didn’t like it.

---

Dinner ended. Katsuki washed the dishes while Izuku lingered, unsure. As Katsuki headed toward the bathroom, he called back:

"I'm showering. Be gone when I’m out."

Izuku panicked.

"W-wait! Do you wanna—uh—watch a movie?"

Katsuki paused mid-step, sighed, looked at the clock.

"Deku, it’s—"

"Sorry! That was dumb! You already invited me, I shouldn’t push it—sorryyou’rerightI’lljustgoI—"

Suddenly, Katsuki was in front of him, grabbing his wrist.

"For fuck’s sake, Deku. Fine. I’ll shower later. Just shut up already."

Izuku nodded like a bobblehead and bolted to the couch. They sat on opposite ends, like magnets facing the wrong way.

And yet... neither moved an inch closer.

Not yet.

They sat in silence for a bit, the only sound in the room being the soft whir of the fan in the corner and the distant city noise outside the window. The movie played on the screen, something mindless Izuku picked, though he couldn’t recall the title now if he tried. His thoughts were racing too fast.

Katsuki leaned against the far armrest, legs stretched out in front of him, arms crossed. He looked like he couldn’t care less about the movie, but he hadn’t left either.

Izuku tried not to look, but he could feel the warmth from Katsuki’s body even from where he sat. It was oddly comforting.

Halfway through the movie, a quiet laugh escaped Izuku's lips—some dumb line from the screen. He covered his mouth instantly, as if laughing too loud would somehow ruin the fragile moment.

Katsuki side-eyed him, one brow raised. “You laugh like a fuckin’ dork.”

Izuku flushed, glaring playfully. “It was funny!”

Katsuki didn’t respond, but Izuku could swear the corner of his mouth twitched up. Maybe. He wasn’t sure.

The silence settled again, thicker this time. The movie kept going, but neither of them really paid attention. Izuku found himself sneaking glances at Katsuki every now and then. Not in a romantic way—okay, maybe a little—but more in a confused, conflicted kind of way. This wasn’t how it used to be.

He remembered when they were kids, how Katsuki used to walk slightly ahead of him on their way to school, pretending he wasn’t waiting for Izuku to catch up. How they’d sit on the swings together after class, talking about baseball and who they wanted to become.

Then… everything changed. And now they were here. Teenagers on the edge of adulthood, pretending like their past didn’t hang between them like an invisible wall.

Izuku exhaled slowly and turned his head. “Kacchan.”

Katsuki didn’t look at him. “What.”

“…Do you really hate me?”

The question slipped out before Izuku could stop it. His fingers gripped the edge of the couch cushion tightly, like bracing for impact.

Katsuki’s eyes stayed on the screen for a long time. Then, quietly—barely audible over the movie—he said, “I don’t fuckin’ know. And I dont wanna fucking talk about it.”

Izuku blinked, heart skipping a beat.

They went quiet again. The credits rolled on the screen. Neither of them moved.

Finally, Katsuki sighed and stood up. “It’s late.”

Izuku nodded and stood as well, grabbing his bag. He paused at the door, hand on the knob.

“Thanks for dinner. And the movie. And… everything,” he said softly.

Katsuki didn’t respond immediately. Then, just as Izuku opened the door, he called out, “Hey, Deku.”

Izuku turned.

Katsuki’s eyes met his. “You’re still annoying as hell.”

Izuku smiled faintly. “Goodnight, Kacchan.”

He closed the door behind him, heart pounding louder than his footsteps in the hallway.

The hallway was quiet when Izuku left.

Too quiet.

He stood outside Katsuki’s apartment door for a moment longer than he meant to, blinking at the fluorescent lights overhead. The silence buzzed. The words from earlier kept ringing in his head like leftover static.

"You’re still annoying as hell."

Not exactly a compliment. But it wasn’t a goodbye, either.

...

A week later, Izuku showed up to class early. He didn’t mean to be early, it just sort of happened. Again.

Midnight greeted him with her usual half-smile. “Izuku. Here to get a head start on your partner poem?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah. Something like that.”

His hands itched to write, but everything he thought of sounded dumb, too raw, or way too obvious. He didn’t want the whole class knowing that Katsuki Bakugou had wormed his way back into his chest like some angry, beautiful, unresolved metaphor.

A few minutes later, Katsuki walked in.

Their eyes met.

Katsuki didn’t say anything.

Neither did Izuku.

Katskui slid into the desk beside Izuku like he always had these past few weeks.

Midnight clapped her hands once. “Alright, partners. Today’s your check-in. You’ll read the first draft of your metaphor poem aloud to each other and give feedback. No exceptions.”

Izuku almost died.

3 days after their little... dinner... midnight had warned the class, announcing that they'll need to have a small practice type poem done in a couple days. It had nothing to do with the final project, it was just helpful so they could get a small look into what their  actual poems will look like.

Katsuki turned toward Izuku slowly. “I hate this class.”

Izuku nodded. “Same.”

They didn’t move.

Finally, Katsuki dug through his backpack and pulled out a crumpled notebook. Izuku was shocked that he even did it. Katskui stared at the notebook for a long time. Then handed it to Izuku.

Izuku hesitated, then took it.

There were only three lines written on the page.

You’re like fog.

Always fucking there, even when I pretend you’re not.

And I hate that I stopped trying to see through it.

Izuku blinked, staring. His chest tightened like the air had dropped out of the room. He had no idea Kacchan could write.

Katsuki didn’t look at him.

Izuku’s hand shook slightly as he gave the notebook back. “That’s… acctualy really good.”

Katsuki scoffed. “I didn’t ask for compliments.”

“I know. But I mean it.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed like armor. “Your turn, nerd.”

Izuku opened his own notebook. He hesitated—then slid katskui his notebook.

You’re a fire alarm in the middle of the night—

Loud, angry, impossible to ignore.

And yet… somehow, I never run.

Katsuki stared at the lines.

For once, he didn’t have a comeback.

Izuku felt his cheeks heat up. “It’s stupid. I’m still working on it. It doesn’t mean—”

“It’s not stupid,” Katsuki cut in.

Izuku blinked.

Midnight passed behind them, scribbling notes on a clipboard, oblivious to the fragile emotional landmine happening in Row 3.

Katsuki’s voice was lower when he spoke again. “You always did that. Stuck around.”

“…Yeah. Yet you always left..."

Why

A silence stretched between them again. But this one felt different.

Less heavy.

After class, they lingered at their desks while the room cleared out.

“I’m coming over again after school,” Izuku said quietly once the room had almost cleared out.

Katsuki didn’t look at him, just shoved his books into his bag. “I didn’t invite you.”

“I know. But I figured we could finish our poems together. Maybe talk more.”

A long pause.

Then, softly—so soft it almost didn’t sound like Katsuki at all:

“…You’re pushy, Deku.”

“I know.”

Katsuki finally looked at him. Something in his expression—maybe frustration, maybe fear, maybe something else Izuku couldn’t name—flashed and disappeared.

“…Fine. But don’t touch my damn remote this time.”

Izuku smiled, small and real. “Deal.”

Chapter Text

So. It was kinda just like this for a while.

It started as a Monday thing. Then Izuku showed up on Wednesday too, arms full of snacks and awkward hope.

Now it was just “whenever Kacchan didn’t tell him to screw off.”

Typicaly Twice a week

This Wednesday, they were sitting at a busted park bench near the corner store, splitting a slushie like they hadn’t been sworn enemies since middle school. Katsuki refused to get his own and said he didn’t even want any, but here he was, slurping the cherry part like a man dying of thirst.

Izuku nudged him with his knee.

“You’re drinking all the good part.” Izuku said with a slight smile looking over at Kacchans disgustingly hot side profile in the dim light.

“Should’ve drank faster, nerd.” 

“You said you didn’t want any!”

“Yeah, well nerd, I changed my mind.”

Izuku groaned and flopped backward over the bench like a dead man. “This is so dumb. We haven’t even written anything for the project.”

“Whos 'we' Deku. You brought it up last time and I said I didn’t care.”

Izuku scoffed "youre telling me youve started on yours?"

Katskui let out a cackle "like shit i have. We still have like 5 months to finish it"

Izuku laughed “youre gonna procrastinate until the last minute. And also! You said, and I quote, ‘If I have to write one goddamn poem about your face, I’m lighting myself on fire.’”

Katsuki smirked. “Still true.”

They sat there in silence, the sun almost fully dipped below the horizon.

“…You remember when we tried to microwave an egg last week?” Izuku asked, looking up at the sky like it would answer for him.

“Yeah. I told you it was gonna explode.”

“You told me after we put it in.”

“That’s on you.”

“I still have egg bits in my microwave, Kacchan. I litteraly had to speed clean it before my mom came home.” Izuku rolled his eyes dramatically 

“You’re welcome.”

Thursday was “library day,” except it never involved actual studying. They just sat in the back corner, supposedly to do research, but mostly ended up whisper-arguing and people-watching.

Katskui was scrolling through his phone while Izuku balanced a pencil on his upper lip, pretending he wasn’t glancing over.

Izukus pencil fell and he grumbled, kicking it away dramatically  “I still don’t get why you hate me,” Izuku muttered, more to himself than anything.

 “Don’t start.”

“I’m serious. We used to be friends, and then you—”

“Stop acting like we’re friends now.”

“I’m not!" Izuku rested his arms on the table and plopped his head down. "I’m just saying, we hang out twice a week, you eat my snacks, you text me memes now—which is extremely weird, by the way—and you still act like you wanna dropkick me every time I look at you.”

Katsuki looked away, jaw tight. His foot bounced under the table.

Izuku sighed and leaned forward. “Is it the project? Like, does it remind you of something? Or is it just me, as just, you know. A person.”

Katsuki snapped his eyes back to him.

“You talk too much.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

"Whatever kacchan..."

Katskui scoffed "Oi. Okay- I don't know whats up wi-" katsuki was about to start arguing, when he got cut off by his ringer going off. Before picking it up he gave Izuku a look that said 'we'll talk about this later.'

"HEYYY KATSSS!!!" A woman squealed on the other side of the phone.

Katskui quickly pulled his phone away from his ear and made a disgusted look at the phone.

"Jesus Christ pinky. Calm the fuck down." Katskui groaned.

"Sorry sorry!!! Where are you right now! Waccha doin'?!" Mina asked.

Katskui grabed the bridge of his nose and scrunched "in the fuckin' library- Mind you! You're sopost to be quiet in, not squealing at the top of your lungs!" Katskui huffed 

"Jeez, already apologized kats....... anyways.... why you in the library ya weirdo, you're never in there." She questioned.

Katskui glanced down to look at Izuku, who was already looking back. "I'm just... working on the poem project or whatever.."

"Oh! So you're with 'Zuku!!!??? Hey babez!!!" She exclaimed 

A faint smile appears on Izuku lips. "Hey Mina"

"Okay pinky, hurry this up. Why'd you call."

"Right, right, right! Sorry! So basically the baseball and softball teams are having this party an-"

She was cut off. "Pinky. You kno-"

"Hush! Let me finish!"

Katskui grumbled.

"So! As I was saying. The baseball and softball teams are having this party at the beach on Sunday! Kiri said it would be 'manly if you came'. He really wanted me to tell you that for some reason..." she trailed off.

"No."

"Katsssssssss" She wined "Why nawttttt" 

"Beacuse I don't like you guys." He said with a slight smirk

"Shut up. You know you love us. 'Zuku!! You're more then welcome to come without this dochebag! Jee... I'm sorry you got him as your partner...." she said under her breath, but just enough that Katskui could hear. "I already invited 'chaco," she giggled slightly.

"O-oh u-u-uhm I'll need to think about it" he let out an akward laugh.

"Alrighty just let me know! Byeeee!" She said as he hung up the phone.

For a while it was silent. A weird silent. There was visible tension in the air, for who knows what.

After a little while Katskui began to speak.

"So. You're into pink cheeks huh." He said less of a question

Izuku had never turned so red. So. Quickly. 

He scrambled to explain quickly

"W-wha- n-no!! No No No. You've got it wrong haha! Well- like not fully- but it's not like that at all! I swear! I can lik-" 

"Jesus deku. The fuck is wrong with you?"

"Ok,ok sorry.. so we are not dating." He said firmly "and i love her so much platonically. she dosnt like me. And I don't like her." He sighed " we dated for the whole of sophomore year. But when we got together... there were just so many things that didn't work out. B-but she is my bestfriend. We kinda... sorta.. just tried to forget about sophomore year" he laugh awkwardly.

"Huh." Was all Katskui responded with. 

Katsuki didn’t say anything else after that. Just leaned back in his chair, arms crossed tight like he was holding something back. Maybe irritation. Maybe boredom. Maybe both.

Izuku stared at his notebook and tried to pretend he didn’t feel Katsuki’s stare burning into the side of his face. His ears were still red. His stomach had that tight, twisted-up feeling it always got around Katsuki.

God, this project was going to kill him.

“So are we actually going to write something?” Izuku tried to redirect, flipping to a fresh page. “Or are we just gonna keep pretending we’re working until one of us snaps?”

Katsuki snorted, standing abruptly. “I’m done here.”

“What? You’re leaving?”

“Yeah.” Katsuki slung his bag over his shoulder without looking back. “I can’t think with your stupid voice whining in my ear.”

Izuku blinked, mouth opening to argue—but the door to the library already swung shut behind him.

He sat there for a long second, the scratch of other students’ pencils and the distant hum of the AC the only things keeping the silence from swallowing him whole. Katskui was so damn confusing. One day there sharing a fucking slushie, and the next katskui is storming out of the building for who knows what reason.

Izuku sighed and muttered to himself, “Cool. Great. Love this partnership.”

...

Sunday came faster than expected.

Izuku had been planning to say no. Really. He had. He didn’t like big parties, didn’t like the beach, didn’t want to deal with drunk jocks and weird volleyball games and too-loud speakers. But something about the way Katsuki stormed off—again—made him snap a little.

Maybe it was petty. Maybe it was stupid. But screw it.

He was going.

Besides, Ochaco had texted five times to make sure he was coming, and Mina had sent a glittery, sticker-covered invite graphic like it was a toddler’s birthday party.

So now he stood Infront of his mirror staring at himself just with his boxers on.

Sure he was maybe a bit shorter then most people he knew, but by no means was he weak. 

Now he wasn't as handsome, strong, muscular, lean, handsome, beautiful, unique, handsome, as Kacchan was-

Izuku didn't have a bodybuilder type body like kacchan did, but more of a bulk one. He had defined thighs -and if he says so himself- very nice legs and ass.

Mina has told him more then enough times  'it quote on quote' 'jiggles when he walks.'

He had light frekles spread all over his body, mostly on his face and shoulders. 

Izuku sighed, dragging a hand through his messy curls. His reflection blinked back at him, nervous and overthinking. Again.

Why was he spiraling over a beach party?

Well—he knew why. He was overthinking because kacchan might be there.

And Kacchan hated him.

And, for some reason, that mattered way more than it should.

“Okay, Izuku,” he told his reflection, puffing out his cheeks before exhaling. “You’re not going there to impress him. You’re going for your friends. For fun. For, y’know, emotional growth or something.”

He paused.

“…And maybe a little bit to spite Katsuki.”

With that decided, he grabbed the swim trunks he agonized over for an hour—green, and maybe, just maybe a size to small....—and tugged them on. He threw a white shirt over his head and looked in the mirror again.

Okay. He didn’t look half bad.

He threw a towel and sunscreen in his bag, ignored the sixth text from Ochaco that said “WE’RE LEAVING IN TEN. CHOP CHOP!” and headed out.

The beach was already packed when he got there.

Music played from a giant speaker balanced on a cooler, towels were scattered like confetti across the sand, and Mina was halfway up Kirishimas shoulders, shouting something about a chicken fight in the water.

It was chaos.

Izuku spotted Ochaco first, lounging under a striped umbrella with his group of friends. She waved the second she saw him.

“There you are! I was about to send a search party!”

“Yeah, sorry,” Izuku said, brushing his curls back from his eyes. “Took me a while to convince myself this wasn’t a huge mistake.”

“Still could be,” Ochaco teased, giving him a once-over. “But you look cute. Legs out and everything.”

Izuku flushed immediately. “O-ochaco!”

“What? It’s a compliment!” She grinned, nudging his side. “Mina’s gonna lose it when she sees you.”

As if on cue—

“THERE’S MY THIGH KING!” Mina screeched as she ran toward them, arms wide.

Izuku made a noise halfway between a scream and a laugh as she hugged him like a human bowling ball. “Mina!”

“I told you to wear the shorts that do the thing! You never listen to me!"

“I am wearing them!” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“Then you get bonus points, baby!” she beamed, flicking his forehead.

"they don't look bad, Midoriya. Just beacuse Katskui her-" shoto was cut off

Izuku groaned, rubbing his temples. “Why did I come here again?”

“To make bad decisions,” Mina said without hesitation.

It wasn’t until they were setting up near the bonfire pit that he felt it—that weight in the air, that shift in the energy around him.

He didn’t even have to look.

But he did.

And there he was.

Kacchan Bakugou.

Walking down from the upper lot in a sleeveless black hoodie, a towel slung over one shoulder, and his wet, slicked back mullet.

Izuku’s stomach dropped.

Because Katsuki looked good. Effortlessly good. Unfairly good. Muscles taut, golden skin catching the last rays of sunlight, eyes scanning the crowd like he was hunting prey.

And then their eyes met.

For a fraction of a second, neither of them looked away.

Then Katsuki scoffed—actually scoffed—and kept walking.

Izuku blinked.

“What the hell is his problem?” Ochaco muttered beside him.

“Who knows,” Izuku said, trying to act unbothered, even as his heart kicked hard in his chest. “It’s not like he’s ever liked me.”

“Yeah, but it’s getting weird,” Ochaco replied, watching Katsuki head over to Kirishima by the grill. “He’s always looking at you like he wants to set you on fire. It’s giving middle school crush.”

Izuku choked on his drink. “It’s giving restraining order.”

But now he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The way Katsuki had looked at him. Like he was annoyed—but also… focused. Like he couldn’t look away.

Ochaco shook her head "welp. Well you sit here and sulk, imma go swimming! The suns setting already so I wanna get in before it's dark."

"I'll join you" Shinso added 

Same with Tsu.

Same with Shoto.

Iida aswell.

"I-imma stay  here for a little.." izuku said.

Ochaco was about to argue, but then she saw somthing about 50 feet away heading his direction.

"Whatever Izu!" She said before running off.

Izuku plopped back down on the towel, sipping at his drink. He dosnt normaly drink, but it was just one beer so he didnt worry.

The orange glow of the setting sun hit the waves just right, painting everything in gold and rose and that weird kind of quiet that only came before something dumb happened.

He stared out at the water. Watched his friends splash and yell and laugh. Tried to focus on anything except the approaching footsteps crunching over sand.

But he didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Heavy, pissed-off footsteps. Familiar in a way that made his throat tighten.

Kacchan.

Sure enough, a shadow fell over him.

Izuku didn't move. Just kept looking out at the horizon like he hadn’t noticed. But his fingers tightened around the edge of his towel.

“You know,” Katsuki said lowly, his voice cutting through the sound of the waves, “you look real fuckin’ stupid sitting here all alone like some kind of sad little lifeguard.”

Izuku blinked slowly, still looking out to the water. “You walked all the way over here just to say that?”

“Damn right I did.”

“Well.” Izuku sighed, turning his head just enough to meet Katsuki’s glare. “Mission accomplished. You got your insult in. Gold star. You can go back to growling at hot dogs or whatever now.”

But Katsuki didn’t move. He crossed his arms instead, still standing over him like some angry statue.

“You weren’t sopost to come.”

Izuku’s chest tightened. “Yeah. I know."

“Then why did you?”

Izuku finally stood up. Slowly. Sand sticking to his legs. Chin tilted up.

“Because I wanted to.”

“You hate this kinda shit.”

“Well maybe I’m tired of letting you decide what I do.”

Katsuki blinked. Something flickered behind his eyes—something unreadable.

Izuku didn’t stop.

“You walk out of the library mid-sentence. You call me names every time I breathe wrong. You act like I’m some disease you caught in kindergarten—”

“You are a disease—”

“And yet,” Izuku cut in, stepping forward, “you’re always showing up where I am. Always looking at me like I set your house on fire. Always walking over just to make sure I know you’re mad at me. So what the hell is it, Katsuki? What did I do that made you hate me so much?”

Katsuki's jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists. For a second Izuku thought he was gonna explode—like, literally combust on the spot.

But instead, Katsuki looked at him. Really looked at him.

And said, voice low, “You fucking exist.”

Izuku’s breath caught. Eyes wided.

But before he could respond, Katsuki added—barely audible now—

“And for some reason, I can’t stop noticing it.”

Izuku’s heart stopped.

“What?”

Katsuki took a step back. Like he hadn’t meant to say that. Like it slipped out and now the air was filled with it and he couldn’t take it back.

“Forget it,” he muttered, turning.

But Izuku grabbed his wrist. Instinct. No thought, just movement.

Katsuki froze.

The sun had almost disappeared now. The sky burned pink and purple behind them, the waves softer, the bonfire crackling from a distance.

Izuku swallowed. “Say it again.”

Katsuki didn’t turn. “You fucking heard me.”

“No. I wanna hear it. Like a normal person.”

Katsuki was quiet for a long second.

Then, finally—voice rough, low, like it hurt coming out—he said:

“I notice you. All the fucking time. And it pisses me off.”

Izuku’s grip loosened. “Why?”

“Because I’m not supposed to.”

The words settled between them like ash.

And in the distance, someone screamed about losing the volleyball, but it felt like they were on another planet.

Izuku didn’t know what to say. Not really. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

Then quietly, almost like he was asking himself—

“Do you want me to go?”

Katsuki turned, finally. Eyes sharp and conflicted and burning in the low light.

And after a beat, he shook his head faintly.

Then, just barely above a whisper—

“stay.”

Izuku stared at him. Chest tight. Face hot. Brain empty.

Katsuki was already regretting it. That much was clear. He was scowling like he wanted to punch a hole in the sand. Like saying anything genuine physically pained him.

But Izuku didn’t leave.

He sat back down on the towel, heart hammering, pretending everything was normal.

And after a minute…

Katsuki sat beside him. Still scowling. Still silent. But close. Closer than before.

And Izuku said nothing.

Because somehow, this was louder than anything Katsuki had said all night.

The wind picked up just slightly, carrying salt and smoke and the muffled sounds of splashing. Somewhere behind them, someone was strumming a guitar badly. A dog barked twice. Everything felt far away, though. Like the world had shrunk down to a single towel, a small stretch of sand, and the tense, invisible wire between two boys who hadn’t known how to talk to each other for years.

Izuku’s fingers twitched in the sand.

Katsuki’s shoulder was so close his body heat brushed Izuku’s skin in waves. He didn’t look at him. Not once.

But Izuku didn’t need him to.

“…Why did you do it?” he asked again, softer this time. “In middle school.”

Katsuki’s jaw flexed.

“I mean, I just—” Izuku paused, reaching for the words. “I’ve asked you before, but I guess I always thought maybe it was because you felt like I was trying to copy you. Or that I wasn’t strong enough. Or… or maybe I just annoyed you.”

“You did annoy me.”

“Okay, sure,” Izuku huffed a tiny laugh. “But that doesn’t explain why you—why it got that bad. Kacchan i dont think-...” He paused. Voice dropping quieter than a whisper "I don't think you know how much pain you put me threw..." 

Just saying it outloud made memories rush threw izukus head. 

4 years ago

The boys’ restroom smelled like bleach and mildew. The flickering light above the mirror buzzed steadily, casting everything in a dull yellow glow. It was quiet—too quiet for a school day.

Izuku had waited for the hallways to clear. He always did. He took the long route, counted each step, and avoided eye contact with anyone who might follow.

But some people didn’t need to follow.

They were already there.

He barely made it past the sinks when the door swung open behind him with a thud.

“Deku,” came the familiar voice, sharp and cold.

Izuku froze, already knowing who it was.

His two 'friends' stepped in first, like shadows. And behind them, Katsuki. Slouched, silent, leaning against the door with his arms crossed like he didn’t plan to do anything but watch.

Izuku turned slowly. “I—I was just leaving.”

One of his friends scoffed. “You’re always ‘just leaving.’ Starting to think you like running away.”

“I don’t want trouble.”

“You are trouble,” the other one  said, circling him like a vulture. “Always were.”

“Just let me go, please. I don’t want anythi—”

Then they both grabbed him.

It happened fast, like it always did.

Izuku’s arms flailed as they shoved him backward, dragging him into the third stall—the one with the cracked seat and the rusted pipes. Izuku tried fighting back as hard as he could.

“No—stop—please!” His voice cracked. “Please don’t—i-ill do a-a-anything please!!! Plea-

His cries echoed off the tile, but no one came.

They shoved his head into the toilet.

The water was cold and stale. Izuku kicked, screamed under the surface, the sound bubbling up and dying as quickly as it came. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. He clawed at the bowl, panic spreading through every nerve in his body.

Then, just as suddenly, they yanked him back out, letting him choke and gasp and splutter, water running down his face, into his shirt, pooling on the floor.

Before he could catch a full breath, they threw him down.

He hit the tile with a sickening thud, his head bouncing once, pain flashing behind his eyes. His elbow cracked hard against the floor. His knees folded awkwardly. The stall door swung closed behind them.

And then the real beating began.

Fists. Feet. Laughter.

Izuku didn’t fight back.

He couldn’t.

He tried curling into himself, arms up, shielding his face as best he could, but it didn’t help. A kick landed in his stomach. A fist cracked against his jaw. Blood smeared across the tile.

His vision blurred.

He heard one of them say somthing about how pathetic he looked. How he was always so weak.

And Katsuki—

He didn’t join in.

He just stood there, outside the stall, arms still crossed, stairing.

Izuku made eye contact, through one swollen eye, just barely. Standing there.

Still.

Saying nothing.

Doing nothing.

Not stopping it.

Not starting it.

Just letting it happen.

When it was over, the others left. Laughing. Joking. Slapping each other on the back like they’d just finished a game.

Katsuki lingered a second longer.

He stared at Izuku’s trembling form on the floor—blood on his chin, face, body, hands shaking, shirt soaked, bruises blooming like ink under pale skin.

Izuku didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

He just layed there, trembling, like a broken thing someone had tossed away. Katsuki opened his mouth.

But nothing came out.

So he turned.

And walked out.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And Izuku—
still bleeding, still wet, still shaking—
waited until he was sure no one would come back…
before he let himself cry.

Present

Katsuki said nothing. His eyes stayed locked on the horizon, unreadable.

Izuku kept going, voice quiet. “You never explained it. Not once. I thought about it a lot back then. I thought maybe I said something wrong. Or maybe I made you feel—like I was judging you, or something? I don’t know. I kept trying to make it make sense.”

“It doesn’t,” Katsuki muttered.

“What?”

“I said it doesn’t matter.”

Izuku frowned. “It does. To me. It always did.”

Katsuki didn’t respond.

He just shoved his fingers deeper into the sand, knuckles white.

Izuku’s chest was tight. “I used to look up to you, you know. Even when you were being awful. Even when I was scared of you.”

Katsuki’s mouth twitched.

“You were always ahead of me,” Izuku said. “Always stronger. Always louder. People followed you. I didn’t want to be you, but I wanted to stand next to you. I thought maybe if I worked hard enough, you'd see that. That I wasn’t just some shadow you had to step over.”

Katsuki closed his eyes for half a second.

Izuku leaned in slightly, just enough for his voice to drop. “So why did you turn on me like that?”

A beat.

Nothing.

Another.

Still nothing.

“Kacchan,” Izuku pressed again, “just tell me.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Katsuki said flatly.

“That’s not good enough,” Izuku shot back, a little too fast, to loud. “You can’t just" he paused "—you ruined things between us and then act like I don’t get to know why.”

“I didn’t ruin anything,” Katsuki said, finally turning to face him, eyes hot and unreadable. “Things were never what you thought they were.”

Izuku stared at him, breath caught. “Then what were they?”

Katsuki looked at him for a long, tense moment. His eyes darted over Izuku’s face—like he was trying to read something too complicated to figure out in one glance. Like there were words stuck in his mouth he didn’t trust himself to say.

He looked away again.

“I was a dumbass,” he said finally. “I handled things wrong. That’s all there is.”

“That’s not all there is,” Izuku whispered.

“It is, Deku.”

The old nickname made Izuku flinch a little, but he didn’t back down. “You could’ve told me. You could tell me now.”

“I already said what I’m gonna say.”

Izuku shook his head. “You keep dodging it. Even now. Like you think I wouldn’t get it.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Izuku blinked. “Try me.”

But Katsuki just stared forward again, his face unreadable and hard and exhausted all at once.

Izuku waited.

And waited.

But no answer came.

The ocean whispered. The fire popped. A cheer went up from somewhere across the beach. It didn’t matter.

After a while, Katsuki’s hand moved again in the sand. Just slightly.

A twitch of fingers.

And Izuku’s, unthinking, shifted too. Their pinkies linked. Not on accident. Not quite on purpose, either.

Just enough to say I’m here.

Just enough to say I can’t tell you.

And Izuku—tired, aching, still without answers—didn’t pull away.

...

They sat like that for a while.

Quiet.

The firelight flickered in the distance, casting long shadows over the sand. Laughter drifted from the group, soft and muffled, like it belonged to someone else’s life. Someone else’s night.

Katsuki’s pinky twitched again. Barely. Like it wasn’t sure if it was allowed to want more than that.

Izuku didn’t look at him, he didn’t want to scare it away.

His heart was pounding too loud to think properly. He could still feel the heat from Kacchans arm, from where their hands weren’t really touching, but also very much were.

Then, finally, Katsuki moved.

He stood up with a grunt, brushing sand off his shorts. “They’re probably wondering where we went.”

Izuku looked up at him. “You’re going back?”

Katsuki didn’t answer right away. He just stared down at Izuku for a second, eyes unreadable again, like he was weighing something in his mind. Like he wasn’t sure if it was safe.

Then he jerked his chin toward the fire. “You coming or what?”

Izuku blinked. “Oh. Yeah—yeah, okay.” He stuttered.

He scrambled to his feet, brushing off the back of his shorts. His legs felt stiff, and his hands were still tingling from the ghost of contact.

They walked back together.

Not close enough to draw attention.

Not far enough to be strangers.

The fire crackled louder as they approached, and their friends came into view. Mina was sitting on Kirishima’s lap -he was blushing like crazy even though theyve been dating for 2 years- , yelling about marshmallow distribution. Ochaco was trying to get Iida to roast a banana. Shinso was staring into the flames like they’d insulted him personally.

No one seemed to notice the shift between Izuku and Katsuki.

Not really.

Except maybe Ochaco, who glanced up briefly as they returned, her eyes flicking between the two of them.

Izuku offered her a weak smile.

She raised an eyebrow. But said nothing.

Katsuki dropped onto the log nearest the fire without a word, arms crossed, face in his usual resting scowl. Izuku hesitated for a beat, then sat beside him. Not right next to him. Just close enough that it wasn’t coincidence.

And for a while, it almost felt normal.

The wind was softer now. Laughter and chatter loud. The fire warm against their faces. Jiro handed Izuku a half-burnt marshmallow, and he accepted it without complaint.

Katsuki didn’t say anything.

But he didn’t leave.

And when their knees bumped—just once, lightly, like a mistake—then, the legs rested against eachother.

Neither of them moved. Izuku stared into the flames. Still aching. Still confused. Still without the answer he wanted.

But Katsuki was beside him.

And that, somehow, was enough for tonight.

Chapter Text

The night had grown quiet. Laughter faded into the background, and people began packing up and heading out.
 
Izuku hadn’t realized how late it was. Way too late to call his mom for a ride. He was old enough to drive by now, sure—but between classes, homework, and trying to keep up with everything else, he hadn’t even started job hunting, let alone gotten his license.
 
Still gathered around the dying bonfire were Ochaco, Iida, Mina, Kirishima, and, of course, Kacchan.
 
“Alright, guys,” Mina said, stretching with a yawn, “Kiri and I are gonna head out. Thanks for coming!”
 
“Yeah, same with me and Iida,” Ochaco added, then glanced at Izuku. “Uh, Midoriya… is your mom on her way?”
 
“I-I uh… no. It’s too late to call her,” Izuku said quickly, waving his hands. “But don’t worry about it! I can just walk. I know Iida’s car only has two seats, so really—it’s fine!”
 
Ochaco gave him a look, but smiled anyway. “Okay. See you at school,” she said, heading off with Iida in tow.
 
Soon, it was just Izuku and Katsuki left.
 
Crickets
 
“I-I’m gonna go ahead and start walking ho—” Izuku began, but Katsuki cut him off sharply.
 
“You’re not fucking walking home.”
 
Izuku blinked. “I’m… sorry?”
 
"fuck" Katsuki muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. “Look at the goddamn time, Deku. It’s a thirty-minute walk to your place and it’s pitch fucking black outside. What are you, stupid?”

Katskui scoffed and started stalking toward his car, the keys swinging from his hand with an irritated jingle.

Izuku stayed frozen by the dwindling fire, mouth opening and closing like he wasn’t sure if he should follow or apologize for existing.

“I’ll be fine, really!” he called after him, jogging a few steps. “You don’t have to—”

Katsuki whirled around, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Shut up and get in the damn car.”

“I-I don’t want to be a burden,” Izuku said, shrinking in on himself. “You already drove Kirishima once this week, and I can seriously—”

“Deku,” Katsuki growled, pointing to the passenger side, “get in the car or I’m dragging your ass in myself. I swear to god.”

Izuku opened his mouth again, probably to argue some more, but one look at Katsuki’s murder face made him think twice. He sighed in defeat and trudged over to the passenger door like a kid being sent to timeout.

“…Thanks,” he mumbled as he slid in.

Katsuki muttered something unintelligible and slammed his own door shut.

The ride started in silence, broken only by the quiet thrum of the engine and the crunch of gravel as they pulled out of the lot. The inside of Katsuki’s car was surprisingly nice—clean, smelled faintly of cologne , caramel?... and energy drinks, and the dashboard lights gave off a soft, ambient glow.

Izuku took a breath and slowly started adjusting the seat back. Then he clicked on the seat warmer. Then fiddled with the vents. A minute later, he had the AC pointed at his face and the temp down two degrees. He reached for the radio dial.

Katsuki didn’t even look away from the road. “Jesus Christ, princess.” He grumbled.

Izuku froze, hand mid-twist. “…What?”

“You heard me. You touch one more button and I’m pulling over and making you walk.”

“I was just trying to—!”

“Adjust the environment to your royal standards?” Katsuki snapped, glancing at him with a smirk. “What’s next, you want aux so you can blast some sad boy indie shit while you cry about the stars?”

“I don’t cry about the stars,” Izuku huffed, cheeks turning red as he sank lower into the seat. “It’s just… the air was too cold. And the seat was too straight.”

“Mmhm. Sure, Princess.”

“I’m not a—” Izuku cut himself off and groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Why do I even try with you?”

Katsuki shrugged. “Beats me. But if you’re gonna be my passenger princess, at least own it.”

Izuku went redder and tried to scramble out words as quick as he could. “I am not your—”

But Katsuki reached over, flicked the seat warmer off, and gave him a smug side-eye.

Izuku gasped. “Hey!”

“You don’t get full climate control privileges and a free ride. Pick one.” he slightly smirked, side eyeing izuku

“You’re such an ass,” Izuku grumbled, arms crossed, seat now officially too cold.

Katsuki chuckled under his breath, just barely. “Yeah. But I’m the ass getting you home safe, so shut up and enjoy the ride, princess" Katskui voiced dropped lower then izuku could handle.

He might just explode.

And sitting beside his ex-bestfreind, in a small space, well he was calling him princess, definitely did somthing to izuku.

Now was not the time to get a boner.

But fuck, izuku couldn't stop thinking about it. And now, he was hiperaware of evreything. The way Kacchans thumb was slightly rubbing up and down on the car stick, or how he was man spreading well pressing on the gas, or how in this lighting in made Katskuis lips look so plush and pink and perfect and just so kissabl-

Izuku was losing it. Actually, genuinely losing it.

He stared straight ahead, lips pressed into a tight line, trying desperately to focus on anything that wasn’t Kac-Katskui Bakugou.

Because Katsuki was... driving.

That’s all. Just driving.

And yet somehow, Izuku’s entire body was betraying him.

Katsuki’s voice dropped again—low, rough, and effortless. “Seat still not good enough, Princess?”

It hit Izuku’s nerves like a spark, that went straight to. His. Dick.

His thighs tensed.

He swallowed. Hard.

“I-I’m fine,” he said, voice cracking like a teenager going through puberty all over again. He cleared his throat and gripped the bottom of his t-shirt like it could save him from the sheer chaos taking place in his own brain.

Because Katsuki wasn’t doing anything on purpose. No. He was just existing. Just existing in that damn hoodie, hand lazily shifting the gear stick, wrist flexing with every smooth change. His legs were spread wide in that way that made Izuku’s face go hot, and his lips—God, his lips were so plush in the soft orange glow of the dashboard, slightly parted like he didn’t even realize how kissable he looked right now.

Izuku couldn’t breathe.

He shifted in his seat, trying not to look like he was shifting, because if he didn’t, he was going to start thinking about what those lips would feel like on his skin, or what it would be like to sit in that lap instead of this stupid seat—

Nope. NOPE.

Don’t think about his lap. Don’t think about his lap. Don’t think about how warm he probably is, or how strong his arms look when he grips the wheel, or how—

Katsuki flicked his gaze over at him for just a second. “You’re squirming, nerd.”

Izuku flinched like he’d been caught doing something illegal. “N-no, I’m not!” he stuttered out.

Katsuki snorted. “Yeah, okay. You’re practically vibrating.”

“I’m just—uh, I turned the air up too high. Little cold. Not a big deal. Just nerves, I mean, not nerves, I mean—forget it.”

Katsuki raised a brow. “You’re acting really fucking weird. What's your problem?"

Izuku clenched his fists in his lap. You. You’re the problem. You and your stupid voice and your stupid hands and your stupid everything—

“N-nothing!” he blurted, an octave too high. “I’m totally fine!”

Katsuki narrowed his eyes, suspicious, but didn’t say anything else. His attention returned to the road, jaw tight, profile sharp in the glow of the passing streetlights.

And Izuku?

Izuku was suffering.

He was hyperaware of every detail—how the leather creaked beneath Katsuki’s seat, how the soft bass of the radio hummed through the car, how safe it felt sitting next to him despite how turned on and out of control he felt.

And worst of all, he couldn’t stop the intrusive thoughts. About Kacchan’s hands. Kacchan’s mouth. Kacchan’s voice, whispering something filthy against his ear instead of just calling him princess like it didn’t mean anything.

He shoved his hands between his thighs and looked out the window, trying to think about math or soup or literally anything else.

Katsuki didn’t have to touch him. He didn’t even have to try. Just existing like this was enough to completely undo Izuku’s sanity.

And the worst part?

He wanted more.

God help him.

...

The car was too quiet after Katsuki muttered that last, low “see ya.”

His voice had dropped an octave, rough and careless, like it always did when he wasn’t trying—but it echoed in Izuku’s head like a damn soundtrack.

He barely remembered mumbling a thank-you before slipping out of the passenger seat and into the dark, still night.

His legs felt like jelly.

His hands were sweating.

And the worst part? He didn’t even care that Katsuki barely looked at him when he drove off.

Because Katsuki had called him princess.

Katsuki had leaned back in his seat like he owned the air between them, like he knew Izuku was struggling to breathe through the weight of it.

And maybe he did.

Izuku kicked off his shoes the second he got inside, heart racing. He didn’t even flick on the lights—just stumbled up the stairs in the dark like a man possessed.

Every stupid little thing Katsuki did on that ride home—resting his wrist over the wheel, biting the inside of his cheek, glancing over once, maybe twice with that unreadable expression—was tattooed into Izuku’s memory now.

He could still smell him.

God.

Izuku shut the bedroom door behind him, the soft click barely audible over the rush of blood pounding in his ears.

His hands were trembling.

His skin felt flushed, oversensitive.

And before he could stop himself—before his thoughts could even catch up to his body—he shoved a hand down the front of his shorts and gripped his aching erection.

The touch alone made him bite down hard on his lower lip to muffle the desperate noise that nearly escaped.

God, he was already so hard.

The ride home had ruined him. Katsuki had ruined him. That voice—low, casual, dangerous. The way he'd said “princess,” like it meant nothing. Like he hadn’t just sent Izuku spiraling.

“Fuck,” Izuku whispered, stumbling toward his bed like a drunk.

He kicked off his bathing suit mid-step, letting it fall somewhere on the floor behind him, and crashed face-first into his mattress. The sheets were cool, but it didn’t help.

He was burning.

His hips rolled into his own hand as he started stroking, sloppy and fast from the beginning. Every nerve in his body felt on edge, his brain buzzing with images he had no control over.

Katsuki, bare-chested and smug. Katsuki, fingers hooked into Izuku’s waistband, dragging it down with a smirk. Katsuki, voice rough and close, growling, “god youre such a fucking slut, ain't ya Deku..”

Izuku gasped, his face buried in his pillow now.

Would he be the type to tease? To pin Izuku down and whisper filthy things until he begged?

Or would he be rough? Unrelenting. Fucking him into the mattress until he couldn’t think straight—until Katsuki’s name was the only thing Izuku knew how to say.

“F-Fuck, Kacchan…” he moaned, voice muffled, hips bucking into his hand faster now. “Please…" he wined desperately.

He could almost feel it—Katsuki holding his hips in place, bruising grip, slamming into him with so much force it rattled the headboard. Could almost hear the grunts, the panting, the way he’d maybe laugh when Izuku’s legs gave out.

God, he wanted to be ruined.

His free hand fisted the sheets as his muscles tensed.

The thought of Katsuki panting in his ear "That’s it, take it, princess…”

It shattered him.

Izuku came hard, a strangled moan escaping as his back arched. His body twitched with each pulse of pleasure, hand still wrapped around himself, cum dripping onto his hand and sheets.

He stayed like that for a minute—legs splayed, chest heaving, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.

And then—

“…Fuck.”

The crash of reality hit him all at once.

He'd just jerked off to the idea of Katsuki Bakugou.

Not just any idea—but one where Katsuki was calling him princess while fucking him senseless.

Izuku groaned and covered his face with one hand.

He was absolutely

Fucked

Izuku woke up to the worst possible sensation.

Sticky.

Cold.

Gross.

His face scrunched up even before his eyes fully opened.

“…No,” he whispered, already dreading what he knew he’d find.

The sheets clung to his skin in all the wrong ways. He shifted slightly—regretted it instantly. The damp, crusted mess beneath him made his stomach twist.

“God—ugh,” he groaned, yanking the covers off and staring in horror at the evidence of last night’s breakdown. His hand had dried sticky. His thighs too. And the worst part?

He remembered every single second of it.

How he’d said Kacchan’s name.

How he imagined Katsuki fucking him until his voice broke.

How he came harder than he ever had in his life just thinking about it.

“Fuck,” he whispered, covering his face with both hands.

He stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, wondering if it would be possible to fake his death before school started.

Because there was no avoiding Katsuki. They had second period together. Sat litteraly beside eachother. And Izuku didn’t have the guts to even look at him now.

By the time he dragged himself through his morning routine and bolted out the door, Izuku still felt like a walking bundle of guilt and panic. The guilt he could live with. It was the fact that he was still kinda turned on that was messing with him.

His hoodie felt too warm. His hands were clammy. His stomach flipped every time he thought about seeing Katsuki.

By the time he got to school, it was already too late to mentally prepare. The bell rang just as he entered the building.

Second period was in three minutes.

He walked into the classroom like a man on death row.

Katsuki was already there, leaning back in his seat, one hand shoved in his hoodie pocket, the other twirling a pen between his fingers.

Izuku almost turned around.
Almost walked straight back out.

But then Katsuki looked up and locked eyes with him.

Izuku flinched. Like actually, physically flinched.

Katsuki frowned. “The hell?”

Izuku looked away so fast he practically snapped his own neck, pretending to find something on the whiteboard incredibly interesting as he slid into his seat.

You’re normal. Be normal. It’s fine. He doesn’t know. You’re just a guy sitting in class. Not a guy who moaned his name while jerking off last night. Oh my god—

“Oi, Deku.” Katsuki’s voice snapped him out of his spiral.

Izuku blinked. “Y-Yeah?”

Katsuki stared for a moment longer than necessary. Not quite suspicious, but close. “You good?”

That made izukus stomach warm up. Not-not in the way it was last night...but in a way that said 'he can acctualy talk to me now'

Izuku swallowed thickly. “Yeah. I’m—fine.”

Liar. He was the farthest thing from fine. His brain was still foggy with leftover heat from the night before, and Katsuki’s voice—deep and sharp in that early morning rasp—was not helping.

Katsuki grunted and leaned back again, tossing the pen onto his desk.

Izuku stared down at his notebook, gripping his pencil like it might keep him grounded.

He needed to get his shit together.

Because jerking off to Katsuki was one thing.

But seeing him after… and knowing there were still traces of that mess at home waiting in his dirty laundry basket?

Yeah.

He was so, so screwed.

Lunch came as a much-needed break.

After surviving the morning with a racing heart and a face that wouldn't stop burning, Izuku was practically begging for a mental reset. The grassy courtyard behind the school offered at least some comfort. Their usual spot—beneath one of the big maple trees that cast cool, dappled shadows—was already half-covered in jackets and lunchboxes by the time Izuku arrived.

Ochaco waved him over with a bright smile. “You made it! I thought you died or something.”

“nope, just got caught in a spiral of secondhand embarrassment,” he muttered, flopping onto the grass next to her and trying very hard to seem normal.

Iida immediately launched into a recap of his morning encounter with a lost first-year. Tsuyu was quietly sipping from a thermos, nodding along. Mina was clinging onto Ochacos arm laughing with her, and Shoto offered Izuku a grape from his fruit cup without saying anything, which Izuku took like it was a peace offering from the gods.

The group buzzed with energy—laughing, joking, tossing bites of food at one another when no teachers were looking. Ochaco was mid-story about accidentally setting off the hand dryer with her elbow when Shinso finally spoke up.

He had been quiet for most of lunch, propped against his bag with earbuds in, one of them still dangling loose. Eyes half-lidded. Calm.

Too calm.

“You’re twitchy as hell today, Midoriya,” he said suddenly, flat and matter-of-fact.

The whole group paused. Tsuyu blinked slowly. Shoto stopped chewing.

Izuku blinked. “Twitchy? I’m—what?” He asked

“I’ve been watching you since you sat down,” Shinso continued like it was nothing. “You’re picking at your food, not really laughing. And you keep looking around like someone’s about to dropkick you.”

“I—I do not!” Izuku said, way too defensive.

“Who’s trying to dropkick you?” Iida asked, alarmed.

“No one!” Izuku threw his hands up. “No one is dropkicking anyone!”

Ochaco gave him a concerned side-eye. “Is it Bakugou?”

Izuku nearly choked on air. “What? Why would you say that?”

“You’ve been acting different since you and Bakugou went missing well evreyone else was at the bondfire. Dont even try and act like no one noticed,” Tsuyu said quietly, setting her thermos down. “And you didn’t even say hi to him this morning. Usually you try.”

“I do not try! I mean—I don’t try anything! I just exist!”

Shoto tilted his head. “You’re being weird. Even for you.”

“Oh my god—” Izuku groaned, tugging his hoodie up so it covered half his face. “Can we please talk about literally anything else?”

“No,” Shinso said immediately. “Because now I’m curious.”

Iida adjusted his glasses. “If something happened between you and Bakugou, it may be best to communicate and—”

“Nothing happened between me and Kacchan!” Izuku hissed.

They all stared at him.

His ears were red.

“I mean—something didn’t happen, because nothing happened!”

Shinso’s eyes narrowed, that sleepy, unreadable look turning sharper. “You're full of shit.”

Izuku buried his face in his hands with a long, miserable groan. “I hate you.”

Ochaco giggled and patted his back. “No you don’t.”

Shoto popped another grape into his mouth. “Do you think he hates us because of guilt? Or shame?”

“Probably both,” Tsuyu said thoughtfully.

“Definitely shame,” Mina added, resting her chin on her palm.

“I'm literally right here,” Izuku mumbled into his palms.

And across the courtyard—like some cruel twist of fate—Katsuki Bakugou was laughing at something denki said, his head tipped back, hair glinting in the sun like it was personally mocking Izuku's existence.

Izuku refused to look.

Izuku practically launched himself out of the school building the second the last bell rang.

He waved goodbye to his friends with the most convincing half-smile he could manage, ignored Shinso’s smug “Still twitchy, huh?” comment, and booked it down the front steps like his life depended on it.

Because honestly?

It kind of did.

By the time he made it home, the tension in his shoulders had only just started to unravel. The second he stepped through the front door, the smell of simmering soy sauce and ginger greeted him like a hug.

“Welcome home, sweetie!” his mom called from the kitchen.

“Hi, Mom, ive missed you” Izuku said, toeing off his shoes and forcing his voice not to sound like he’d spent the whole day on the edge of a panic attack.

Inko poked her head out from behind the kitchen door. “You look exhausted,” she said immediately, eyes narrowing with motherly concern. “Did something happen? Did you sleep okay? Do you want a snack? Are your teachers being weird again?”

“I’m fine, I promise,” he said, managing a real smile this time. “Just... brain-dead.”

“Well, dinner’s almost ready,” she said, waving him toward the couch. “Sit down, relax. I recorded that weird sci-fi show you like.”

He dropped onto the cushions like a man finally allowed to collapse, his backpack thudding to the floor. His house was warm and quiet in a way school never was. No buzzing lunch group. No accusing stares. No Kacchan laughing across the courtyard while Izuku pretended not to care.

No reminders.

Except the ones in his head.

He sat still for a minute, letting the quiet settle, until Inko padded in and handed him a bowl of cut-up apples and cold sweet tea like she was still parenting a five-year-old.

He took it gratefully.

“Rough day?” she asked, sitting beside him.

Izuku hesitated.

Then shrugged. “You could say that.”

They sat in silence for a bit, the show playing in the background while Izuku munched on a slice of apple and tried not to think. Not about the lunch interrogation. Not about Shinso’s knowing look. And definitely not about—

“Don’t look at me like that.”

His stomach twisted.

Inko glanced over. “Sweetheart?”

He blinked back to reality, fake-laughing it off. “Sorry. Zoned out.”

She reached over and gently patted his hair down, like she used to when he was younger and his brain was too loud to handle. “You’ve always been a thinker,” she said fondly. “But don’t think so hard you forget to be a kid, okay?”

Izuku nodded absently. “Okay.”

But later that night—long after dinner, after dishes, after he pretended to watch two full episodes without rewinding once—he sat on the edge of his bed in the dark, the quiet pressing in again. Stairing nto nothing.

The day reached it end. Acctually way past that. Izuku couldn't sleep for shit, and they time had reached way later then he thought. 

1:09am.

he had school tommrow.

But.. he couldnt stop thinking about it. The way their pinky's linked.

The look in his eyes.

And the way Izuku hadn’t pulled away.

His phone buzzed. He looked down.

1 New Message – Kacchan

u still up?

Izuku hit send before he could talk himself out of it.

Mhm..

The message sat there, glowing back at him in the dark. He stared like it might vanish if he blinked too hard.

Read.

The little “Kacchan is typing…” bubble popped up immediately.

Then it disappeared. Then popped up again. Then gone.

Izuku’s heart was hammering like it wanted to escape his chest and sprint laps around the room. He barely breathed as he watched the screen.

Finally, another message appeared.

Kacchan:

can we call.

Izuku froze. He reread it twice. Three times. This wasn’t like Kacchan. Bakugou didn’t do 1:00 a.m. calls. He didn’t do soft. He didn’t ask for things.

And yet—

Izuku’s fingers hovered over the screen. His thumb trembled.

Izuku:
 ok

The phone buzzed in his hand less than five seconds later.

His heart climbed up his throat like a vine. And he answered the call before he could lose his nerve.

“H-Hey—” he started, voice dry, way to quiet, and too soft.

There was no immediate reply.

But he could hear him.

The quiet, rhythmic whoosh of a fan in the background. The distant creak of a bed frame. A shaky inhale on the other end of the line.

“Kacchan?” Izuku asked quietly, trying not to sound breathless.

“…You couldn’t sleep either?” Katsuki asked finally, voice rough.

Izuku let out a short breath of a laugh. “Not even close.”

He shifted in bed, lying flat against the mattress, one hand curled tightly in his blanket. He could feel the warmth of his phone against his cheek, like the connection might burn him if he held it too long.

There was a pause. A long one.

Then—

“I keep thinking about it,” Katsuki said, quickly. Like if he said it fast izuku wouldn't hear it.

Izuku’s heart flipped.

He stared at the ceiling. Swallowed. His voice was suddenly fragile.

“About what?”

He knew what.

But it felt different—realer—when Katsuki said it.

“You know what,” came the quiet reply.

There was something raw in his voice. Not angry. Not teasing. Just… bare.

Izuku’s throat tightened.

“we-,” he paused "y-you linked our pinkys." he said before he could stop himself. “At the bonfire.” god it sounded so stupid, like they were back in kindergarten confessing to their 'love of their lifes' 

Another pause.

Izuku could practically hear the memory in Katsuki’s silence, the distant chatter of their classmates, the way they were just sitting in silence. The warmth of eachothers bodys.

“…Yeah,” Katsuki said. Barely audible. “I did.”

The line stayed quiet for a moment, but the air between them felt thick even over the phone. Like something was trying to be born there, between breath and silence, between fear and honesty. 

This was weird. It was mid October. Before September they hadnt talked fo-for what... four years? And now here they were, hanging out evreyweek and calling eachother past midnight. 

Somthing definitely changed between the two.

Izuku wet his lips. His fingers curled around his blanket tighter. “…Did it mean so-anything?”

The question floated out like a secret, shaky and uncertain.

There was a pause.

Then a sigh. One of those long, dragged-through-glass sighs that said I don’t know how to do this, but I’m trying anyway.

“…Yeah,” Katsuki rasped. “It fucking did.”

Izuku closed his eyes, and inhaled sharply. Sure it meant somthing but who the fuck new what It meant.

His whole chest ached—in a good way. In a terrifying, overwhelming way that made him want to cry and laugh at the same time.

“Kacchan…” he whispered.

Another pause.

Then, out of nowhere, Katsuki’s voice broke through again, rougher this time, like he’d been holding it in too long.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, Deku,” he muttered. “I’ve spent so long being… me. Being the guy who ruins things. The guy who yells and pushes people away before they can get close. And you—” His voice cracked. “You still look at me like I’m someone worth reaching for.”

“You are,” Izuku said quickly, without thinking.

Silence.

Then—

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Katsuki muttered, and Izuku could hear the way his voice shook. “Always trying. Always being nice. Always—god, why do you still care? After everything?”

Izuku took a shaky breath.

“Because I never stopped,” he said. “Not really.”

Another stretch of quiet.

But this time, it didn’t hurt.

They just sat there, breathing together, not saying everything but saying enough. Just the two of them suspended in the dark, two halves of something broken but still beating.

But for the first time in forever, he didn’t feel like he was the only one wondering.

“Fuck, Izuku, yo-" he stopped. "I don’t want to ruin this,” Kacchan said so quietly it was almost a confession.

Izukus breath caught in his throat with the use of his real name.

“You’re not,” Izuku whispered back. “You won’t.”

Neither of them hung up.

They didn’t even say goodnight.

Eventually, Izuku drifted off like that—phone still warm in his hand, Katsuki’s breathing the last thing he heard before sleep finally pulled him under.

And for the first night in weeks, Izuku dreamed of warmth.

Chapter Text

Five days.

It had been five days since the last time they spoke. Five days since Katsuki had muttered his name like it meant something. Since Izuku had felt like maybe, maybe, something was shifting between them.

And then—radio silence.

Not a single word. Not a message. Not even a glance.

Izuku told himself he was being dramatic. That maybe the silence wasn’t bad. Maybe Katsuki was just busy. Maybe he was thinking. Processing. Or maybe it had all just been… nothing.

But Izuku knew better.

He remembered the way Katsuki’s voice broke on the phone. The way he said Izuku. The way it wasn’t angry. Wasn’t mocking. Wasn’t Kacchan.

It was something else. Something that ached.

And still, nothing.

Every time his phone buzzed, his heart jumped. Every time it wasn’t him, it sank.

He tried to focus on school, on homework, on anything that wasn’t checking his messages like an addict. His friends noticed. Ochaco nudged him about it twice. Shinsou raised an eyebrow during lunch but didn’t ask. Todoroki just gave him one of those unreadable stares.

He couldn’t tell them. Not really. He wasn’t even sure he could tell himself what it all meant yet.

And so the silence stretched, and the space between them started to feel like a whole ocean.

Until Friday.

It was raining. A slow, steady drizzle that turned the city into soft grays and blurred edges. The kind of weather that made everything feel quieter. Closer.

Izuku had just gotten home, hair damp, hoodie sleeves soaked at the wrists, and he was halfway through microwaving leftovers when the doorbell rang.

He padded over, expecting a delivery driver, or just some mail.

But when he opened the door, the cold air blew in, and there he was.

Katsuki.

Standing on the porch, hoodie pulled low over his forehead, hands deep in his pockets, rain dotting his shoulders, making the blond spikes of his hair darker, making his mullet look a bit longer, heavier. He looked down at Izuku only briefly, then away again.

Izuku’s heart skipped hard.

“K-Kacchan?” He whispered, eyes wide with confusion.

Katsuki winced—almost like the name physically hurt—and then muttered, “Don’t make this a thing.”

Izuku blinked. “I’m not—uh, I wasn’t going to—come in.”

Katsuki stepped inside with a grunt, water dripping faintly onto the welcome mat.

The door shut behind him. The house felt too quiet.

Izuku’s hands hovered uselessly by his sides. He wanted to ask why he was here, wanted to ask what this meant, wanted to ask if he was okay, but he didn’t. Couldn’t.

He was too afraid the answers would unravel him.

They both stood there for a second, not looking at each other.

Then Katsuki sniffed and said, “Got any food?”

That broke something. Not in a bad way—more like a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding finally letting go.

Izuku cracked a smile. “Microwaved curry?”

Katsuki shrugged. “Tch. Better than my house.”

They ate in the living room with the TV on low and their legs barely brushing on the edge of the couch. It was awkward, but the kind of awkward that was trying. Like walking on thin ice and hoping the other person didn’t fall through.

Inko peeked in halfway through, already dressed for work. “Katsuki,” she said, a little surprised, but not unkindly. “It’s been a while.”

“Hi, Auntie,” he mumbled, staring at the TV.

“I’m working late tonight,” she told Izuku, grabbing her bag. “Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

“We won’t,” Izuku said.

She looked between them with a small, unreadable expression, then slipped out the door with a soft, “Lock up.”

The lock clicked.

And then it was just the two of them again.

A silence settled—comfortable in a fragile sort of way.

Eventually, Izuku cleared his throat. “Wanna watch something?”

Katsuki just shrugged. “Sure.”

They flipped through options until they landed on some older sci-fi movie, filled with loud space battles and explosions. Something safe. Something they didn’t have to talk through.

The movie started, and they sat with a full cushion of space between them.

But little by little, the distance shrank.

Katsuki leaned his elbow on the armrest, one leg tucked under the other. Izuku sank into his side of the couch, socks pulled up high, hoodie sleeves covering his hands. The only light in the room came from the TV, painting soft colors across their faces.

As the movie droned on, Izuku started to feel it—that gentle tug behind his eyelids. That warmth curling up from his feet to his chest. He was too tired. Too emotionally drained.

And then—

It just happened.

He leaned sideways, sleep-heavy, and his head came to rest against Katsuki’s shoulder.

Katsuki froze.

Literally froze.

Like someone had pressed pause on his entire body. His breath hitched, his muscles went tense, and his eyes flicked down to the top of Izuku’s head resting there, messy curls brushing slightly against his face, so soft, and smelled like.... vanilla...

And his hand.

Izuku’s hand was relaxed and open, resting gently in his lap. Palm up. Loose fingers slightly curled.

Katsuki stared at it like it might detonate.

His own fingers twitched, hovering just an inch away. So close.

It would be nothing to take it. So why did it feel like such a big deal? His stomach churned. His thoughts were a storm of static.

Why him?

Why a fucking deku?

Why the one person he’d spent years pushing away?

Why did he make Katsuki feel like this?

katskui knew exactly why...

His chest ached. He didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve him.

And yet…

He leaned the tiniest bit closer. Not enough to disturb Izuku. Just enough to feel the weight of the moment. The warmth seeping through the fabric of his hoodie. The soft rise and fall of Izuku’s chest.

His hand inched forward.

Barely touched the tips of Izuku’s fingers.

Just a whisper of contact.

And Katsuki whispered it, barely audible—even to himself.

“…Why the hell do I feel like this… for you?”

There was no answer. Not out loud. But Izuku’s breathing slowed. Calmed. Like maybe, somehow, he heard. Katsuki didn’t move again.

The movie kept playing, forgotten in the background. Just flashing colors and low noise to fill the space around them.

And Katsuki stayed there.

Not touching. Not holding. But close. Closer than he'd allowed himself to be in years.

10:02 a.m.

He had school tomorrow.

He had so many reasons to go home.

But all he could do was sit there, afraid to move, afraid to ruin this fragile, unspoken thing hanging in the air.

Izuku was warm against him. Gentle. Uncomplicated in his sleep.

And Katsuki?

Katsuki was finally starting to understand what it meant to want something more than he feared it.

And that realization scared him more than anything.

But still—he didn’t leave.

He just stayed.

Waiting.

...

The room was dim, lit only by the ghost-blue glow of the TV screen, now frozen on the menu screen. A low hum buzzed from the speakers like a heartbeat too faint to feel.

The world was still.

Except Katsuki wasn’t.

He woke with a jolt.

No sound. No nightmare. Just that sick, disoriented feeling that came with not knowing where he was or how long he'd been asleep. His body was stiff, back aching from the angle, one arm trapped under weight he didn’t remember allowing there.

Then he remembered.

His eyes flicked down.

Deku.

Asleep.

Right there.

Head nuzzled into his neck, lips parted slightly, breath slow and warm against his collar. The blanket they must’ve pulled over themselves earlier had slipped off halfway through the night, bunched near the floor.

And Katsuki’s hand—fuck—his hand was inches away from Izuku’s. Again. Just barely not touching.

He stared at it like it had betrayed him.

3:04 a.m.

Katsuki slowly shifted, trying not to wake him. But Izuku stirred anyway, instinctively reaching for the warmth he’d been leaning against.

“Kacchan…?” The voice was hoarse, had a rattle to it, and barely audible.

Katsuki immediately pulled his arm back, stiff. Cold.

“Go back to sleep,” he muttered.

Izuku blinked blearily. “Huh…? What time is it…?”

“Too late.”

Izuku sat up slowly, rubbing at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. His hair stuck out in every direction. His voice was soft, still thick with sleep. “i-im sorry kacchan, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you…”

Katsuki was already standing.

Already brushing himself off like something had touched him that wasn’t supposed to. Like he needed the space back, needed the air cleared. “You were drooling.”

Izuku blinked. “Wh—what? No I wasn’t!”

Katsuki didn’t even crack a smirk. Not a chuckle. Nothing. Blank.

He wasn’t looking at him. Not really. Just grabbing his jacket from the back of the couch, movements sharp and mechanical. Like being here any longer might kill him.

Izuku’s stomach turned.

“You’re leaving?” he asked carefully, sitting up straighter. “Right now?”

Katsuki’s jaw clenched. “Yeah.”

“kacchan...It’s the middle of the night.”

“I know. I have my car.”

Izuku blinked hard, trying to find something in Katsuki’s expression—some flicker of what had been there earlier. But he found nothing. Just tight lines, lowered eyes, and walls going up, one after the other.

“You… you can stay,” Izuku tried. “I don’t mind. Really. I have an extra pillow. My mom wouldnt m-mind. I could get you—”

“I said I’m going,” Katsuki snapped.

It wasn’t loud. But it was sharp enough to slice through the space between them.

Izuku flinched.

Katsuki saw it. And instantly hated himself. But he didn’t take it back. Izuku looked down,   playing with the hem of his hoodie, voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

He stood anyway, walking Katsuki toward the door with quiet steps and heavy silence. The rain outside had turned into a steady, misting drizzle. Street lights blurred through the windows like watercolor.

Katsuki tugged his hood up. Pulled the sleeves of his jacket down like armor.

“You don’t… have to do this,” Izuku tried again, quietly. “Whatever this is. You don’t have to push me away.”

Katsuki didn’t look at him. “I’m not pushing you away.”

“You’re literally walking out the door.” He said fake chuckling, hugging himself.

Another pause. Katsuki’s shoulders stiffened.

“It was a mistake,” he said flatly.

Izuku stared at him. “What was?”

“All of it,” Katsuki muttered. “Coming over. Staying. Letting it—get weird.”

Izuku felt like something inside him folded in on itself. “Oh.”

“I shouldn’t have come.” Katskui spoke.

Izuku stepped back slightly, arms folded over his chest like he was holding himself together.

Katsuki reached for the doorknob. Rain shimmered beyond the glass.

“Kacchan,” Izuku said, voice quiet and unsure.

Katsuki didn’t turn around.

“I don’t think it was a mistake.”

Still, nothing.

Katsuki opened the door.

Cool air rushed in.

Izuku tried again. “Why are you acting like none of it mattered?” Katsuki paused, one foot already on the porch. His back still to Izuku.

“I’m not,” he said, finally. “That’s the problem.”

Then he stepped outside. Didn’t wait. Didn’t look back. The door clicked shut behind him, soft and final.

Izuku stood there, rooted to the floor, watching the door like it might swing back open. Like maybe Kacchan would come back and say he didn’t mean it. That he was scared. That he felt it too.

But the door stayed closed.

The silence came back.

He moved slowly through the room, picking up the blanket from the floor, turning off the TV.

The couch still held the warmth of where they’d sat. Of where they almost touched.

He sank back down into the cushion, curled his legs underneath him, and stared into the dark.

And it wasn’t until 3:28 a.m., curled under the blanket alone, that Izuku realized he hadn’t even asked if Katsuki got home safe.

Because Katsuki never gave him the chance.

And this time, there was no late-night message.

No call.

Just silence.

And a boy left behind, wondering what he did wrong.

...

They didn’t talk for three days.

Not a word.

The last time they hadn't talked for five days, it was just beacuse of awkwardness. 

But now they wernt talking beacuse Katskui had closed himself off

again

Izuku had gone back to pretending not to care. Pretending it didn’t bother him that Katsuki hadn’t looked his way once since that last night at his house. Pretending his stomach didn’t drop every time they passed each other in the corridor without acknowledgment. Pretending like Katsuki's silence didn’t echo louder than any argument ever had.

But on the third day, Izuku didn’t make it to school at all.

At first, he thought it was just a sore throat from sleeping with the window open. But within hours, it had escalated into full-body aches, a pounding headache, and chills so bad his teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. Then came the fever, the nausea, and the kind of exhaustion that made breathing feel like running a marathon underwater.

Inko hovered like a worried cloud.

“I really, really hate leaving you like this,” Inko whispered, tears in her eyes, kneeling at his bedside, brushing the damp hair off his forehead.

“It’s okay, Mum,” Izuku murmured, barely able to keep his eyes open. “You gotta work.”

“I’ll come back early if I can, alright? Text me if anything gets worse—anything, Zu.”

He nodded slowly. “I promise.”

She kissed his forehead, lingered at the doorway like she wanted to turn around, then left.

And then it was just him and the fever. Silence. Coughs. Blankets that offered no warmth, and dreams that bled into reality.

Katsuki, meanwhile, was losing his mind.

He hated that he was.

He hated that he noticed the stupid empty desk next to his. Hated that no one else seemed concerned.

He knew Deku well enough to know this wasn’t just him playing hooky. He wasn’t the type to skip unless something was seriously wrong.

By the third day, Katsuki couldn’t take it anymore.

He slammed his locker shut after last period and muttered something about “going home” to his friends. They barely blinked. He didn’t care.

His feet carried him automatically to the Midoriya household, the way they used to when they were kids. Before everything got complicated.

The familiar street, the familiar house. The familiar door that somehow looked smaller now.

He rang the bell.

No answer.

He knocked harder, frowning.

Still nothing.

His pulse started to race. Just slightly.

Something felt off.

He hesitated, then reached down and turned the doorknob.

Unlocked.

That was… weird. But this was Midoriya, of course it was unlocked. He was too trusting for his own good.

“Deku?” Katsuki called softly, stepping inside.

No response. The house was quiet. Too quiet.

And then—

Nghhhh~--

A moan from down the hall.

Katsuki’s stomach dropped.

He didn’t think. He just moved.

He found him in his bedroom, curled up under an avalanche of blankets, hoodie half-off his shoulder, looking pale and feverish and barely conscious. Izuku’s skin was extremely pale. lips cracked, and his normally bright, wide, green eyes, now looked dim as they slowly cracked open.

“…Kacchan?” Izuku croaked, barely a whisper.

Katsuki stood frozen for a second.

As guilty he feels thinking it. He was so glad it wasnt somthing else.

“What the hell, Deku… you look like you’re dying.”

Izuku tried to smile, but it just made him cough again.

“You shouldn’t be here…” he mumbled weakly, voice shredded and raw.

“You’re seriously trying to argue with me right now?” Katsuki muttered, stalking toward the bed. “You look like you lost a fistfight with the flu.”

Izuku blinked sluggishly up at him, lids drooping. “You came all the way here... just to roast me?”

“Shut up and drink this,” Katsuki said, disappearing from the room.

He returned five minutes later with a glass of cold water, a cool washcloth, and a bottle of fever meds. He didn’t say anything else as he knelt beside the bed, right beside izukus head, and helped Izuku sit up. It wasn’t graceful. Izuku groaned in pain, coughing into the sleeve of his hoodie as Katsuki pushed the water toward him.

“You could’ve told someone you were sick, idiot,” Katsuki muttered, brows furrowed as he steadied the glass in Izuku’s trembling hands.

Izuku gave a faint laugh. “Didn’t think anyone would care.”

Katsuki paused. Eyes sharp.

“I did.”

It was quiet for a second. Uncomfortably so.

"Hm?" Izuku made a curious noise before raising his hand toward Katsuki’s face.

Initially, Katsuki flinched back, shoulder twitching like he was expecting a punch. "The fuck you doin’," he grunted, voice sharp but not quite angry.

Izuku blinked up at him, fever-glazed eyes soft and half-lidded. “Hold up, Kacchan… lemme check somethin’…”

Katsuki stared at him like he’d grown another head. His mouth opened slightly, a confused scoff catching in his throat. "Deku, if this is some fever-dream shit—”

But Izuku didn’t say anything. He just lifted his hand again, slow and unsure.

His fingers brushed through the edge of Katsuki’s bangs, careful, almost hesitant—like he was afraid Katsuki would pull away again. His hair was unbelievably soft for crazy spikes.

Katsuki didn’t move.

He stiffened, but didn’t stop him.

Izuku’s touch was clumsy—his hand trembling with fever—but it was gentle. His fingertips ghosted through the soft strands of ash-blond hair, pushing them behind Katsuki’s ear.

Then he paused.

Everything stilled for a second.

"...K-Kacchan... y-you have hearing aids?..." Izuku whispered, barely above a breath.

Katsuki’s entire body locked up.

His eyes widened, pupils flicking down toward Izuku like he’d just been caught standing naked in the middle of a crowd. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t breathe.

Izuku blinked again, his hand still half-suspended in the air like he wasn’t sure if he should pull away.

“...I didn’t know,” he murmured. His voice was fragile, cracked by illness, but full of something else too—gentleness, curiosity, a kind of reverent surprise. “You never told me.”

Katsuki exhaled sharply through his nose, looking away like the wall was suddenly more interesting than Izuku’s face. “Yeah, no shit. Didnt think it was a big deal.”

“Since when?” Izuku asked softly, still staring up at him, like he was trying to piece together every memory that suddenly felt different in hindsight.

“Been a while,” Katsuki muttered, tone clipped. “Got ‘em second year. Mild loss. Mostly high-frequency stuff. Not your business.”

Izuku didn’t move. Didn’t pull back.

“It is my business,” he whispered. “I’m your—” he cut himself off with a sudden cough, chest tightening painfully. He clutched at the blanket for a second before forcing himself to breathe steady again. “I just... wish you told me. I wouldn’t have— I mean, I always thought you were ignoring me when I’d mumble stuff. Or like, walking off when I said things too quiet.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened.

“Yeah, well, maybe I was ignoring you,” he snapped—but the bite wasn’t there. It came out more like a defense mechanism than a real insult.

Izuku managed a weak smile, eyelids fluttering. “You’re bad at lying"

“Bullshit.”

Izuku chuckled hoarsely, a sound that broke off into another cough.

Katsuki sat back down at the edge of the bed, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“Just rest, nerd,” he muttered, eyes flicking away.

Then, as Katsuki gently wiped the sweat from Izuku’s forehead with the cool cloth, Izuku murmured—

“You’d be a good housewife.” He said with a small smile

Katsuki froze.

Slowly, he turned to look at him. “What?”

Izuku gave him a lazy grin, eyes half-lidded. “I mean… You’re really good at taking care of people. You didn’t even hesitate. Got water, medicine, wiped my face like one of those doting anime wives…” he giggled weakly.

“Shut up, you nerd,” Katsuki snapped, ears going bright red. “Say something like that again and I’ll suffocate you with the washcloth.”

Izuku just smiled sleepily. “Aww, you care.”

“Keep talking and I’ll dump the water on your face.”

Katsuki stayed anyway.

He made sure Izuku took the meds. He made him eat some instant soup, even though it was just a few spoonfuls. He fluffed the pillows behind him and rolled his eyes the entire time, muttering complaints under his breath, but he never left.

And when Izuku fell asleep, finally breathing a little easier, Katsuki didn’t leave the room.

He sat in izukus desk chair, arms crossed, watching over him.

The dim light of late afternoon poured through the curtains, casting golden shadows across the room. Katsuki leaned back, one leg propped on the chair, fingers twitching restlessly in his lap. His eyes stayed on Izuku the whole time—watching the rise and fall of his chest, making sure he was okay.

Because yeah, maybe he was a nerd.

Maybe he was annoying.

Maybe he drove Katsuki insane.

But he was also Izuku. And Katsuki couldn’t stop caring. Not even if he tried.

...

October 28th. Three days before Halloween.

The air had changed. The leaves were turning brittle and orange, the mornings sharper, wind tugging at jacket sleeves and whispering promises of cold nights ahead.

And finally—finally—Izuku was back at school.

The halls still smelled like old pencil shavings and industrial soap, and everything looked the same, but it all felt slightly off. The world had kept turning while he was out sick. People had gone to classes, taken notes, gossiped, and complained about the math test. Nothing had paused for him.

Izuku liked to pretend that didn’t bother him.

His return was met with the usual chaos: Mina’s scream-laugh as she launched herself at him in the hallway, Ochaco squeezing the life out of him, and Ejiro yelling “Midoriya lives!” like he was announcing a prophecy. Even Iida clapped his shoulder with a soft, relieved look that meant more than he said out loud.

But not everyone had something to say.

Katsuki hadn’t so much as looked at him.

By the time lunch rolled around, everything felt just… weird.

Izuku had barely unzipped his lunch before Mina pulled together what could only be described as a social fusion event. Groups that normally stayed separate—Bakusquad, Dekusquad, and everything in between—got mashed into one long lunch table in the outdoor courtyard.

It was chaos in a way that only Mina could orchestrate.

“Okay! So!” she started, slamming her hands on the table like a judge announcing a verdict. “Halloween. Is. Coming. And we need to throw the most insane party ever.”

“I vote haunted house theme,” Denki said, already pulling out his phone. “Like fake blood, fog machines, the whole deal.”

Kirishima beamed. “Mina and I are co-hosting. Our place. Our rules. Drinks, games, costumes, you name it.”

“Costumes are mandatory,” Mina added, pointing directly at Katsuki, who had yet to say a word.

He didn’t react. He sat near the edge of the group, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Izuku noticed that his lunch was untouched.

The sunlight hit his blonde hair just right, and for a second, Izuku remembered what it had looked like a few nights ago—messy and uncombed, falling into his eyes as he leaned over Izuku’s bed to adjust a blanket or wipe his forehead with a cloth. Gentle. Concerned.

That version of Katsuki had been real. Not imagined. Not a fever dream.

But this one? This one was a wall again.

“You coming, Izuku?” Ochaco nudged him.

“Huh?”

“To the party. You have to,” Mina said, practically bouncing in her seat. “We’re gonna have pumpkin beer. And spooky playlists. And Kiri’s already planning to dress like a devil... and of course im the angle!” she said batting her eyes.

Izuku laughed, soft. “Yeah… yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Good,” she grinned. “You too, Bakugo.”

Katsuki barely grunted.

Mina rolled her eyes. “You don’t get a choice.”

Katsuki glanced at Izuku for half a second before looking away, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket.

Izuku’s smile faltered.

The rest of the day passed in a strange, hazy blur.

Kacchan was… different. Not loud. Not explosive. Just distant. Cold in a way that didn’t feel like apathy—it felt like a punishment. Like he was mad at himself for something and Izuku was the easiest person to take it out on.

Izuku knew how to handle angry Katsuki. He could handle yelling, snarling, being shoved out of the way. But this? This quiet edge, this simmering tension under every glance—it made his skin crawl.

Something had changed after that night.

And neither of them was talking about it.

After class, Izuku hesitated in the hallway, watching as Katsuki shoved books into his locker with too much force.

Now or never.

He swallowed. “Hey." He said as his voice cracked. He was quick to clear his voice. " You doing anything after school?”

Katsuki didn’t even turn. “Why?”

Izuku scratched the back of his neck, trying not to sound too hopeful. “My mom’s working late. I was thinking you could come over. Just to… hang out or whatever.”

There was a pause. A long one.

Then Katsuki slammed his locker shut and finally turned to face him. His eyes were unreadable.

“…Fine.”

The walk back was quiet.

The kind of quiet that made Izuku hyper-aware of every sound—his own breath, the wind blowing dry leaves down the sidewalk, the way their footsteps never quite synced up.

Izuku kicked a pebble out of his path and didn’t say anything.

He wanted to. But the words caught in his throat.

When they got to his house, the sun had dipped below the trees, casting everything in soft shadows. Katsuki stepped inside first, his usual scowl already forming as he kicked off his shoes like muscle memory.

The house smelled like faint lavender and something sweet from the candle Inko always left on the counter.

Katsuki dropped his bag near the door and stood there awkwardly, like he was already regretting coming.

Izuku stepped in behind him and shut the door, heart hammering.

His voice was quiet. Measured. But firm.

“…We need to talk.”

Chapter Text

“…We need to talk.”

The air between them was thick, unmoving.

Katsuki stood near the entrance of the living room, eyes fixed on some point beyond the wall, like if he stared hard enough, he could disappear through it.

He didn’t respond.

So Izuku stepped in further, the door clicking shut behind him with a quiet finality.

“I’m serious,” he tried again, softer this time but no less firm. “I can’t keep doing this if we don’t talk about it.”

Still nothing.

Izuku’s jaw clenched.

Katsuki kicked off his shoes like he always did. Dropped his bag like it weighed a thousand pounds. But he still didn’t meet Izuku’s eyes. Not once.

That more than anything lit the fire under Izuku’s ribs.

He swallowed, throat dry. “Do you even want to be here?”

Katsuki tensed. That was something.

“’Cause you sure as hell don’t act like it lately.”

Katsuki muttered, “Don’t start.”

Izuku’s voice raised a notch. “Start what, exactly? Talking about how you’re a completely different person every other day?” his voice cracked. That was a bad sign.

Katsuki turned his head slightly, enough to throw him a glare, but he still didn’t speak.

Izuku laughed bitterly. “God, do you even hear yourself? No. Wait. That’s the problem—you never say anything, Kacchan! You just sit there and act like I should know what’s going on in your head!”

Katsuki finally spoke, his tone sharp. “Maybe you should.”

Izuku blinked, stunned, then narrowed his eyes. “Kacchan listen to yourself! I’m not a mind reader! I can’t guess what version of you is going to show up each day!”

Katsuki crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, posture defensive. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No, I’m being honest!” Izuku stepped closer, voice rising. “One day you’re nice—nice! Like you actually want to be around me. You talk, you care for me! When I didn't come to school fo-for what? Three days?! You come running to my side taking care of me!—and then the next, you ghost me. You walk past me in the halls like I’m a stranger.”

Katsuki’s eyes flicked away again.

“And don’t tell me I’m imagining it, because I’m not! I’m not crazy!” Izuku’s chest was heaving now. “I know what I feel when you’re around. I know when you’re avoiding me, and I know when you’re trying.”

Katsuki didn’t answer.

Izuku took a shaky breath and pressed on. “So what is it? Is it some game? Do you enjoy messing with me like this?” The first tear fell.

Katsuki flinched, barely perceptible, but Izuku caught it.

“No answer? Of course not,” Izuku muttered bitterly. “Because when it matters, you never say anything.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his palm.

“I didn’t ask to be here,” Katsuki muttered suddenly.

Izuku froze. “What?”

“I didn’t ask to be paired up with you. I didn’t ask to be dragged back into your life.” His voice was low, controlled, but there was something dangerous simmering underneath. “So maybe stop acting like I’m the only one screwing everything up.”

Izuku’s face twisted with hurt. “That’s what you think? That this is me dragging you back? You keep showing up! You could’ve said no, Katskui. You could've said no evreytime I invited you over! Hell, you invited me over to your place three fucking days after we got assigned! You didn’t have to come here today! Yet you did! You did, and you showed up!”

Katsuki growled under his breath and pushed off the wall, pacing. “Yeah? Well, maybe I shouldn’t have.”

Izuku’s chest tightened, but he kept pushing. “Then why did you?! What do you want from me, Kacchan?! You treat me like I matter one minute and then act like I’m nothing the next!”

“I never said you mattered,” Katsuki snapped.

The words landed like a slap.

Izuku’s hands curled into fists. “That’s bullshit and you know it!” he praticly screamed, clutching his heart as tears poured out his face.

Katsuki’s face twisted in frustration. “You keep poking at this like it’s gonna magically make sense! Like there’s some neat answer that’s gonna tie everything up and make it all okay. There isn’t.”

“Then try!” Izuku shouted. “I’m not asking you to fix it—I’m asking you to stop being such a coward!”

That did it.

Katsuki spun on him, eyes burning. “You think this is cowardice?! You think I like this?!”

“I don’t know what to think anymore!” Izuku screamed back, voice cracking. “You push and pull and run hot and cold, and I’m the one left trying to hold the pieces together!”

Katsuki grabbed at the back of his head, fingers digging into his mullet in frustration like he wanted to tear it out. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Izuku!”

Izuku was shaking now. “Then tell me that! Just say it! Anything is better than this—this silence!”

Katsuki turned away again, pacing like a caged animal. “You don’t understand.”

“Then make me understand!”

“I can’t!”

Izuku’s voice rose higher, desperate and ragged. “Why not?! Why can’t you just tell me why you treat me like I’m someone you actually care about—then drop me like I don’t even exist?!”

Katsuki let out a guttural sound of frustration, nearly a scream, and yanked at his hair again. “Because I don’t know how to feel anything without it fucking ruining me!”

Izuku’s breath caught.

Katsuki’s hands were trembling at his sides, his back turned.

Izuku took a shaky step forward. “Kacchan…”

But Katsuki tensed and spun on his heel, eyes glassy with fury. “Don’t. I didn’t come here to have my guts spilled out for you. I didn’t come here to have this conversation.”

“Then why did you come?” Izuku asked quietly, like a whisper.

Katsuki’s mouth opened, then closed. He looked lost—furious and hurt and so far from the boy Izuku used to know that it made his heart ache.

“…I don’t know,” Katsuki finally said, voice low and gutted. “I shouldn’t have.”

He turned, snatched up his bag from the floor, and made for the front door.

“Kacchan, wait—”

But Katsuki didn’t stop.

"Kacchan! Please i-i"

He grabbed the doorknob, yanked it open, and paused only for a half-second in the doorway. Not long enough for Izuku to say anything else. Not long enough for anything to change.

And then he left.

The door slammed shut behind him, rattling in its frame. The sound echoed through the house like a gunshot.

Izuku stood in the middle of the room, frozen. His breath came in short, shallow bursts. His eyes burned.

He sank slowly onto the couch and curled forward, burying his face in his hands, letting tears flow freely from his eyes.

He didn’t know what hurt worse—Katsuki’s silence…

Or the fact that he kept hoping it would finally say something different.

...

The silence in Izuku’s room was heavy, interrupted only by the distant hum of Mina’s Bluetooth speaker playing upbeat pop too quietly to lift his mood.

He sat slouched in front of his mirror, legs splayed awkwardly, fingers limp in his lap. His eyes were red and puffy, cheeks still blotchy from crying earlier. No matter how many times he tried to rub the tears away, they kept staining the edge of his sleeves.

A familiar ache sat in the middle of his chest like a rock that wouldn’t move. Not since Katsuki walked out. Not since that awful fight, the one that left his voice raw and his heart hollow. He hadn’t heard a word from him. Nothing. Like it had all meant nothing.

And now here he was. Sitting like a crumpled tissue while Mina and Ochaco buzzed around his room, determined to make him look like a "hot little bunny boy," whatever that meant.

"I’m not wearing that," Izuku said for the fifth time, eyeing the cotton like bunny tail hanging off Mina’s finger like it was cursed.

“Oh, you are,” Mina declared, grinning like a devil. Her pink hair was already on and styled into two messy space buns, glitter sprinkled across her cheeks and collarbones like stardust. And a white halo and wings to top it off. “It’s Halloween. You’re contractually obligated to be hot.”

“I thought we were doing something subtle,” he muttered, slumping further in his chair.

Ochaco sat cross-legged on his bed, sorting through a makeup kit with surgical precision. “You agreed to be a bunny.”

“I didn’t agree to be a thirst trap.”

“Same thing,” Mina said, tossing the band onto his lap.

Izuku picked it up like it was going to bite him. “This looks like im trying to-to seduce evreyone at the damn party!” he wined

“Exactly.” Mina’s grin widened. “You’re gonna look like a slutty bunny. It’s called revenge hot.”

Izuku blinked. “What—revenge hot??”

“Yep. The second Katsuki sees you—if that emotionally stunted feral gremlin dares to show his face—he’ll explode. Probably literally.” She struck a pose, then leaned in. “And you, my sad little friend, are going to look devastating.”

“I don’t know,” Izuku mumbled, “I don’t feel devastating. I feel like a soggy tissue.”

Ochaco left her makeup kit and came over, gently taking his face in her hands. “That’s because you haven’t seen what we can do yet.” She gave him a soft, reassuring smile. “We’re gonna make you look amazing, Izuku. And even if Bakugou doesn’t show, you’ll still be the best-looking person at the party.”

“And people are gonna beg to take pics with you,” Mina added, already digging through her bag for the bunny ears.

Izuku looked at himself in the mirror again. His hair was messy and dull. His skin looked tired. There were deep bags under his eyes, and no amount of glitter or eyeliner could hide the heartbreak carved into his face.

Still.

Still, part of him wanted to try. Part of him wanted to feel good again—even for a night. Even if it wasn’t real.

“…Okay,” he whispered, finally. “But only if I get to wear pants. Like, real pants.”

Mina threw him a pair of black leather pants that hit him in the face. “Done.”

“What the—where did you even get these?!”

“I know a guy.”

“You scare me.”

“And yet here you are.”

Ochaco giggled and handed Izuku a compact. “Start moisturizing while Mina assaults your dignity. You’re gonna need it for the highlighter.”

An hour later, Izuku didn’t recognize himself.

The leather pants were tight, hugging every inch of him and sitting a little too low on his hips for comfort. The white basic dress shirt and around a size to small, and Mina had dabbed silver shimmer along his collarbones like he was some kind of ethereal forest creature. Ochaco had darkened his eyes with shadow and liner, making his lashes look stupidly long and sultry, and added the tiniest bit of gloss to his lips. She even gave him a soft pink blush across his nose and cheeks.

But it was the ears and tail that sealed the deal.

A sleek black headband with satin bunny ears—tall, elegant, and just shy of ridiculous, and the bunny tail, a thin belt like band around his waist.

“Oh my god,” Mina breathed, clapping a hand over her mouth. “You look like someone’s forbidden fantasy.”

“I hate this,” Izuku said automatically, cheeks burning.

“Do you?” Ochaco teased. “Because you’ve been staring at yourself for like five minutes.”

“I just—" he bit his lip. "I don’t look like me.”

“You don’t have to tonight,” Mina said, walking up behind him and resting her chin on his shoulder. “Tonight you get to be whoever you want. Hot bunny. Sad anime prince. Rejected ex turned mysterious heartthrob. Take your pick.”

He chuckled weakly. “You guys are ridiculous.”

“But effective.” Ochaco popped the collar of his shirt dramatically.

Izuku looked back at the mirror. The makeup, the costume—it was a mask, sure. But it made it easier to breathe. Just a little.

He still felt raw inside. Still felt like a part of him had been carved out and left in Katsuki’s hands.

But maybe tonight…he could forget for a while.

Or at least pretend to.

“…Okay,” he said again, straighter this time. “Let’s go.”

Mina whooped. “Yesss! Let’s wreck some hearts!”

Ochaco looped her arm through his. “Let’s make sure yours gets to heal a little first.”

Izuku didn’t answer. But he smiled.

Mina’s house was already buzzing when they arrived.

The beat of the music could be felt before they even reached the front door—heavy bass that rattled the pavement and thumped deep in Izuku’s chest. Lights were pulsing from the windows, flickering red and orange like some kind of infernal heartbeat. The smell of sweat, fog machine smoke, and cheap candy filled the air the second Mina pushed the door open.

It was packed.

Costumes everywhere. Glitter. Leather. Wings. Cloaks. Someone in a full inflatable T-Rex suit was dancing next to a pair of bloody bride zombies grinding against each other. From the living room came whoops and screams—someone had just downed a shot and was spinning in circles with glow sticks. And at the base of the staircase, what looked like a six-foot Pikachu was trying to organize a drinking game, already halfway slurring their rules.

“Oh my god,” Izuku whispered, wide-eyed.

“Welcome to the jungle,” Mina said proudly, pulling him in by the arm like a proud matchmaker dragging her prize. “Now let’s show them what a hot bunny looks like.”

Izuku didn’t have time to respond before they were swallowed by the crowd.

People turned. Heads whipped. A few jaws even dropped. There were whistles, compliments shouted over the music, and at least one person who straight-up stopped dancing to ogle him as he passed.

He tugged at the too-tight dress shirt with one hand, the bunny tail belt tickling his lower back, trying not to fidget. He knew he looked good—like, objectively. Ochaco had glammed him up like a pro. But feeling good? That was harder. Especially when every second someone was yelling, “Izuku?!” or “Is that Midoriya?!” in some tone between disbelief and awe.

He managed a stiff wave. “Hi. Hello. Yes. It’s me. Please stop looking at my thighs.”

Mina just grinned like a maniac. “You’re the hottest one here, hands down.”

Ochaco leaned in from the other side, already sipping a bright red drink with a skull straw. “You’re like…one sad sigh away from causing a riot.”

Before he could formulate a proper protest, a familiar voice called from across the room.

“YO, BUNNY BOY!”

Kirishima.

He was dressed as a devil, of course—shirt ripped open, thorns on his head. Sero was beside him, a cowboy with plastic guns and a lasso made of streamer ribbon. Kaminari looked like he’d just thrown on eyeliner and called himself a vampire. Classic.

“Midoriya,” Kirishima greeted him with a beaming smile. “You look—uh—well, you look…”

Kaminari let out a dramatic gasp. “Delectable. Like something off a forbidden dessert menu.”

Izuku flushed redder than a tomato. “I—I don’t—”

“You’re sitting next to me for every game tonight,” Sero added with a smirk. “No objections.”

“Guys,” Izuku whimpered, tugging on Mina’s sleeve. “Help.”

Mina just laughed. “Nope. You’re Bunny Boy now. Embrace it.”

Three Hours Later

The party had escalated into pure chaos.

Drinking games. Dares. Lap dances (mostly ironic, but occasionally intense). Someone was passed out on the stairs. Another person had been wrapped head to toe in toilet paper and dubbed “Mummy King.” The fog machine was long forgotten but still pumping, and the bathroom mirror had “HAVE FUN OR ELSE” written in lipstick.

Izuku had been dragged into nearly every game.

Flip cup. Rage pong. King’s Cup. Seven Minutes in Heaven (thankfully dodged by "losing" on purpose). He’d taken three shots of Mina’s infamous pink concoction, played a round of truth-or-dare that ended with him singing “Like a Virgin” into a banana, and somewhere in the blur of it all, someone had stuck a glow stick down the back of his pants and declared him the “rave bunny.”

A couple hours had passed, and Izuku was completely gone.

He could barely walk in a straight line without tripping over his own feet—each stumble followed by a slurred apology to a lamp or a wall. Everything was spinning in that warm, dizzy kind of way that made gravity feel optional.

So when Mina and Ochaco dragged him into the living room to dance, he didn’t fight it.

Some loud, bass-heavy party anthem was blaring through the speakers, and the whole room bounced with it. He jumped and screamed along with the lyrics like everyone else, limbs loose and clumsy, face flushed from laughter and booze.

The world was a blur of colored lights, bodies, and noise.

Until her.

A girl stepped up to him, asking with a sly grin if he wanted to dance.

Izuku blinked at her, trying to focus. He couldn’t place her. Then again, if Jirou herself walked up to him right now, he doubted he’d recognize her. His brain was mush.

He grinned anyway. “Y-yeah, sure, why not,” he mumbled.

She was dressed as a vampire—fake blood splattered over her cheek and down her neck, little vials of red liquid strapped to her belt like props. Her blonde hair was curled and messy, and she had dramatic black eyeliner that made her eyes sharp in the low light. She was a little shorter than him, but that didn’t matter.

They danced. Jumping, spinning, laughing. She was bold, grinding a little too close—but Izuku just giggled awkwardly, trying to match the rhythm.

Then her hands slid behind his neck.

Fingers interlocked. Holding.

Pinning.

His smile faltered.

He reached to steady her with his hands on her waist, out of instinct. “O-oh—s-sorry—m’not really lookin’ for a... h-hic... hookup,” he slurred, trying to step back.

But she didn’t let him.

She laughed. “Sure you aren’t, Izuku.”

His stomach flipped.

How did she—?

He blinked, brain struggling to catch up.

“I saw you looking at me,” she whispered, pressing closer.

No one was looking.

“N-no, I—I think you got the wrong—please let go—” He tried to pull back, but her grip tightened.

“C’mon, Zuzu,” she cooed, eyes dark. “Don’t be like thattt...” Her nails dug into his neck just slightly.

No one cared

Izuku panicked. His heart pounded as his hands pushed gently against her arms. “Stop—please, I said no—”

"God, shut up and just kiss me." She leaned in.

No one batted an eye

“No! Please—get off—!”

Exept

She was shoved.

Hard.

The girl stumbled, nearly falling back, only caught by a few startled partygoers.

A gasp escaped her lips.

Izuku froze. Wide-eyed.

He didn’t need to look.

He already knew.

Katsuki stood there. Chest rising and falling. Eyes blazing.

“He said—” he growled low and feral, “—get the fuck off him.”

The girl’s eyes flicked up, sharp and wild.

Katsuki glared right back.

A deadly silence passed between them—just the music thudding in the background, the crowd too dazed to fully understand what just happened.

Then... she smiled. Just barely. The corner of her lip curled.

And she turned on her heel and vanished into the crowd.

Izuku stood there, shaking, breathing hard.

“K-Kacchan...?” he croaked, looking up.

But Katsuki didn’t say a word.

He just stared—something unreadable in his eyes—then turned and walked away.

Leaving Izuku alone, dizzy, and absolutely wrecked.

What the fuck.

Two hours had past, Izuku mostly forgot about the vampire girl, and continued on his night, having fun and partying with his friends.

However.

Now?

Now he was slumped over Mina’s kitchen island, legs dangling off the stool, bunny ears askew and his head buried in his folded arms.

He hiccuped.

Loudly.

Then sniffled.

“—‘m not cryin’,” he slurred into his elbow. “Not cryin’. Just… m’ eyes are sweaty.”

“I miss him,” Izuku hiccupped again, not lifting his head. “I hate him. But I miss ‘im. He’s stupid. So stupid. Have you seen how sharp his jaw is?! Like a weapon. A war hic criminal. A jaw criminal.” He talked to himself.

“I trusted him,” Izuku mumbled. “I let him in. I let him see me" he grumbled.

 He continued to talk to himself, slowly not forming proper sentences and just started mumbling to himself.

He hiccupped.

“…freaking stupid,” he muttered to himself. “Who even invented Halloween.”

Then another hiccup. This one louder.

“Kacchan…” he whispered into the marble counter like it would answer him. “Stupid jaw criminal,” Izuku slurred into his forearm, giggling softly at his own insult.

Then—

A presence.

Boots on tile. A drink being set down. A chair scraping.

Izuku blinked his eyes open slowly, pushing himself up just enough to turn—

And froze.

Katsuki Bakugou stood beside him.

Izuku never managed to get a good look at his costume with the whole thing that happend earlier.

Dressed in torn jeans, fake clawed gloves, a shredded flannel, and wolf ears that stuck up in his blond mess of hair. His teeth were faintly sharp—the kind you buy at Spirit Halloween but somehow looked natural on him. He didn’t speak. Just sat beside Izuku at the island, elbows on the counter like this wasn’t the most surreal moment in the goddamn world.

“K-Kacchan…?”

Izuku blinked again, face flushing immediately as something electric shot through him.

Katsuki didn’t answer. Just looked at him from the side, silent, a little flushed from the alcohol but not nearly as far gone.

Izuku’s whole face cracked into a dopey, drunk smile.

“Kacchan,” he mumbled dreamily, scooting closer, until their shoulders touched. He praticly leaned his whole body weight against him. “Oh my hic god, you look so cute—wait no. Not cute. Scary. Like. Wolfy.” He giggled.

He poked at Katsuki’s arm. “Big bad wolf. Gonna huff n’ puff. Gonna ruin my hic life again or whatever.” He frowned. 

Katsuki’s lips twitched. Almost a smirk. But he said nothing. Just let Izuku do his thing.

Izuku leaned his cheek on Katsuki’s shoulder with a sigh, voice all sugary and drunk. “You’re warm…”

And then his face changed.

Suddenly, Izuku was frowning, swaying a little as he sat up straighter.

“Wait, wait no. No. Don’t get to do hic that. You don’t get to just… show up here all hot and glowy and wolf-coded like you didn’t break my flipping soul the other day!” almost immediately his eyes started to water.

He poked Katsuki in the chest with one finger. Hard.

“Dickhead,” he spat.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow but still didn’t speak.

“And now you’re here! Looking all-all,.... i dont know! Like, grrrr, and I’m supposed to what?! Forgive you because you have fake fangs and your biceps are out?! Your big muscular biceps," he smiled at them like he was talking to Katskui biceps personally.

A pause.

Izuku blinked.

Then—like a switch had flipped—he melted right back into Katsuki’s side again with a happy sigh. “Mmmgh. Still hic warm.”

Katsuki stared down at him, a little flushed now, but unreadable. Green messy curls flying everywhere, bunny ears half off his hair, top to buttons of his white dress shirt undone carelessly, and sweaty from the humidity.

Katsuki’s presence beside him was overwhelming. Even just sitting there, quiet, vaguely tipsy, his thigh brushing Izuku’s beneath the island counter—he was everywhere. Heat radiated from him. His scent—smoke and cedar and faint, expensive cologne—flooded Izuku’s nose every time he inhaled. It made his head foggier than the alcohol already had.

And Katsuki wasn’t even doing anything.

Not yet.

Izuku blinked slowly, chin propped on his hand, bunny ears slightly askew as he tilted his head to gaze at him. “Kacchan,” he whispered, tone syrupy and teasing, “You’re really... like, so hot hic it’s rude.” He used his pointer finger and caressed his pecs.

Katsuki didn’t respond at first, just flicked his crimson eyes over and let them drag slowly down Izuku’s chest. He lingered for a beat too long on the exposed skin beneath the unbuttoned dress shirt.

Izuku grinned lazily. “You checking me out?” he giggled.

“You wore this shit and expected me not to?” Katsuki murmured, voice low and rough like gravel underfoot.

Izuku giggled, leaning closer until their shoulders pressed again. “You like the ears?”

Katsuki huffed, clearly trying not to smirk. “You look like a damn stripper bunny.”

“Thank you,” Izuku said proudly, even as his cheeks flushed bright pink. “Mission accomplished.”

He tilted his head again, eyes narrowing slightly as his smirk deepened. “You’re being reeeeaaaalllllll hic Quiet Kacchannnnn,"

“I’m tipsy,” Katsuki muttered. “Not a talk show host.”

Izuku snorted, tossing his head back dramatically. Katskui litteraly had to grab his back so he wouldnt fall off his chair. “Oh my god, you’re such a buzzkill. I came all the way to this party, in these pants—which, by the way, I had to lotion myself into—and you’re just gonna sit there and brood?”

Katsuki’s jaw twitched. “You’re doing plenty of talking for both of us.” He was stairing at izuku like he had two heads.

“Fine,” Izuku drawled, voice dropping lower as he turned to face him fully. “I’ll shut up. But only if you make me.” He glared up at katskui, determined.

Katsuki blinked.

Something darkened behind his eyes.

“Oh?” he said slowly, eyes sharp now. He moved his head to look at Izuku, who was resting against his shoulder. With this angle he could really only see his hair, legs, and eyes.“You want me to shut you up, huh?” he grumbled.

Izuku’s breath caught. He gripped the edge of the counter.

“I mean…” he teased, suddenly bold, the alcohol surging through his veins like rocket fuel. “You’ve been staring at my mouth hic for the last ten minutes, Kacchan. If you’re so desperate to shut it, maybe you should just—”

“Try me,” Katsuki cut in.

Izuku stopped. Swallowed.

Then smirked, cocky and flushed. “What, like you’re gonna kiss me or something?” izuku giggled.

Katsuki leaned in, close enough that Izuku could feel his breath ghost across his lips.

“No,” he whispered, gaze locked onto Izuku’s mouth. “I’m gonna ruin you.” voice rumbling.

Izuku squeaked—an actual noise escaped his throat, halfway between a gasp and a whimper. Like a bunny noise.

He scrambled to recover. “Y-you’re all bark, Kacchan,” he said, voice high and breathless. “Bet you’re just talk.” He crossed his arms defensively.

“Wanna bet?” Katsuki rasped, eyes half-lidded now, voice like smoke curling between them.

Izuku felt like the floor dropped out from under him. His heart was trying to escape his chest. He was dizzy—drunk on alcohol, maybe, but more than that, he was drunk on him. On the tension. On the heat between them that had never gone away, just buried beneath fights and misunderstandings and god-awful timing.

But the thing with alcohol and Izuku... it makes him horny as fuck.

Katsuki’s hand was resting on his thigh now, firm. His thumb dragging slow, lazy circles against the leather, up and down izukus thigh.

“Keep runnin’ your mouth, Bunny,” Katsuki said, low and almost amused. “I dare you.”

Izuku’s entire body tensed. His knees bumped together under the island. “You know I could just—jump you right hic now,” he whispered, not even hearing himself anymore.

Katsuki let out a soft laugh—a laugh—the kind Izuku barely ever heard, but when he did, it always made his stomach flip.

“You could try,” he muttered, voice husky. “You’d lose.”

Izuku smiled, crooked and slow and dangerous. “Wanna make me lose, Kacchan?”

Katsuki didn’t say anything.

He just looked at him. Really looked at him. Like he’d been holding back something for too long and he was finally letting it surface.

Then:

“Come back to my apartment.”

The words dropped like a bomb.

Izuku blinked.

His lips parted like he wanted to say something clever, something flirty, something to keep the fire burning.

But all that came out was—

A nod.

“…O-okay.”

Quiet.

Breathless.

Katsuki didn’t wait. He stood, still silent, and grabbed izukus wrist, dragging him.

And just like that, Katsuki led him out of the kitchen. Away from the flashing lights. Away from the party.

Away to do something theyll regret in the morning. 

Oh well...

They can worry about that later.

Chapter Text

They barely spoke on the walk over.

Izuku stumbled more times than Katsuki could count. First on a curb, then on a leaf, then—somehow—on nothing at all. The cold night air nipped at their skin, but it did nothing to cool the flush riding high on Izuku’s cheeks, or the way Katsuki’s ears burned every time Izuku giggled under his breath.

Eventually, Katsuki just sighed and threw Izuku’s arm over his shoulder, tugging him close.

“Can’t even walk straight, dumbass.”

Izuku leaned his whole weight into him. “You’re warm…” he mumbled, his breath fogging against Katsuki’s neck. “M’sorry I keep trippin’. My legs got no bones.” He giggled.

Katsuki snorted, despite himself. “Yeah, I noticed. You’re a goddamn noodle right now.”

By the time they reached Katsuki’s apartment, Izuku was swaying in place on the welcome mat, blinking up at the door like it was a puzzle. Katsuki unlocked it with practiced ease, then shoved the door open and guided them both inside.

The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in. It was suddenly too quiet.

Izuku stood just inside, blinking owlishly. The low, warm lighting of Katsuki’s place wrapped around them, soft and intimate. Izuku swayed again, catching himself against the wall.

Katsuki turned, set his keys down on the counter, and glanced back at him.

“Shoes off.”

Izuku pouted. “But I just got here…” 

Katsuki raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Shoes. Off.”

Izuku huffed dramatically, bent over to untie them—then promptly lost his balance and nearly toppled forward.

“Shit—” Katsuki lunged, catching him around the waist just in time. Izuku squeaked, chest pressed against him. Katsuki’s hands were firm on his sides.

He didn’t let go.

Neither did Izuku.

For a long, pulsing second, they just stood there, Izuku blinking up at him, Katsuki staring down, his breath sharp and uneven. Izuku’s hands had fisted into the front of his shirt. His mouth was slightly open. His lips were so close. Too close.

“Fuck,” Katsuki muttered under his breath. His voice came out rough. Frustrated.

He pulled back and shoved Izuku’s shoes off for him, dragging him further inside by the wrist.

The apartment was neat, lived-in, with warm lighting and a faint smell of clove and firewood. Katsuki kicked off his boots by the door, then dragged Izuku into the kitchen.

“Sit,” he ordered, pointing at the island stool.

Izuku obeyed, giggling as he collapsed into the seat. “You’re so bossy when you’re not yelling. Very hot, you’re hot....”

Katsuki ignored that. Barely.

He grabbed a glass, filled it with cold water, and shoved it into Izuku’s hands.

“Drink it.”

Izuku looked down at it when it was placed in his hard and made a mumble complaint. “That’s not vodka…”

Katsuki scoffed. “No shit. It’s water. You need it. You’re already three sheets to the wind.”

Izuku took a sip anyway, mostly to make Katsuki stop glaring.

Once he finished half the glass, he set it down and slumped forward, laying his cheek against the cool countertop.

Katsuki leaned against the opposite side of the island, arms crossed, watching him.

And for a second, everything slowed.

Izuku peeked up at him through his lashes. His cheeks were flushed, his pupils blown wide. His hair was a little messy, his lips red from biting them all night.

“You’ve been looking at me like that all night, Kacchan…” he mumbled, voice soft and lazy. “Like you wanna eat me or something. Im meannnnn technically im a bunny... i could be your prey...” He giggled.

Katsuki exhaled through his nose. “Shut up.”

Izuku smirked, lifting his head. “Make me.”

Katsuki blinked, his expression unreadable.

Something in him shifted.

He moved—slowly, purposefully—around the island. Each step made Izuku’s heart thud louder.

When Katsuki finally stood right in front of him, Izuku tilted his head back, looking up at him with wide, glassy eyes. His legs spread -without hesitation- as Katsuki stepped in between them.

“You really want me to shut you up, huh?” Katsuki murmured, his voice a low rumble, his hand grabbed the back of Izukus nape, and grabbed it harshly, making a small whimper come out of the greenetes mouth.

“I want you,” Izuku whispered, honest and messy. “I’ve always wanted 'Kacchan.”

Katsuki froze.

Katsuki’s face was suddenly right there, so close. His lips barely an inch away. Izuku could feel the warmth of him, the tension radiating from his body. Katsuki’s eyes flicked down to his mouth, hungry and hesitant all at once.

“Don’t—don’t stop…” Izuku pleaded, breathless now. “Please.”

His hands gripped Katsuki’s shirt again, tugging him closer.

Katsuki leaned in.

So close Izuku could almost taste him.

So close he stopped breathing.

But then—

Katsuki pulled back.

A sharp, almost pained breath escaped him as he clenched his jaw.

“I can’t.”

Izuku blinked. “W-what…? Kac-”

“You’re drunk,” Katsuki said flatly, though his voice wavered. “You’re not thinking straight.”

Izuku looked wounded. “I am thinking straight—I’ve been- im not straight, I'm thinking! Kacchan see look my brain thinks right now! I want you Kacchan—”

“Yeah? Then tell me that when you’re sober,” Katsuki snapped. “When you can mean it.”

“I do mean it—!”

Katsuki shook his head. His hands dropped away from Izuku’s face. “You don’t get it.”

Izuku stared up at him, wide-eyed and trembling, looking equal parts desperate and betrayed.

Katsuki exhaled, rough and quiet. “I want to. Fuck, you don’t even know how badly I want to.”

Izuku’s throat bobbed. “Then why—?”

“Because I don’t wanna be something you regret tomorrow morning,” Katsuki said, voice barely above a whisper.

Suddenly the shorter got emotional, eyes glossy he asked: "Why dosnt Suki want me..."

Thats a new nickname. Quicky Katskui grabbed Izukus jaw, holding it firmly, "Shut the fuck up, Deku. Dont-" he sighed heavily. "Youre drunk as fuck right now... God who let you be around Mina..." he grumbled.

Izuku went quiet.

He sat there, suddenly still. Like the weight of Katsuki’s restraint hit him harder than any kiss could have.

Katsuki turned away.

He grabbed a throw blanket from the back of the couch, came back, and tugged gently at Izuku’s wrist until he stood.

“No more talking,” he murmured, quieter now. “Come on.”

He led him to the couch and sat him down. Then, slowly, carefully, he pulled the blanket up around Izuku’s shoulders, tucking him in like it was second nature.

Izuku didn’t protest this time.

He just laid back, smiling from the warmth of the blanket as he looked up at Katskui.

Katsuki crouched beside him for a moment longer, staring at him with unreadable eyes. His hand hovered over Izuku’s forehead for a second—then moved to brush some curls out of his face, gentle as ever. He grabbed the bunny ears and set them on the coffee table.

“You’re staying here tonight,” Katsuki said.

Izuku didn’t respond. Just slighty nodded. To tired to argue.

His eyes were glassy. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but the words never came.

So Katsuki stood. Took one last look at him. Then walked down the hall, into his room.

The door shut softly behind him.

Izuku curled into the blanket, still warm with the heat of Katsuki’s hands.

...

Izuku woke slowly.

Like his entire soul was sore.

His head throbbed so hard it felt like a heartbeat behind his eyes, and his mouth was the driest desert known to man. Even his eyelids felt heavy, sticky with leftover makeup. His limbs were a tangled mess beneath a warm, surprisingly soft blanket. He groaned and buried deeper into the cushion under his cheek.

Wait.

This wasn’t his bed.

His brows knit. Crusty mascara clung to his lashes as he cracked one eye open.

No.

His apartment definitely didn’t have a massive TV mounted across from the couch. Or a faint, underlying smell of gunpowder mixed with sandalwood and expensive-ass laundry detergent.

His stomach dropped.

The couch.

The blanket.

The soft, early morning kitchen noises.

The fucking smell of eggs.

“…Oh my god,” Izuku croaked eyes widening in horror.

With shaky arms, he lifted the blanket and peeked down at himself.

His white dress shirt hung off one shoulder—completely unbuttoned. His chest was bare underneath, streaked faintly with leftover glitter and some lipstick smudges he didn’t remember applying. His thighs were on full display, the blanket barely covering his boxers. The white bunny ears he’d worn the night before were nowhere in sight.

His face was a mess.

He was a mess.

And this—

This wasn’t his apartment.

This was Katsuki's apartment.

He was in Bakugou Katsuki’s living room. Dressed like a dollar-store pinup model and hungover like he’d been hit by a semi-truck.

He almost screamed.

Instead, he curled into the fetal position and groaned loudly, curling the blanket over his head like a makeshift bunker.

There was a beat of silence. Then the low sound of bare feet padding across the wood floor.

Shit.

Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, trying to pretend he wasn’t there. If he didn’t move, maybe Katsuki would assume he was still asleep. Maybe he'd get lucky and just disappear into the couch cushions and never have to face the consequences of his slutty, drunken bunny behavior.

But then—

"Oi. I know you’re awake."

The gruff voice was too close.

Izuku tensed.

“No, I’m not,” he mumbled through the blanket.

A low grunt.

Then, the edge of the blanket was yanked down.

“Don’t be a little bitch about it,” Katsuki muttered, crouching in front of him.

Izuku flailed weakly, squinting up at him through smudged eyeliner and a war zone of emotions. “Kacchan, don’t look at me—my face—I look like the inside of a makeup bag—!”

Katsuki raised an eyebrow, totally unfazed by his dramatics. “You looked worse last night,” he deadpanned.

“Rude!” Izuku gasped, clutching the blanket tighter around himself. “Did I—did I sleep here?! What happened? What did I do?!”

“You passed out on my couch after throwing yourself at me like a drunk rabbit in heat,” Katsuki said bluntly, rising back to his full height.

Izuku let out a horrified squeak. “OH GOD—I knew I was inappropriate—I knew I was—I said things, didn’t I? I definitely said things—Kacchan, I’m so sorry, I swear I wasn’t trying to, like, seduce you or anything, I just really wanted to kiss you but it was the alcohol—I mean it was mostly the alcohol, like maybe 80%—okay 70%—maybe less honestly because I have thought about it sober but I wasn’t gonna do anything, and then I said the prey thing didn’t I, oh my god I did, please tell me I didn’t say that thing about bunnies—"

“Deku.”

"I am a disgrace—"

“Deku. Breathe.”

Izuku shut up.

Panting, wild-eyed, flushed with leftover makeup and shame.

Katsuki stood above him, looking like a mythological god of judgment, shirtless in sweats, arms crossed over his broad chest. His expression was unreadable—but not angry. Just… tired. Tired, and maybe a little amused in the corner of his mouth.

“You didn’t do anything,” Katsuki said flatly. “You flirted. Badly. Then begged. I said no. Then you cried a little, and passed out.”

Izuku let out a mortified wheeze.

“I cried?!”

Katsuki shrugged one shoulder. “You do that.”

“Not fair—!” Izuku flopped dramatically onto his back and let out a dying groan. “You saw me vulnerable! And desperate! And drunk and half—oh my god, I can never show my face again—!”

“Deku.”

Katsuki’s voice had that tone again. That stop spiraling before I throw you out the window tone.

“Seriously. Chill the fuck out.”

But Izuku couldn’t chill.

Because as soon as he sat up, trying to catch his breath and quicky form another apology, the wave of nausea hit him.

His face paled.

His eyes went wide.

“Oh no.” He let out.

Katsuki blinked, confusion washing over his face. “What—”

Izuku bolted off the couch, blanket flying behind him like a superhero cape as he sprinted down the hall to the bathroom.

Katsuki let out a curse and followed a second later.

By the time he reached the bathroom, Izuku was already on his knees, gripping the toilet like a lifeline and throwing up what smelled like a deadly mix of fruit punch, tequila, and regret.

Katsuki sighed through his nose and crouched beside him.

He hesitated for a beat. Then reached out, awkwardly but gently, and started rubbing slow circles on Izuku’s back.

“Fuckin’ lightweight,” he muttered.

Izuku whimpered.

“I’m dying…”

“Good. Maybe it’ll teach you not to chug whatever Mina hands you next time.”

“Don’t be mean to me while I’m vomiting,” Izuku mumbled weakly, head resting on his arm.

Katsuki huffed.

Katsuki kept rubbing his back in silence for another few minutes, until Izuku finally slumped over, empty and exhausted.

Katsuki handed him a towel.

Izuku blinked up at him, grateful and a little teary.

“You didn’t have to do all this.”

“Yeah, well,” Katsuki mumbled, avoiding his gaze, “I didn’t want you puking on my damn couch.”

Izuku laughed, hoarse and tired.

Katsuki helped him to his feet.

“C’mon. I made eggs. And jam toast. If you can stomach it.”

Izuku leaned against him without thinking, too tired to feel awkward about it now. His face pressed against Katsuki’s warm, bare shoulder.

“…You’re really warm,” he mumbled.

Katsuki froze for a second.

“…You’re-- you say that a lot,” he grumbled, but his voice lacked the usual venom.

Izuku smiled against him, even as his stomach churned.

And despite everything—the shame, the queasiness, the messy emotions from the night before—he felt a weird, soft warmth in his chest.

He hadn’t been kissed. But just maybe… he hadn’t been rejected, either...

but why didn't Izuku wanna get rejected?

The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet, actually.

Izuku sat at the kitchen island in an oversized black t-shirt that definitely wasn’t his and a pair of sweatpants tied haphazardly at the waist. He was curled up on the stool like a street cat who didn’t know how he’d gotten inside someone’s home but was too cold and tired to leave. His curls were still damp from a quick, shameful rinse in Katsuki’s bathroom. His face, while technically clean, still bore faint smudges of eyeliner clinging to his lashes like regrets he couldn’t scrub off.

He was staring at his plate. Or more specifically, the perfectly cooked eggs and toast Katsuki had set in front of him.

He hadn’t said much beyond a hoarse “Thanks” when they’d shuffled back into the kitchen.

Mostly because his entire body felt like it was running on static and leftover tequila—and also maybe because Katsuki was still shirtless, standing across from him, slowly chewing like he hadn’t spent last night whispering I want to right into Izuku’s trembling mouth before walking away like a damn saint.

The silence between them simmered, thick with memory and restraint.

Izuku risked a glance across the counter.

Katsuki was leaned back against the sink, arms crossed, still in those fucking grey sweatpants that hung so low on his hips they had no business staying up. His hair was wild, still damp at the ends. His face was unreadable.

Izuku looked back down at his eggs. He picked up his fork, stabbed a bite, chewed once—

Bzzt

His phone lit up beside his plate, he glanced down.

Mina 

SOOOOO???? did u get that bunny ass POUNDED or wut.

Izuku choked on his toast.

Katsuki looked up. “The fuck was that.”

“Nothing!” Izuku squeaked, smacking his phone face-down against the counter so hard the whole island shook. “Just, uh—spam. Robot. Spam bot.”

Katsuki squinted. “That was a notification.”

“No it wasn’t.”

“You just choked on air.”

“It was toast.”

“You’re lying.”

Izuku let out a pained little laugh and took a long sip of coffee, trying to play it cool, even though his ears were bright pink.

And then—

Bzzt

Ochaco 

Girl. Please. Tell me he choked you out a little. For research. 

Izuku stared at the screen in silent horror, his face frozen like he’d just witnessed a murder.

Katsuki noticed. Again.

“Who the fuck keeps blowing up your phone?” he asked, sounding more annoyed than curious.  Izuku sighed dramatically and finally turned it over.

“…Mina and Ochaco. They’re, um. Very... emotionally invested in my love life.”

“They think you have a love life?”

Izuku groaned and slumped onto the counter, resting his cheek against the cold surface.

“I should have never let them see me in a bunny outfit.”

Katsuki snorted into his coffee. “You didn’t let them. You let the entire house see you in that outfit. Including me.”

“Can we not talk about that, please?”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m trying to repress it, thank you.”

Katsuki smirked into his mug.

Izuku peeked over at him, feeling the heat return to his cheeks.

“You’re enjoying this,” he muttered.

“I’m enjoying watching you squirm? Yeah. Kinda.”

Izuku covered his face with both hands and whined into his palms.

“Kill me. Just—just end it right here, Kacchan, I’m already halfway to the grave.”

Katsuki leaned forward on the counter, expression unreadable again.

“…They really think I fucked you?”

Izuku peeked at him through his fingers, looking mortified. “I—well—they hoped you would. There’s a difference.”

Katsuki tilted his head. “You gonna tell them the truth?”

Izuku sat up a little straighter, gaze softening. “I already did. Well… kinda. I told them I spent the night here and that nothing happened. And that you took care of me. Which, you know. You really didn’t have to do.”

Katsuki shrugged, grabbing another bite of egg. “You were puking in my bathroom. I wasn’t gonna just let you choke on your own bullshit.”

Izuku smiled faintly, staring down at his half-eaten toast.

“…Still,” he said, quiet now. “Thanks. For breakfast. And the couch. And… last night. Even if I was embarrassing.”

“You were,” Katsuki said.

“I know—”

“But you were also drunk. And kind of cute-" he paused, realizing what he just said, God who the fuck am I turning into... "-in a pathetic sort of way.”

Izuku paused, blinking. His cheeks burned.

Katsuki’s tone was teasing—but under it, something else lurked. Something warm. Dangerous.

The kind of tone he used right before closing distance.

Izuku glanced up.

Katsuki was watching him now, more intently than before. Like he was measuring something. Weighing options.

Their eyes met.

And just like that—the tension snapped back into place. Breathing between them like a third presence.

Izuku swallowed. His fingers tightened around his mug. “So… uh…”

Katsuki tilted his head. “What.”

“I said a lot of… stuff last night,” Izuku mumbled, fidgeting with the sleeve of the borrowed shirt.

“Yeah. You did.”

“And, um. I know I said I wanted you to eat me.”

Katsuki raised an eyebrow. “Multiple times.”

“Which. Horrible phrasing. And deeply inappropriate.”

“You also said you wanted to be my prey.”

“I—ok-okay we don’t have to do this!”

Katsuki smirked again.

But behind the teasing glint in his eyes, there was heat.

Undeniably still there.

“I’m just saying,” Izuku added, quieter now, voice a little shakier. “Even if I was drunk… not all of it was just…" he paused, stared down at his toast, and whisperd: "drunk talk.”

Katsuki’s smirk faded a bit.

A pause.

“You’re sober now,” The taller said flatly, eyes narrowing.

Izuku nodded.

“…And you’re still saying it.”

“I’m still saying it,” Izuku confirmed, heartbeat fluttering.

Katsuki’s jaw tightened.

His eyes dropped—once again—to Izuku’s mouth.

Izuku didn’t breathe.

For one long, slow second, it felt like they might crash all over again.

But then—

Bzzt

Another text lit up the phone between them.

Mum 

Are you safe? You didn’t come home last night. Let me know where you are, sweetie. Love you.

Izuku blinked.

Out of all the chaos and thirst-trap texts, that was the only one he immediately replied to.

He tapped out a quick response.

Izuku

I’m okay, mom. I stayed at a friend’s. Nothing happened, I'm so sorry I'll be home soon, i love you.

Katsuki watched him from across the island.

“You only replied to her.”

“Of course I did,” Izuku said, like it was obvious. “She’d panic if I didn’t. She’s my mom.”

Katsuki was quiet for a second.

Then he muttered, “Hmph.”

Izuku glanced up.

Katsuki was still looking at him.

But this time, his expression had softened. Slightly.

Maybe it was because Izuku wasn’t the same mess he’d been last night. Maybe it was the reminder that, under all the drama and flirting and bunny ears, he was still… himself.

Still Deku.

Katsuki exhaled slowly, like he was trying to push something down again.

“…Eat your toast.”

Izuku smiled. Even through all the awkwardness, and tension.

...

"Okay, if you keep eating the leftover egg scraps straight from the pan, I will revoke my thank-you."

Katsuki gave him a look. “Then get your ass in gear and help clean.”

Izuku, still in Katsuki’s borrowed shirt and slightly-too-long sweats, was trying to balance two coffee mugs in one hand while using his other to swipe up a trail of toast crumbs across the kitchen counter. His hair was a mess of unruly curls, and every now and then he’d make a small noise of frustration under his breath when a crumb escaped his wipe-down attempts.

Katsuki, standing at the sink, glanced over his shoulder and snorted. “You’re wiping it in circles. You’re just moving the crumbs around.”

“I’m making a crumb spiral,” Izuku countered dramatically, sweeping them all toward the edge of the island. “It’s part of the process.”

“Part of being inefficient.”

“You invited me to help!”

“I didn’t invite you to ruin my fucking kitchen.”

“You made eggs in my honor, sir,” Izuku said with a fake posh voice, now flicking crumbs toward a napkin like he was some kind of royal chef. “You shall accept my noble cleaning methods with grace and dignity—”

Thunk.

A sponge hit him square in the chest.

“Hey!” he gasped, clutching it to his shirt.

Katsuki smirked, drying his hands on a dish towel. “Less talking. More cleaning.”

Izuku narrowed his eyes dramatically. “You realize you just started a war, right?”

“No,” Katsuki said, tossing the towel toward the counter. “I finished it.”

“Oh ho ho.”

Izuku dropped the sponge on the counter, hands on his hips. “I knew you were cocky, but I didn’t know you were delusional.”

“Dumbass.”

“Bully.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes—but he was grinning.

And that stupid, breathtaking grin just made Izuku laugh again. A real one this time—bright and full and coming from somewhere deep in his chest. The kind that made him lean forward a little too far and almost knock over the pepper shaker.

“Careful, you nerd.”

“I have the reflexes of a ninja, Kacchan. You wish you were this agile.”

“I’ve seen you trip over air... Sober.”

“I was distracted!”

“By what? A sidewalk?”

“You, probably!”

Katsuki went still for half a beat.

Izuku noticed—his brain scrambling to walk that back—but Katsuki just gave a snort and turned back to the sink, though his ears might’ve been a little pink.

They finished the clean-up without too much chaos—just a few flicks of soapy water and one moment where Izuku somehow managed to knock over a drying rack and Katsuki groaned like a war veteran.

Afterward, Katsuki handed him a clean bag from the hall closet, where he’d stuffed Izuku’s wrinkled bunny costume from the night before.

Izuku took it like it was radioactive. “I’m burning this. I never want to see it again.”

Katsuki just shrugged. “Your loss. You wore it better than half the cheer squad.”

Izuku blinked.

Then smiled—quiet and soft this time.

“Thanks.”

Katsuki looked away.

They stood awkwardly by the front door as Izuku slipped his shoes back on, bag slung over his shoulder, curls still slightly damp from his hasty rinse.

“I’ll, uh. See you in class, I guess,” Izuku said, voice a little shy now, the energy from their earlier banter settling into something quieter.

Katsuki leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Tch. Yeah. Try not to fall asleep in Literature again.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Izuku insisted, poking his tongue out. “I was… deep in poetic thought.”

“You drooled on the syllabus.”

“…Creative condensation.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes.

Izuku’s smile faded slightly, but the warmth in it didn’t.

“…Hey... Kacchan?... Thanks. For everything last night. You didn’t have to take care of me. Or let me crash here. Or stop me from doing something stupid.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened a little.

“You’re not stupid.”

Izuku blinked.

Then nodded, cheeks warm. “Okay. But drunk me might be.”

Katsuki’s mouth twitched. “Maybe.”

A beat passed between them.

Then Izuku turned toward the door.

He hesitated for just a moment before pulling it open—then looked back one last time over his shoulder.

“I’ll see you later, Kacchan.”

Katsuki gave a single nod.

“…Later, Deku.”

The door clicked shut.

Katsuki stood there for a few seconds longer, staring at it like it might swing back open.

But it didn’t.

The apartment felt quieter now.

Like something had been removed.

Katsuki wandered back into the kitchen slowly, tossing the dish towel back onto the counter and surveying the clean space. Everything was tidy. Silent. In order.

And yet—he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Izuku had laughed.

The way he kept smiling. Soft and real. That brightness that hadn’t been there for a while. Not like that.

Not since they were kids.

And somehow—after everything—he’d been the one to bring it back.

Katsuki leaned both hands on the edge of the sink, staring out the window, jaw set.

He didn’t say anything. But part of him… already missed the sound.

What the fuck is going on with him.

...

Izuku didn’t sit.

He collapsed.

Trays clattered. Drinks nearly spilled. He slammed his forehead onto the lunch table with a dramatic groan that made half the cafeteria turn their heads for a second before dismissing it as just another Midoriya Meltdown.

“Help me,” he whispered into the table. “I’m in hell.”

Ochaco blinked, unwrapping her sandwich. “Morning to you too, sunshine.”

“What happened now?” Shinso asked lazily from across the table, already halfway into his rice bowl. “Did you walk into a wall again or did Bakugou finally break your neck?”

“Neither,” Izuku whined, not lifting his head. “Worse. So much worse.”

Tsuyu blinked. “You look like you didn’t sleep.”

“I didn’t. I couldn’t. My soul is hovering three feet above my body in shame.”

Iida adjusted his glasses, concerned. “Midoriya, are you experiencing dissociation?”

“No,” he said, finally lifting his head. His curls were a mess, and his eyes were wild. “I’m experiencing consequences.”

There was a moment of silence as everyone looked at him.

Ochaco leaned in, elbows on the table, grin forming. “You were at Bakugou’s all night.”

“I—”

“All night, Izuku.”

“I know!”

“So?” she asked, trying and failing to keep the excitement from her voice. “Spill. Now.”

Izuku looked around at their expectant faces—Shinso smirking faintly, Shoto sipping from his carton like this was just another episode of a long-running soap opera, and Iida already holding up a hand like he was prepared to moderate the discussion.

He let out a long, shuddering breath.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. So. After the party—”

“You were wasted,” Ochaco interjected.

“—I was wasted,” Izuku confirmed. “And Katsuki—Kacchan—he—he took me home.”

Everyone leaned in.

“I mean—not home home, his place.”

“Oooohhhh,” Tsu said flatly, eyes wide.

Izuku slapped his hand over his face.

“And I was—look—I was really drunk, okay? I wasn’t thinking clearly. And I—I flirted.”

“How bad?” Shinso asked, already amused.

Izuku groaned. “I said he looked at me like he wanted to eat me.”

Shoto blinked. “That’s a bold strategy.”

“I told him I was a bunny and he could make me his prey.”

Tsuyu blinked slowly. “That’s some... animal roleplay.”

Iida nearly choked on his water. “Midoriya! That’s highly inappropriate!”

Izuku banged his head against the table again. “You don’t get it, I was like, all over him—I said I wanted him, I begged him to kiss me—like, actually begged. I pulled him in close, touched his shirt, looked him in the eye like I was in some dumb fanfic—”

“Oh my god,” Ochaco gasped. “Did he kiss you?!”

“No!” Izuku wailed. “That’s the worst part! He almost did—but then he didn’t!”

“He what?” Shoto said, raising an eyebrow.

Izuku sat up, dramatically throwing his arms. “He got all close and grippy and whispered that he wanted me but then stopped and said I was too drunk and he didn’t wanna be something I regretted and then—then—he tucked me in and slept in his room and just LEFT ME THERE LIKE A DUMPED CUDDLE TOY!”

The table went quiet for a moment.

Then:

“...Damn,” Shinso said.

“Wow,” Tsuyu muttered.

“Wholesome king behavior,” Ochaco added, clearly half-swooning.

“I respect that level of restraint,” Iida said seriously.

“I don’t,” Izuku snapped. “He was shirtless and warm and broody and he made me toast the next morning.”

“...What kind of toast?” Shoto asked, as if that were crucial information.

“Regular. With jam.”

Shinso raised an eyebrow. “So he fed you. Let you sleep over. Nursed your hangover. And didn’t hook up with you?”

Izuku nodded miserably. “Because he’s a good person-" apparently "-And now I feel like a pervert.”

Ochaco grinned. “You’re not a pervert.”

“You’re just really down bad,” Tsuyu added, patting his arm.

Izuku groaned. “And then we ate breakfast together, and I helped cleaned up, and we joked around, and- it was like we were friends again..."

Shinso leaned back. “You’re screwed, man.”

“I know!”

“Did you talk about it? Like, after?” Ochaco asked.

Izuku shook his head. “Not really. It was... light. Goofy. Normal. I think he was avoiding it. I didn’t wanna push.”

There was a long pause as the group sat with that.

Then Iida cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said, “if I may speak bluntly—Bakugou’s behavior may indicate emotional maturity and a desire for actual connection. He may not want something casual. He may be… waiting.”

Izuku blinked. “Waiting for what?”

“For you to be ready. For things to be real.”

Shoto nodded. “Or he just wants you sober and less dramatic.”

“That too,” Shinso added.

Ochaco beamed. “Izuku. You might’ve finally cracked the Bakugou code.”

Izuku groaned and dropped his face back into his hands. “Yeah, and now I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Well, do something,” Tsuyu said. “You obviously like him. He obviously likes you. And I refuse to watch you two flirt and whine for another six months.”

“I second this,” Shinso said.

“Thirded,” Shoto added.

Ochaco giggled. “We all ship it, babe.”

Iida clapped a hand on Izuku’s shoulder. “Do what feels right, Midoriya. But please, no more bunny talk in public.”

Izuku laughed despite himself. His shoulders relaxed a little.

But then suddenly Izukus eyes shot wide open, and his whole body froze 

"KACCHANS GAY??!!"

Chapter Text

Two Weeks Later

The TV played some old action flick no one was really paying attention to. The popcorn bowl was mostly empty on the coffee table, and the game controllers lay untouched nearby.

Izuku sat cross-legged on the couch, slowly picking at a stray piece of lint on his sock while Katsuki sat on the floor between his knees, arms stretched up and over his head, groaning as his back cracked in at least three places.

“Jesus,” Katsuki muttered, wincing. “My whole spine’s fucked.”

Izuku blinked down at him. “Is it from practice?”

Katsuki just gave a grunt and reached behind himself to rub at his lower back. “Yeah. Been like that all week. My coach, Yagi, he hasnt given any of us a fucking break,"

Izuku chucked slightly, then he hesitated. “Do you want me to… try and massage it or something? I mean—I used to help my mom with her shoulder pain sometimes, and I don’t suck at it, probably.”

Katsuki shot him a skeptical glance. “You do know you’ve got noodle arms, right?”

Izuku gave him an unamused look. “Okay, rude. And not true. But also I’ve got good thumbs.”

Katsuki snorted, but shrugged out of his hoodie anyway. “Fine. Go for it. If you snap my spine, I’m haunting you.”

He snorted “Duly noted.”

Izuku shifted and placed his hands on Katsuki’s shoulders, starting to press gently. His eyes widened almost immediately.

He’s solid.

Like, not just fit—dense. Corded muscle under warm skin, years of training packed into every line of his back. It made Izuku’s brain short-circuit just a little.

He coughed. “Wow. You’re really…tense.”

“No shit.”

They fell into a rhythm—Izuku’s thumbs digging carefully down along his spine, Katsuki occasionally grunting or swearing when he hit a tight spot.

Then:

“So,” Izuku asked lightly, trying to focus, “baseball season’s still going?”

Katsuki snorted. “What? No. It’s fucking November.”

Izuku blinked. “Then… why’d you say it was baseball practice?”

Katsuki twisted his head to look at him, expression somewhere between amused and annoyed. “We’ve only got indoor drills now. We haven’t played real games since August.”

“Oh.” Izuku blinked, then gave an awkward laugh. “Guess I just assumed…”

Katsuki grunted again and dropped his chin forward.

Another silence stretched, broken only by the sound of the TV.

Then Izuku’s voice came again—soft this time.

“Hey, um. Kacchan?”

Katsuki didn’t look up. “Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something… kinda personal?”

Katsuki stilled for a second. “...Yeah.”

“It’s about… I mean—your sexuality.”

Katsuki’s spine stiffened slightly under his hands. Not completely tense, but… guarded.

“I’ve just been wondering,” Izuku continued, voice gentler now. “You’ve never really said anything. About who you like.”

There was a pause.

Then Katsuki said, low and gruff, “I’m not into girls.”

Izuku’s hands froze.

“Oh.”

Katsuki didn’t move. “I’ve hooked up with a couple of guys... Never dated anyone though. Didn’t… wanna deal with all the bullshit.”

Izuku’s breath caught a little. He wasn’t expecting that. Not out of nowhere. Not so honest.

“…So you’re gay?”

Katsuki shrugged. “Guess so.”

Izuku’s voice came out a little shaky. “That’s… that’s cool. That’s really cool.”

Another pause.

Katsuki tilted his head slightly. “You?”

“I’m bi,” Izuku said quietly, brushing his fingers over Katsuki’s shoulder. “Been out since middle school.”

Katsuki looked back at him fully now, eyes sharp. “Seriously? And you just… said it?”

Izuku gave a small, lopsided smile—but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah. I was never really good at hiding it. I didn’t want to hide it. I thought… y’know. If I was honest about who I was, it’d be easier. Cleaner. Like ripping off a bandage.”

Katsuki studied him.

Izuku looked down. “Turns out, that only works when people actually… care about your pain.”

There was a beat of silence.

“My teachers used to say...s-stuff,” Izuku added, quieter now. “Not just kids. Grown adults. The kind of stuff they thought I couldn’t hear. Said I was too soft. Too loud about it. One called me ‘confused’ in front of the whole class. Another said it wasn’t appropriate for someone my age to ‘identify like that.’ Said I was just looking for attention.”

Katsuki’s hands slowly curled into fists in his lap.

“I tried to laugh it off,” Izuku continued, voice tight. “Tried to be proud. But after a while, I just… stopped bringing it up. Pretended it didn’t hurt. Let people think what they wanted.”

He shrugged.

“Now I just assume most people won’t get it. Unless they prove me wrong.”

The silence that followed was thick.

Heavy.

Katsuki finally turned around, just enough to look at him head-on.

And Izuku, sitting there with flushed cheeks and vulnerable eyes, looked like he expected a fight that wasn’t coming.

“You shouldn’t’ve had to deal with that shit,” Katsuki said, voice rough. “Not from them.”

Izuku’s breath hitched.

“I’m not… good at saying stuff,” Katsuki went on. “But I get it. Why you don’t say anything now. Why you didn’t think I’d get it.”

Izuku looked down again.

“I do get it, though,” Katsuki said. “More than you think.”

A beat passed.

Izuku smiled—shaky but real—and finally reached back out, his hands resting gently on Katsuki’s shoulders again.

“…Thanks, Suki.”

Katsuki’s head snapped around. “What the hell did you just call me?”

Izuku blinked. Then laughed.

“Oh my god. I did it again.”

“You did it again?!”

“I—listen, I was very drunk that night!”

Katsuki turned red to his ears. “That’s not a nickname! That’s—That’s a goddamn mating call!”

Izuku full-on cackled, trowing his head back in laughter. “Mating call?! Are you okay?!” his voice cracked.

Katsuki groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “I hate you.”

“You really don’t,” Izuku teased, pressing into his back again. “You let me touch your spine and everything.”

“Shut up.”

“Sure thing, Suki~”

Katsuki growled. But he didn’t move away.

Izuku took that as permission.

He pressed his thumbs back into Katsuki’s shoulder blades—tentatively, gently—trying to focus on the knots instead of the very real person sitting between his knees. It should’ve been awkward. Honestly, it was. Katsuki’s skin was warm under his fingers, solid and scarred and real, and the room was too quiet to pretend this was casual.

But Katsuki hadn’t told him to stop. He hadn’t rolled his eyes or shoved Izuku off or barked something mean to break the tension.

And maybe that was worse.

Because Izuku’s brain wouldn’t shut up now.

He worked his fingers down along the top of Katsuki’s spine, thumbs tracing each bony ridge. He tried not to think about how natural it felt. Or how quiet Katsuki was being. Or how, two months ago, they wouldn’t even look at each other without barking.

“…Y’know,” Izuku said eventually, voice soft, “when we were kids, I used to think I deserved it.”

Katsuki stiffened.

Izuku kept going anyway. He wasn’t looking for an apology. Not really. But the words had been stuck in his throat for years, and maybe if he said them now—when things were calm, when Katsuki wasn’t glaring or yelling—it would be okay.

“I thought I was annoying. Too clingy. Too loud. I figured… if I could just shut up and stop smiling so much, you’d stop being so mad at me all the time.”

Katsuki didn’t say anything.

“I remember one time,” Izuku said with a small breath, “we were in third grade, and I asked if you wanted to come over after school. You didn’t even look at me. You just said, ‘Don’t talk to me like we’re friends.’ Loud enough that the whole class heard.”

His voice cracked, just a little.

“I laughed like it was funny. Like it didn’t matter. But I cried in the nurse’s office for ten minutes after that. Said I had a headache.”

The room was silent.

The movie in the background had gone into some quiet dialogue scene. Even that felt too loud.

Katsuki shifted slightly. His voice was low when he finally said, “Don’t.”

Izuku blinked. “Huh?”

“I said don’t,” Katsuki muttered again, not looking back. “Don’t bring that shit up right now.”

There wasn’t anger in his voice. Not really. Just something raw. Fragile in a way that didn’t sound like Katsuki, but was.

Izuku’s hands stilled for a moment.

“…Okay,” he whispered. “Sorry.”

Katsuki didn’t say anything else.

So Izuku just started working again. Quietly. Focused on the muscle tension instead of the emotional kind.

A minute passed. Then two.

And just like that- “The guy who plays the dad in this movie? He was that one villian in that dumb ghost love story." 

Izuku looked confused at first, wondering what he was talking about.

Katsuki sighed aggressively "y'know? Theres these two kids who one of them gets struck by a weird super power thingy? I think they called them quirks, and then the one who gets struck by the quirk gets his soul intertwined with the other, his boyfriend or whatever? And he's like a slightly transparent ghost to his boyfriend, but to evreyone else hes in a coma,"

Izuku paused for a long second, then let out a loud snort beacuse of Katsuki's rambiling, "K-kacchan," he weezed out "You're turning into me! Who k-knew you could ramble!" He laughed.

Katsuki's ears turned bright pink, "SHUT THE FUCK UP NERD! You're just a dum-stupid-your- God youre such a Deku shut the fuck up!"

Izuku laughed, bright and warm, and the heavy mood lifted. Just a little.

They talked like that for the next five minutes. About stupid things. Movies. Actors. The way Iida once fell face-first into a recycling bin during a fire drill. Dumb crap. Light stuff.

Nothing important.

But it was easy.

It was comfortable.

Izuku kept absentmindedly rubbing at Katsuki’s shoulders the whole time, watching his breathing slow, watching the tension melt out of his spine, his shoulders gradually slumping against the couch.

It wasn’t until Katsuki stopped responding that Izuku noticed something had changed.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You still awake?”

No answer.

Izuku blinked.

He leaned forward a little, peering over Katsuki’s shoulder—just to check.

And sure enough—

Katsuki’s head was tilted forward slightly. His breathing had evened out. His arms were folded on his knees, and his entire body had gone loose and still.

He’d fallen asleep.

Right there.

On the floor, between Izuku’s knees, half-covered in popcorn crumbs and bathed in the light of the paused credits screen.

Izuku stared at him.

And his stomach did a thing.

Like flipping over. Or tightening. Or both.

He swallowed.

Because now that Katsuki wasn’t glaring or arguing or groaning or talking—

Now that he was still—

Izuku could actually see him.

The soft lashes, the scowl-less mouth, the quiet curve of his shoulder. The faint red line across his cheek where he must’ve leaned on his arm earlier.

Izuku’s heart thudded once.

Hard.

Nope, he thought. No. Don’t do this.

He looked away quickly, eyes darting to the popcorn bowl, the TV remote, literally anything else.

But his mind was already spiraling.

It wasn’t just tonight. Or the massage. Or the way Katsuki hadn’t shoved him away.

It was the way he listened when Izuku talked. The way he said, They don’t get to do that. Not to you. The way he quietly let Izuku in without saying he was doing it.

Izuku exhaled shakily.

Shit.

He wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

This was Katsuki. Kacchan.

The boy who used to shout him into lockers. The boy who made him cry in a nurse’s office. The boy who wouldn’t even look at him without snarling for years.

And yet.

Here he was.

Sleeping at his feet. Comfortable. Trusting. Human.

And Izuku’s heart wouldn’t calm down.

He swallowed hard and carefully slid one of the couch cushions down, nudging it against Katsuki’s side so he wouldn’t slump over. He didn’t touch him otherwise. He didn’t say anything.

He just sat there.

Staring at the flickering screen.

And quietly, silently—

Panicked.

Because somewhere between the mess and the healing, all the memories and laughter...

Izuku had started falling for him.

And he had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do with that.

...

The day after Katsuki fell asleep at his feet, Izuku didn’t say a word about it.

He wanted to. He really did. It was one of those quiet, significant things that lodged itself in his chest and refused to go away — something warm and tender he wanted to hold up to the light and say Look, look what happened, but he knew better.

This was Katsuki.

You didn’t get to talk about the vulnerable moments.

You just… remembered them. Silently. Carefully. Like something you weren’t sure you were allowed to keep.

But the closeness didn’t fade. It didn’t go back to normal.

If anything, they kept drifting closer.

It started with little things — walking out of class together, sitting side by side in the library instead of across from each other, sharing snacks during study hall without comment. Katsuki didn’t shove him away when their arms brushed. Didn’t snap at him when he pointed out a spelling error in his notes. And once, when Izuku laughed too hard at a meme and nearly spilled his drink, Katsuki just took the cup from his hand, rolled his eyes, and said, “Fucking idiot,” with a tiny smirk.

And people noticed.

First it was just glances.

Then it was side-eyes.

Then it turned into whispers and not-so-subtle remarks in the halls.

“Wait—did Bakugou just wait for Midoriya?”

“Aren’t they partnered for that poetry thing?”

“Dude, why are you walking with him?”

And Katsuki? He didn’t flinch. Didn’t explain. Didn’t care.

He just threw a glare over his shoulder and said, “Fuck off,” like that was the end of it.

And for him, maybe it was.

But for Izuku?

It wasn’t.

Because the longer this went on — the closer they got — the more seen they were. The more people looked. And talked. And questioned.

And Izuku couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He knew Katsuki had his own fragile kind of reputation. The whole angry loner, dangerous genius, zero tolerance for bullshit thing. And now here he was — hanging around Deku, the kid everyone used to feel sorry for. The one who cried too much and got excited about literature notes and still accidentally apologized to trash cans when he bumped into them.

He didn’t want to ruin it for him.

He didn’t want to be the reason people laughed behind Katsuki’s back.

So slowly — quietly — Izuku started to pull away again.

Nothing dramatic. Just small things.

He stopped waiting outside class. Sat with his usual friends at lunch more consistently. Let their meetings run a little shorter. Didn’t text unless it was about the project. Didn’t let himself look too long when Katsuki’s head tilted just right in the sunlight.

He kept his laugh tucked behind his teeth.

And every time Katsuki leaned a little closer, Izuku leaned a little back.

But Katsuki noticed.

Of course he did.

He didn’t say anything at first, but his texts got shorter. More clipped. His scowl came back sharper. He started showing up earlier to their meetings, like he didn’t trust Izuku to be there. Like he thought he might bail again.

And the worst part?

Izuku didn’t even know how to explain why he was doing it.

Because saying I like you too much and I’m scared I’m going to ruin you wasn’t something that sounded reasonable.

Not even to himself.

On top of all that — the project was getting harder.

It wasn’t just a small poem that you had five months to work on, easy peasy right? That was the mistake people made when they first heard about it. Like this was some silly, artsy side assignment. But no. This thing was a semester-long nightmare. A full 40% of their final grade.

And the poem they were writing?

Minimum 500 words. Must include three idioms. Must demonstrate understanding of at least five poetic devices — simile, metaphor, alliteration, personification, etc. Must explore the emotional complexity of their partner — in creative, insightful, and specific language.

Due end semester one.

Oh — and it wasn’t the only thing they had to do.

There were still vocab quizzes. Weekly journal entries. Grammar packets. Lit analysis essays. Reading logs.

It was like being emotionally tortured and grammatically waterboarded at the same time.

Izuku had a highlighter-induced headache by Tuesday. And by Wednesday, he was back to sitting in the dark again — same spot, same single light, same stack of crumpled papers growing like a sad little mountain beside his desk.

He’d written and rewritten the first stanza of his poem at least ten times that night. Nothing stuck. Nothing felt good enough. It either sounded too forced, or too cold, or too raw.

How was he supposed to explain someone like Katsuki in words?

How do you describe someone who’s been a fire and a lighthouse? A storm and a shelter? Someone who has hurt you and healed you and hurt you again, and yet somehow you still want to be near them?

Every line Izuku wrote felt like an open wound.

He glanced down at his latest attempt and sighed.

“He is a scream trapped in silence,
A burn that forgets how to scar.”

He read it once. Twice. Then dropped his pen and covered his face.

This was getting dangerous.

The poem wasn’t just about the project anymore.

It was about the weight in his chest when Katsuki leaned into him like he belonged there. The quiet way he let himself fall asleep in Izuku’s presence, like he felt safe there. The fleeting looks. The laughs they didn’t talk about. The ache of possibility that curled under Izuku’s ribs every time their shoulders touched.

He couldn’t write that down. He couldn’t write the truth. So he wrote nothing at all.

The next time Katsuki approached him in the hall, Izuku flinched.

It was subtle. Barely noticeable. But Katsuki saw it.

He stopped in front of him, jaw tight, eyes sharp.

“You avoiding me again?” he asked, voice low.

Izuku opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked away.

“I just… I’ve been busy,” he mumbled. “The project. Everything. I’m behind on—on vocab, and I—”

Katsuki stepped closer.

“Bull fucking shit, Deku.”

Izuku stiffened.

“I’m serious, Kacchan, I didn’t mean—”

“Stop it,” Katsuki snapped. “I don’t give a shit what people think. You think I care what those background extras say about me walking with you? Sitting with you? You think I care if someone sees me and you together?”

Izuku’s throat went dry.

He wanted to say no. Wanted to say he knew that.

But deep down — maybe a part of him did think that.

“I just…” he whispered. “I didn’t want to mess things up for you.”

Katsuki’s expression cracked. Just a little.

“Too late, nerd,” he muttered. “You already did.”

There was a pause. Then, softer:

“But I don’t want you to stop.”

Izuku blinked up at him, heart hammering.

And just for a moment — just long enough to feel it — everything stilled.

He didn’t know what would happen next.

Didn’t know how to write the poem. Didn’t know how to walk the halls without worrying. Didn’t know how to stop himself from falling harder every time Katsuki looked at him like this.

But maybe he didn’t have to know yet.

Maybe this was enough.

For now.

...

November was melting into its last days, dragging its feet across freezing sidewalks and breath-fogged windows. Most people were already shifting into winter mode — heavier jackets, holiday ads, warm drinks clutched in cold fingers.

But Izuku Midoriya was standing in Katsuki Bakugou’s kitchen in a pair of fuzzy socks, covered in flour, giggling because Katsuki had somehow just burned the first batch of cookies.

“It’s literally preheated oven, place dough on tray, bake for twelve minutes,” Izuku wheezed, bent slightly at the waist as he tried to catch his breath. “How do you mess that up?! You’re amazing at cooking!”

“I am cooking,” Katsuki grumbled, scowling as he waved smoke away from the open oven. “This is just... oven betrayal.”

“No, this is you putting the tray on the bottom rack, Kacchan. Like a psychopath.”

“Don’t say Kacchan while you’re being a brat,” he muttered under his breath, scrubbing the tray over the sink with unnecessary violence.

Izuku smirked, hopping up to sit on the edge of the counter. “I always say Kacchan when I’m being a brat.”

He grinned when Katsuki side-eyed him.

And then — like muscle memory — their eyes lingered.

Just a moment too long.

Something silent passed between them. Unnamed, but building.

Izuku quickly looked away.

He tore open a fresh bag of chocolate chips and scattered a handful into the new bowl of dough, pretending to read the back of the package.

Behind him, the Bluetooth speaker shuffled to the next song. The quiet beat of trumpets and low female vocals eased into the kitchen.

I don't like walking around this old and empty house...

Izuku stilled.

His heart tugged.

Izuku turned halfway on the counter, brows arching with sudden excitement. “Oh. Ohhh my god. Little Talks.”

Katsuki didn’t move right away. He stood at the stove, shoulders tense, whisk hanging limp in his hand. “What about it?”

“This song,” Izuku said, hopping down from the counter with a thump that echoed through the quiet apartment. “This song is everything. It's like—ugh—it’s about miscommunication, and grief, and people trying so hard to reach each other but just missing every time.”

Katsuki made a low noise, unimpressed. “Sounds depressing.”

“It is,” Izuku said dreamily, reaching forward to steal the spoon from Katsuki’s hand. “But in, like, the best way. You don’t have to get it. Just stir while I have my dramatic, protagonist moment.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes, but he didn’t pull the spoon back. He shifted slightly instead, moving just enough that he stood behind Izuku now. Not quite flush to him—but close. Closer than he needed to be. Close enough for his arm to brush Izuku’s hoodie.

And then—

He leaned in.

Quiet. Unannounced.

Breath brushing against the shell of Izuku’s ear.

“You’re such a weirdo,” he murmured, voice low.

Izuku didn’t look back. He just smiled — slow and warm and entirely unbothered. “You’ve known that since we were five.”

The music kept playing.

The stairs creak as I sleep, it's keeping me awake...

Izuku’s voice dropped with it, barely above a whisper. Like the lyrics were too sacred to sing too loud. Like if he said them too harshly, they might crack in his throat.

It’s the house telling you to close your eyes…

He stirred slowly, absently. The spoon dragging through the batter like it was the rhythm itself. His body swayed gently, shoulders rising and falling, hips moving like they belonged to the song more than to him.

The lights were dim. Just the stovetop lamp and one corner bulb humming softly, golden against the dark outside the windows. The apartment felt like a snow globe—separate from the world. Floating in something suspended and sweet and still.

Katsuki watched.

His eyes traced the back of Izuku’s neck, where tiny baby hairs curled against his skin. The curve of his shoulders under the hoodie. The flour dusting his cheekbone. The way his lips shaped the words.

Some days I can’t even trust myself…

Katsuki’s throat tightened.

Without meaning to, without thinking, his mouth moved with the next line.

It’s killing me to see you this way…

Izuku paused.

His eyes widened.

He turned his head slightly, like he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. “Wait. You…?”

Katsuki gave a tiny shrug, but his ears were already pink. “I’ve heard it. You played it last week on repeat.”

'Cause though the truth may vary…

They both sang the next part.

Quiet. Stilted. Like they were scared of what would happen if they sang it too loud.

This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore…

Izuku turned more now — slowly, like the air was thick around him. The spoon dipped low in the batter, forgotten in his hand.

They were close.

Too close.

Their shoulders nearly brushed with each breath. Izuku’s free hand hovered behind Katsuki, barely grazing the counter for balance. Their feet nudged together—just once—then stilled like neither of them wanted to ruin it.

Don't listen to a word I say…

Hey!

Izuku let out a startled laugh, his voice cracking on the shout. “I always mess that part up.” He whispered.

Katsuki didn’t laugh.

His gaze had dropped.

To Izuku’s mouth.

The way it moved. The way it curled when he smiled. The way it looked when he was trying not to.

Izuku noticed. Of course he fucking noticed.

And his laughter died in his throat, leaving behind something far more fragile. Far more dangerous.

He looked up, slow and cautious.

And Katsuki was already there — watching him like he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to.

The screams all sound the same…

Neither moved.

The song dropped into its softer verse again, wrapping around them like fog. The kitchen was still warm, but something else burned hotter than the oven now.

Izuku’s fingers slid across the counter.

Katsuki’s pinky brushed his.

They stayed like that. Barely touching. Not quite daring.

But something had shifted.

Everything inched forward like the world had tilted just a few degrees. Like gravity had changed its direction.

Izuku’s breath trembled.

Katsuki’s hand, still gripping the edge of the counter, loosened. Just a little. Just enough.

Izuku turned fully toward him, abandoning the spoon, the batter, everything. His hand slid along the counter until his knuckles hovered just beside Kacchan’s. The heat between them was unbearable now. Like if either one of them moved too fast, they’d catch fire.

Katsuki leaned in.

Izuku’s lips parted.

Their noses brushed. Their foreheads nearly did. Izuku stared up at Katsukis eyes, then his eyes slightly fluttered shut looking down at Katsukis lips. 

He went on his tippy-toes.

The space between them was so small, it may as well not have existed.

Their hands—still not quite touching—were shaking.

Katsuki tilted his head.

Izuku tilted his chin up.

Their breath mixed.

The next heartbeat would do it.

The next.

And then—

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRZT.
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRZT.

The phone exploded to life in Izuku’s back pocket.

Izuku visibly flinched like he’d been jolted awake from a dream. The moment snapped, like a wire. He gasped, stepping back too fast. Stumbling a tad.

“Shit! Shit, fuck—sorry, I—” He dug into his pocket, fumbling with the screen. “It’s my mom. I—I have to take this.”

Katsuki didn’t say anything.

He stood frozen for a second, like his body was still leaning forward even though Izuku had stepped away.

Then he stepped back.

Just once.

His jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists at his sides. His eyes dropped to the bowl, to the batter he hadn’t stirred, to anything that wasn’t Izuku.

Izuku answered, still breathless. “H-hey, Mum. Yeah, I’m still at… yeah, at Kacchan’s. Just baking. No, I didn’t forget the salt this time, I promise—ha, yeah—what? No, I’ll be home by nine—yeah…”

Katsuki tuned it out.

Every word felt like static in his head. He turned away entirely, grabbing the tray of cookie dough with shaking hands and shoving it into the oven.

The tray clattered.

He didn’t care.

His heart was pounding in his throat. His lips tingled like they’d almost been touched.

That had almost happened.

That had almost happened.

What the fuck. Why the fuck. How- what the FUCK!!!! Why- why was he about to fucking k-kiss Deku?!

He stared at the oven like it had the answers. Like it could rewind the last five minutes and trap the moment before it slipped.

But it was gone now.

Just a ghost in the air.

The music kept playing softly in the background. Mocking. Haunting.

Now wait, wait, wait for me… Please hang around…

Izuku hung up and stood there for a moment, phone still in hand, mouth slightly parted like he wasn’t sure how to speak anymore.

“I… I should go,” he said softly. “She wants me home soon. I told her by nine.”

Katsuki didn’t look at him.

He just nodded.

Then helped pack the cookies without speaking.

The silence was deafening.

Not hostile—but loud. It buzzed in their ears. Like a song with all the sound stripped out, leaving only a beat they could still feel.

At the door, Izuku pulled on his shoes slowly.

“I, uh…” He turned back, hand on the knob. “Thanks. For letting me bake here. Even if you almost committed cookie arson.”

Katsuki smirked faintly. “You’re the one who left the oven on, dumbass.”

Izuku smiled too, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

He stood there a moment longer. Like he wanted to say something.

But didn’t.

And neither did Katsuki.

So the door opened.

And the cold hallway air met him fast — sharp and biting after the sugar-warm kitchen.

He stepped out into it.

And as the door clicked softly shut behind him, Katsuki stayed exactly where he was.

Still.

Tense.

From knowing that if the world had just stayed silent for a few more seconds…

It wouldn’t have been an almost anymore.

It would’ve been real.

...

Ochaco was dragging a new transfer student down the hall with her by the arm.

“You have to meet everyone!” she was saying. "— Shinso’s super deadpan, but he’s funny. You’ll love them.”

The new student giggled, letting herself be tugged along. “You’re the sweetest, Ochaco. I can already tell we’re gonna be best friends.”

The new student eyes darted around as they walked.

To the classrooms. The lockers.

And finally…

To Izuku’s back, just down the hall.

Her smile grew wider.

The weather was getting colder, but that didn’t stop the lunch group from claiming their usual spot on the benches out by the baseball field. The sun was still clinging to the sky, and the grass hadn’t fully frosted yet — so, technically, it was still comfortable enough to eat outside.

It was a strange, crowded little mix of people.

The baseball guys, and softball girls were at one end of the long table — Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero, and Ojiro already mid-story about something ridiculous that happened in gym class. On the other end were Izuku’s usual crew — Iida meticulously slicing his bento, Tsuyu sipping quietly on a smoothie, Shoto eating his cold soba like the world might end if he dropped a noodle, and Shinso, sprawled out in full anti-social mode with his headphones halfway in.

-The two groups had started to hang out with eachother more often. No one really talked about why, but they all knew. It was all just beacuse Izuku and Katsuki could tolerate eachother for more than 5 seconds.-

In the middle of the group sat Izuku and Katsuki, like they always did.

Or more accurately — shoulder-to-shoulder, knee-to-knee, half-leaned into each other while arguing over something completely stupid.

“I’m just saying,” Izuku said between bites of his rice ball, “you didn’t have to throw my notebook across the room. A verbal ‘no’ would’ve sufficed.”

“It had glitter on it,” Katsuki snapped.

“It did not.”

“It sparkled.”

“It was a holographic sticker.”

“Same shit.”

“Why do you hate fun?”

“I don’t hate fun, I hate you.”

Izuku rolled his eyes, smirking. “You’re literally eating my food right now.”

“Auntie made it. That doesn’t count.”

“I packed it.”

“You put it in the container. That’s not cooking.”

Izuku groaned, leaning into Katsuki’s side just to annoy him. “You’re impossible.”

“Damn right I am.”

Their bickering faded into the background as new footsteps approached — two sets — and a familiar voice cut through the chatter.

“Hey guys!” Ochaco beamed, her pink cheeks extra rosy from the chilly breeze. “We’re joining you today. Hope that’s okay.”

Everyone made space, sliding down the benches to let them squeeze in. Ochaco plopped down beside Izuku, and next to her sat someone unfamiliar — but vaguely familiar at the same time.

The girl had pale skin, blonde hair tied up in two messy buns, and sharp eyes that crinkled when she smiled. She wore the uniform, but she’d added some slight personal flair — black nails, band-aids on her knees, a necklace made of plastic hearts.

Izuku blinked.

She looked... familiar. Like maybe he’d seen her somewhere before. A bus stop? A store? A—

“Guys, this is Himiko Toga!” Ochaco chirped, looping her arm with the girl’s. “She just transferred here today. We have the same homeroom.”

Toga smiled with her vampire like teeth. “Hi! It’s so nice to meet you all. Thanks for letting me sit with you.”

The baseball guys launched into their usual welcome committee routine — Kaminari practically bouncing with curiosity.

“Ooh, new student? Where’d you transfer from?”

“Your hair’s cool,” said Sero. “You do it yourself?”

“Do you play any sports?” asked jiro.

“Do you like soba?” said Todoroki, dead serious.

Izuku tried not to stare, but it was weird. Something about her was familiar. Maybe it was the way her eyes lingered. Or how she tilted her head just a little too slowly. He shook it off, smiling politely when she turned her attention toward him.

“I’m Midoriya,” he said. “Izuku Midoriya. It’s nice to meet you, Toga!”

Her gaze sharpened.

He gave a sheepish chuckle, scratching the back of his neck.

Then, beside him—

“Bakugou,” Katsuki said flatly.

Toga turned toward him. “Sorry?”

“My name. You don’t need to remember it.”

The entire group went quiet for a second too long.

Toga’s smile faltered just slightly before returning full-force. “Well, nice to meet you, Bakugou.”

Katsuki just stared at her. No expression. No returned greeting.

A beat of silence passed.

Then Kirishima elbowed him — hard — in the ribs.

“Dude,” he hissed under his breath. “C’mon. Don’t be so rude. She’s new.”

Katsuki didn’t blink. Just made a low, irritated grunt and went back to poking at his lunch like it had personally offended him.

Izuku elbowed him too, a little gentler. “Be nice,” he muttered.

“I am being nice,” Katsuki growled.

“You literally just told her not to remember your name.”

“That was nice.”

Izuku snorted behind his hand, and Toga let out a delicate laugh like it was the funniest thing she’d heard all day.

Ochaco leaned in. “Ignore him. He’s like this with everyone.”

Toga shrugged. “I think it’s kinda cute.”

Katsuki stiffened at that.

Izuku saw it — the faint twitch of his jaw. The way his fingers flexed slightly, then slowly curled into a fist beside his tray.

And quietly, low enough that only Izuku could hear it—

“I feel like I recognize her.”

Izuku glanced over. “Who?”

He followed Katsuki’s subtle nod across the table to Toga, who was now chatting animatedly with Ochaco about the school’s club options.

“I dunno,” Katsuki said, frowning. “Something about her face.”

Izuku tilted his head. “From where?”

Katsuki didn’t answer right away. His eyes narrowed, but his lips pressed into a flat line.

“…Doesn’t matter,” he muttered finally, stabbing a piece of fried chicken with more force than necessary. “Could be nothing.”

Izuku raised an eyebrow, but let it go.

They went back to eating. Bickering. Falling into their usual rhythm — shoulder bumps, sarcastic remarks, half-smiles when they thought the other wasn’t looking.

Meanwhile, across the table, Toga stole another glance at Izuku over the rim of her juice box.

Ochaco was already talking about inviting her to the group movie night next weekend.

And Toga?

She just nodded along sweetly, tucking herself deeper into their lives like a knife sliding into silk.

Chapter Text

The first week of December came in slow and quiet, like the world itself was catching its breath.

The mornings were darker now. The sun struggled to rise, casting long shadows over frostbitten sidewalks and sleepy rooftops. Breath steamed in the air like smoke from a fire, and Izuku had started wearing double socks and ear warmers just to survive the walk to class.

It was during one of those walks—fingers frozen and nose red—that he noticed how much closer Toga had started standing lately.

“Hey, Izu-ku~n,” she sing-songed one morning, falling into step beside him before he even realized she’d been behind him.

“Oh—hey, Toga.” He gave her a polite smile and adjusted his scarf.

She tilted her head, walking so close their elbows brushed. “Do you think people can tell when you like someone? Like… really tell? Even if you’re trying super hard not to show it?”

Izuku blinked. “Um… maybe? I guess that depends?”

She giggled. “You’re so cute when you get flustered.”

Izuku coughed awkwardly, looking straight ahead. “I-I’m not flustered.”

Toga kept walking, eyes twinkling, too close and too interested in things Izuku wasn’t ready to talk about. And lately, she’d been doing that a lot.

Asking things that didn’t sound like real questions.

Like the day she casually asked Mina, “So if Midoriya were to date someone, would it be someone loud and dangerous? Or sweet and stabby?” She’d looked right at Izuku when she said it, grinning behind her thermos.

It was… unsettling. Not scary, not really. Just weird. Offbeat. Toga had always been odd, but this felt different. Focused.

Izuku had brought it up once—to Katsuki.

“She’s probably just trying to be friendly,” Izuku had said with a shrug as he sat cross-legged on Katsuki’s couch. “Like, maybe she doesn’t know how to talk to people in a normal way.”

Katsuki had rolled his eyes so hard it was audible. “Bullshit. She's being a creep.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“I see how she looks at you.”

Izuku had chuckled, brushing it off. “You’re being kinda—”

“Don’t.” Katsuki’s voice cut through him like ice. “Don’t tell me I’m being jealous.”

Izuku blinked.

He hadn’t said it.

He’d just… thought it.

Since that night in the kitchen — since the almost-kiss — the air between them had changed. Tighter. Heavier.

They hadn’t talked about it.

They hadn’t touched it, not even in passing. But it hovered. Always.

A sharp thing in the space between them.

The first real snowfall came early Saturday morning, blanketing the city in white silence. Not slush, not sleet — snow. Thick, powdery, beautiful.

Izuku was up before Katsuki, standing barefoot in the living room with his mug of tea and his breath fogging the window. His nose was pressed to the cold glass.

“Kacchan,” he whispered, almost reverently. “It’s perfect.”

“Why’re you whispering like a freak?” came a gravelly voice behind him.

Izuku jumped. “I thought you were asleep!”

“I was. Then you started narrating like we’re in a goddamn snow globe.”

Izuku grinned. “But look! It’s all untouched. Like… the world reset overnight.”

Katsuki yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his hoodie sliding off one shoulder. “You wanna go stomp all over it or somethin’?”

Izuku turned slowly, his grin widening. “...Do you mean that?”

Katsuki squinted. “I’m not taking you to some Christmas market, nerd. I’m talkin’ snowball fight, hill climbing, maybe break a rib kinda fun.”

“I’m so in.”

Getting ready took longer than expected.

Izuku couldn’t find his gloves.

Katsuki had to physically help him zip his coat because Izuku “forgot” he was wearing a second hoodie underneath.

There was even a moment—quiet and sudden—where Katsuki stepped forward and gently looped a scarf around Izuku’s neck, tugging it snug.

Izuku froze.

Katsuki didn’t say anything.

He just focused on the scarf, brushing his knuckles against Izuku’s collarbone, close enough to smell the peppermint on Izuku’s breath.

“There,” he muttered, stepping back. “Don’t die of exposure.”

Izuku smiled, pink-cheeked. “Thanks, mom.”

Katsuki flipped him off.

The city was transformed. Trees sagged under the weight of snow, cars were buried in white dunes, and power lines hung like sugar-coated ropes. The park looked like something from a postcard — wide, empty, and untouched.

Katsuki looked up. “No one’s ruined it yet.”

Izuku’s smile turned wicked. “Let’s ruin it together.”

They devastated that park.

They destroyed it in the most joyful way possible.

Snowballs flew like missiles. Katsuki made a fort in under three minutes flat—of course he did—and Izuku tried to counter with an igloo before falling flat on his face.

Katsuki laughed so hard he nearly choked.

Izuku declared war.

They chased each other around frozen benches, slipped on icy patches, and once Katsuki even tackled Izuku down a snowy hill, both of them shrieking the whole way. At one point, Izuku tried to build a decoy snowman to distract Katsuki.

It did not work.

Eventually, they collapsed in a heap in the center of the field, wheezing and drenched in melting snow, cheeks pink from cold and laughter.

Izuku flopped onto his back and spread his arms. “I think I pulled something. Somewhere in my soul.”

Katsuki snorted. “That’s because you’re a weakling.”

“You just assaulted me with a snow boulder.”

“It was a strategic advantage. You walked into it.”

“You’re evil.”

“You love it.”

Izuku didn’t say anything.

He just stared up at the sky for a moment, catching his breath. Snowflakes melted against his lashes.

When he turned to look at Katsuki, the laughter in his chest fizzled into something quiet and aching.

Because Katsuki looked beautiful.

Pale skin dusted with frost, cheeks windburned, nose red and sharp. His blond hair was damp and matted from the snow, lips slightly parted as he breathed hard. And those eyes…

Red like firelight.

Bright and burning.

Izuku’s chest hurt.

“You’ve got a snowflake in your eyelash,” he whispered.

Katsuki blinked, slow. “Yeah?”

Izuku nodded, heart hammering.

For a second, neither of them said a word.

Their breath mingled in the space between them, slow and cloudy. Like ghosts.

Then Katsuki looked away, sitting up with a groan.

“I hate how quiet snow makes everything,” he said suddenly, brushing flakes off his pants.

Izuku sat up too, still watching him. “Why?”

Katsuki shrugged, pulling his hood up. “Makes you think too much.”

Izuku hesitated. “What’re you thinking about?”

Katsuki didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he got up, walked a few feet to sit under a bare tree, and rested his arms on his knees. He didn’t look at Izuku.

Izuku followed after a second and sat beside him.

It took a while for Katsuki to speak.

“You know why I moved out?” he asked, staring out at the field.

Izuku blinked. “I always thought it was because you liked independence. You’ve always been kinda... lone-wolfy.”

Katsuki let out a short laugh. “Yeah. That’s what I tell people.”

He tugged at the cuff of his glove.

“The truth is… my mom lost her shit when I told her I was gay.”

Izuku’s heart sank. “Kacchan…”

“She screamed for like an hour straight. Said I was selfish. Said I was broken. Said I was gonna ruin my life.”

Izuku reached out slowly, his fingers brushing Katsuki’s wrist. Not quite holding it. Just there.

“I stayed for a while. Thought maybe she’d… I don’t know. Get over it. But every time she looked at me, it was like she was seeing someone else. Someone she didn’t like.”

Katsuki finally looked at Izuku.

His voice was flat, but his eyes weren’t.

“So I left. I figured if I had to deal with this alone, I might as well do it on my own terms.”

“You shouldn’t have had to do it alone,” Izuku whispered. “I would’ve been there.”

Katsuki stared at him.

“You didn’t know.”

“I should’ve,” Izuku said. “I could’ve—”

“Don’t,” Katsuki cut him off, his voice soft. “You don’t owe me anything. It’s not your job to carry my shit.”

“But I want to,” Izuku said. “Because you carry everyone else’s. You hold everything in until it eats you alive.”

Silence.

Then Katsuki exhaled, long and slow, like he’d been holding it for years.

They sat like that for a long time, side by side under the tree, the snow still falling soft and slow.

Then, gently, cautiously—

Izuku leaned.

Just a little.

Then a little more.

Until his head was resting lightly against Katsuki’s shoulder. Katsuki didn’t move. He didn’t tense up. He didn’t shove him away. He just stayed.

Still. Warm. Solid.

His shoulder was a little bony, but it felt safe. Like something grounding in a world that had gone too quiet.

“I don’t think you’re broken,” Izuku whispered. “I think you’re the bravest person I know.” He said staring out at the blinding white snow.

Katsuki didn’t say anything.

But Izuku felt it.

The way his body relaxed.

The way he leaned back—just slightly—against him.

And for once, the world didn’t need words. Just snow, warmth. And each other.

By the time they got back to Katsuki’s apartment, Izuku could barely feel his fingers.

They’d laughed all the way to the door, still high on adrenaline and the giddy kind of happiness that came from letting go of everything for a few hours—school stress, awkward poems, complicated conversations. For once, it had just been them and the snow, the world made simple again.

But now, standing in the warm hush of the apartment, steam rising from their soaked coats and boots, everything felt… louder.

Quieter, sure. But also louder.

Louder in the way that the silence knew things they weren’t saying.

“Take your boots off or I’ll skin you,” Katsuki muttered as he stomped toward the coat rack, tracking snow across the tile despite his own rules.

Izuku was shivering as he tugged off his gloves. “That was a direct contradiction of your own threat.”

“I’m allowed to break the rules. It’s my place.”

“That doesn’t even make—” Izuku broke off with a sharp sneeze. “Ugh. Okay, okay. Coat off first. Then you can yell at me.”

Katsuki grumbled something under his breath and disappeared into the bathroom with his hoodie half-off, towel already slung around his neck. A trail of melting footprints led the way.

Izuku stood in the entryway for a moment, catching his breath. The cold was starting to leave his skin, replaced by a raw warmth that only made his face feel hotter. His cheeks still stung from where Katsuki had shoved snow down his collar. He could still hear the bastard laughing about it.

And for some reason… he didn’t want to forget that sound anytime soon.

He hung up his coat slowly, peeling it away from his second hoodie and damp t-shirt. He was a mess. His socks squelched with each step.

The bathroom door slammed shut.

Izuku wandered to the couch, dropped onto it, and let out a sigh so deep it felt like it came from his soul.

Everything ached.

In a good way.

He blinked up at the ceiling for a while, letting his breathing settle. The heater kicked on with a low hum, and the apartment filled with its signature warmth—dry, almost staticky, like it was trying too hard to chase out the cold.

Izuku didn't notice he was smiling until he caught himself doing it.

And he didn’t notice he was thinking about Katsuki until he realized just how long his eyes had been lingering on the empty hallway, waiting for him to come back.

That had been happening a lot lately.

Noticing things. Thinking too hard about them.

The slope of Katsuki’s shoulders in his hoodie. The shape of his mouth when he was trying not to smirk. The way his voice changed depending on who he was talking to—gravelly and clipped with strangers, rough and sharp with friends, quiet and almost careful with Izuku.

And his hair.

God.

It wasn’t just blonde. Not really.

Up close—closer than Izuku ever should have been—it had streaks of slightly darker brown near the roots, warm and soft at the base of his neck.. He kept it in that messy mullet on purpose, clearly, but it wasn’t unkempt. Just… untamed. Like the rest of him.

Like someone wild who knew how to keep just enough of it under control.

Izuku knew he shouldn't be noticing it.

He definitely shouldn't have noticed the custom orange stripe on the shell of Katsuki’s hearing aid either—thin and subtle, but intentional, like a mark of ownership. A detail only someone who’d been close enough to watch him put it in would have seen. It made sense. Orange was his color. His signature. Like the explosion stickers on his notebooks or the embroidery on his gym jacket.

But now, Izuku couldn’t unsee it.

He thought about the way Katsuki had stood in the snow earlier—spine straight, mouth curled into that cocky, god-awful grin, eyes glowing under a dusting of frost. His voice had been hoarse from yelling and laughter. His breath had come out in white puffs. And Izuku had just stood there, staring like an idiot, snowflakes melting against his cheeks and nowhere to look but at him.

Every single part of Katsuki seemed to pull gravity around itself. Like he was born with magnetism stitched into his bones.

And it was so stupidly unfair.

Because Izuku couldn’t look away anymore.

He hadn’t been able to for a long time.

The bathroom door creaked open.

Izuku straightened up fast, pulling the throw blanket over his lap like he’d been caught doing something embarrassing. His cheeks were already flushed, but now it felt like they were glowing.

Katsuki walked in, hair damp and sticking up at odd angles, black t-shirt clinging to his arms, sweatpants low on his hips. His towel hung loose around his neck.

Izuku tried so hard not to look at the way the soft light from the kitchen glinted off the water still beading on his collarbone.

“You always hog the whole couch?” Katsuki muttered, grabbing his tea mug from the counter and falling into the seat next to him with a grunt.

“Sorry,” Izuku said quickly, scooting over. “Didn’t realize I’d annexed the whole thing.”

Katsuki huffed. “Don’t use big words at me.”

“It’s literally a five-letter word.”

“You’re a five-letter word. You're a B-I-T-"

"Shut up Kacchan," Izuku Giggled under his breath and reached for his own mug. “God, this day feels like it lasted a week.”

“You’re the one who wanted to start a snowball war.”

“You started the snowball war. You almost knocked out a child.”

“That kid got in the way.”

“He was building a snowman!”

“On a battlefield. Rookie mistake.”

Izuku laughed again, warmth bubbling up unexpectedly in his chest.

Katsuki sipped his tea and leaned back, one arm draped over the back of the couch, gaze flicking lazily toward the window. The snow was still falling—slower now, thicker flakes that drifted like feathers.

Izuku leaned forward, mug warming his hands, and tried not to stare at him again.

Tried not to look too long at the cut of his jaw, or the way his nose crinkled slightly when he was thinking, or how his eyebrows furrowed when he was trying not to look at him.

There was something thick in the air now.

Not awkwardness.

Not quite tension either.

Izuku breathed in slowly. “...Kacchan?”

Katsuki grunted. “Mm?”

Izuku hesitated. “You always wear the same orange stripe on your aid?”

Katsuki blinked. Looked at him sideways.

Then shrugged. “Yeah.”

“I never noticed.”

“It’s not for you to notice.”

Izuku laughed softly, almost shy. “Still cool, though. Looks good on you.”

Katsuki didn’t answer. But his eyes lingered on him a moment too long.

They sat in silence after that, both watching the window, both sipping slowly. The tea had gone lukewarm, but neither of them moved to reheat it.

Izuku let himself lean, just a little, into Katsuki’s space.

And Izuku felt the tension coil tighter in his chest. Not bad tension. Not anger. Just want.

Want to ask something he shouldn’t.

Want to stay here longer than he had the right to.

Want to memorize every goddamn scar on Katsuki’s arms.

He closed his eyes.

Tried to breathe.

Eventually, slowly, he let his head tip sideways. Let it rest against Katsuki’s shoulder for the second time today.

Katsuki still didn’t move.

Didn’t say a word.

The silence stretched. Outside, the snow kept falling in slow, sleepy waves.

Inside, Izuku’s heart was a storm.

And Katsuki—warm and solid beside him—just let him stay.

...

Ochaco’s living room had been rearranged for the night—sofas pushed to the edges, floor layered with throw pillows, beanbags, blankets, and a mismatched collection of chairs pulled in from the dining room. A few soft yellow string lights flickered from the walls, and someone had lit a cinnamon candle that made the air warm and sweet.

Izuku sat cross-legged between Kaminari and Shoto, a half-empty bottle of raspberry cider in his lap. His face was already a little flushed from laughing too hard during the last round of charades. Iida was making wild gestures from the center of the room, trying desperately to mime Godzilla, while Kirishima and Mina howled from the couch.

“Why is he flapping his arms like that?” Jirou asked, brows furrowed. “He looks like he’s trying to take flight.”

“It’s a metaphor,” Kaminari said solemnly.

“For what?” Sero called out. “An existential crisis?”

“No,” Shinso deadpanned from where he sat curled in a beanbag, “for capitalism.”

More laughter erupted.

Izuku leaned back on his palms, eyes drifting across the circle until they landed on Katsuki—who was sitting against the far wall, arms crossed, a bottle of cheap beer half-forgotten beside him. His gaze was sharp, following everything and everyone—but it landed most often on her.

Toga.

She was perched beside Ochaco, legs tucked under her, pink drink in hand, smiling like this was exactly where she’d always belonged. She looked cute, honestly. Soft pink cardigan, layered necklaces, glossy lips. She laughed at all the right jokes, even cracked a few of her own, and when Izuku had caught her staring earlier, she didn’t look away. Just winked.

Something about it had made his throat dry.

Not because he liked her like that. He wasn’t even sure why the wink got to him. Maybe because she looked at him like she knew something he didn’t. Like they shared a secret he hadn’t read yet.

And he’d started to warm up to her, a little. Even found himself smiling when she talked about her weird taste in cartoons or how she’d somehow convinced her last school to let her host a vampire-themed dance. She was… odd. But funny. And really good at balancing on one leg during charades.

Still.

Every time he so much as looked at her for longer than five seconds, he felt Katsuki’s eyes burning holes into the side of his head.

And it made something in his chest squeeze.

Because that look wasn’t just the usual Katsuki glower. It was different. Sharper. Like he was trying to see through her skin and find what was wrong underneath.

Izuku hadn’t really asked about it—didn’t want to poke the bear.

But Katsuki had barely said two words to her since she showed up. And when he did, it was always clipped. Always dismissive. Always wrapped in steel.

“Truth or dare,” Mina announced next, popping the cap off another cider. “Let’s go!”

“I am not playing that game,” Iida said instantly. “It always devolves into chaos.”

“That’s the point,” Kaminari grinned.

Eventually, everyone caved.

Izuku took a swig of his drink and smiled as Sero dared Kirishima to fit a whole cookie in his mouth and recite the school motto. Jirou made Ochaco tell them her crush. (She didn’t name names, just turned red and took a shot.)

When it came to Toga’s turn, she twisted a strand of hair around her finger and looked directly at Izuku. “Truth.” 

Shinso raised a brow. “Okay. What’s your type?”

Toga tilted her head. Her gaze didn’t leave Izuku. “Soft boys,” she said sweetly. “Smart ones. Ones who don’t see it coming.”

Izuku blinked. “…Huh?”

Katsuki stood.

Just—stood. Abruptly. The room stilled for half a second.

“I’m getting another drink,” he muttered, brushing past Izuku and heading for the kitchen.

The party didn’t really end—it just slowly dissolved.

By midnight, half the group was tangled up in blankets on the floor, half-asleep or scrolling on their phones, and the other half was digging through Ochaco’s pantry for snacks. Kaminari somehow ended up wearing two mismatched socks on his hands, Mina was trying to braid Sero’s hair while he was still awake, and Jirou was playing quiet acoustic songs on her phone like they were background music for a movie no one wanted to turn off yet.

Izuku sat near the corner of the room now, pressed against the couch with a half-full bottle of ginger beer between his knees, still warm from laughing but slowly blinking into something quieter. He was tired, but not in a bad way. Just… settled. Comfortable. A little fuzzy.

Toga had slipped out to the bathroom ten minutes ago. The room had felt a little easier to breathe in since then.

Across the space, Katsuki still hadn’t returned to the circle. He was leaned against the wall by the front door, hoodie sleeves pushed up, sipping on the same bottle of beer he’d been nursing for the last hour. His eyes had softened slightly now that Toga was out of sight, but he still had that low, humming tension under his skin.

The kind that said he didn’t trust the quiet. Didn’t like when it felt easy. Izuku caught his eye.

Katsuki looked away fast.

They left a little after one.

Mina had offered to walk him home, but Katsuki had cut in before she could even finish the sentence. “I got him,” he said, already zipping up his coat.

"S-sorry Mina! I told my mom I was staying the night at Kacchans tonight" he rubbed the back of his neck.

She raised one eyebrow. "M'kay... don't have to much fun..." 

Katsuki just grunted and walked out the door, ignoring her completely.

Izuku was quick to follow, waving a small goodbye.

The snow was thicker now. Heavier. The streetlights painted everything in soft gold, and their footsteps crunched like the air was listening.

They didn’t talk for the first block. Izuku didn’t mind. He liked the silence with Katsuki—how it never felt empty. Just full of things neither of them had said yet.

Halfway to the apartment, Katsuki glanced sideways. “You okay?”

Izuku blinked. “Yeah?”

“You were quiet after the game.”

Izuku smiled, just a little. “You were too.”

Katsuki didn’t answer.

They walked the rest of the way with gloved hands brushing, not quite holding.

Katsuki’s apartment was warm when they stepped inside. Very diffrent from the cold outside.

Izuku exhaled as he peeled off his jacket, already feeling the tightness in his chest start to loosen.

“I’ll get you a blanket,” Katsuki said, heading to the hall closet.

Izuku settled onto the couch with slow, careful movements, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to take up space in the silence Katsuki had left behind.

The apartment was still warm from earlier—cozy, dimly lit, with that one orange overhead light by the sink left on like someone was afraid of the dark. But the second the door to Katsuki’s room clicked shut, it felt colder. Hollow. Like something important had stepped out with him.

Izuku shivered and tugged his hoodie sleeves down past his knuckles, curling into himself, knees to chest. His jeans were damp from the snow, and so were the ends of his curls, stuck against his forehead in cold little spirals. His socks were still a little wet from stepping into a slush pile on the walk over, and even though Katsuki had thrown one heavy blanket onto his lap like a mother hen, none of it helped.

Not really.

Because the cold wasn’t the problem.

His chest was the problem. His skin was the problem. His everything was the problem.

He could still feel Katsuki's presence in the air—like the space around him hadn’t caught up with the fact that Katsuki was gone. That his body heat wasn’t here anymore. That his sharp voice wasn’t going to cut through the quiet anymore. That Izuku had to try to sleep without hearing him breathe across the room.

He stared at the ceiling.

Then at the far wall.

Then at his phone.

But nothing helped.

His heart wouldn’t stop pounding, and his skin wouldn’t stop buzzing. He couldn’t stop thinking. Couldn’t stop remembering.

The way Katsuki had hovered near him when Toga got too close at the party. The stiff set of his shoulders. The tight clench in his jaw like he was biting down words he didn’t want anyone else to hear.

The way he’d watched Izuku on the walk back to the apartment—always at his side. Silent. Close. He didn’t even pull away when their shoulders brushed for the fifth, sixth, seventh time. Didn’t bark about space. Didn’t flinch.

He just… stayed.

It made Izuku ache.
And worse—it made him hope.

He pulled the blankets tighter, tucking them under his arms, trying to focus on anything else. The light hum of the refrigerator. The quiet street noise from below. The slow, steady dripping of melted snow off his hair onto the couch cushion.

But then—
Then he thought about Katsuki’s mouth.

Not just in the abstract. He pictured it. Raw and chapped from the cold, a little pinker than usual. His bottom lip split just slightly at the corner. Probably from biting it. Or from the wind. Or maybe from holding something back.

Izuku groaned quietly and squeezed his eyes shut.

It was happening again.

His chest felt too full. His hands were too empty. His hips squirmed without permission as the heat built low in his belly. He shifted under the blankets, restless, like maybe if he turned just the right way, the pressure would go away.

But it didn’t.

Because it wasn’t just pressure.
It was him.

It was Katsuki’s gravel-deep voice when he mumbled something about blankets. The way he dragged a hand through his hair and made it worse.

It was the way Katsuki looked at him sometimes. Like Izuku was a storm he didn’t want to chase but couldn’t outrun.

And god—
God, Izuku wanted to be touched.
Not gently. Not like a friend. Not like someone you used to know.

He wanted Katsuki to pin him down with his eyes the way he did when they argued. He wanted to feel the press of a knee between his thighs, the drag of that calloused palm against the side of his neck, the scrape of his voice right up against his ear.

He wanted him.
In every way that counted.
In ways that made his breath catch and his hands tremble.

He rolled onto his stomach and shoved his face into the pillow Katsuki had given him.

It smelled like cedarwood detergent. Like heat and something sharper—something Katsuki.

Izuku whimpered.

His hips pressed into the couch cushion.

Fuck.

His hands curled into the fabric. He clenched his teeth, every muscle in his body coiled tight like he was going to break apart if he moved too much.

This was torture. Worse than it had ever been.

He’d been good lately. Careful. Thoughtful. He hadn’t let himself get carried away like this in months. Not since the poetry project had started. Not since the night Katsuki leaned in a little too close and called him princess, God why the fuck dose that turn him on so much...

He wasn’t supposed to want this much.
Wasn’t supposed to need.

But he did.

And it was unbearable.

Thirty minutes passed.

Izuku didn’t sleep.

He couldn’t.

Every time he closed his eyes, he just saw Katsuki again—backlit by streetlights, arms crossed, eyes low-lidded and unreadable. That look he gave him like he was either going to kiss him or punch a hole in the wall for feeling like he wanted to.

Izuku sat up suddenly.

Breath short.

Face flushed.

He was shaking-Trembling

His legs felt weak when he stood. The blanket fell to the floor in a soft heap. His socks didn’t make a sound on the hardwood as he crept across the room, arms wrapped around his chest like they were the only thing keeping him from coming apart.

He stopped in front of Katsuki’s bedroom door.

His hand hovered.

His lips parted.

He shouldn’t.

He should go back to the couch. Breathe. Wait for morning.

But he didn’t.

He knocked.

Once.

Then again—quieter, softer. Just enough to be heard.

“…K-Kacchan?”

His voice cracked around the syllables. Barely louder than a whisper. Katsuki would have to be awake, really awake, to catch it through the door. To catch the tremble in his throat.

Silence.

Then the shift of blankets inside. A quiet grumble, sleepy and low, like a dog woken from a nap.

“…What?”

Izuku licked his lips. Swallowed. He couldn’t stop fidgeting, toes curling into the carpet.

“Can I—” He cut off. Cleared his throat, his voice caught in a knot of nerves. “Can I come in?”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

Izuku’s heart tried to climb out of his chest.

Then—

A low rustle.

The squeak of bedsprings.

And the slow turn of the doorknob.

It cracked open just an inch at first.

Then two.

Then—

Katsuki was there.

Hair messy. Sweats dipped low. Shirtless - beacuse of course he fucking was... - Eyes still soft from sleep but already narrowing with something else—something heavy. Something hot.

And Izuku just stood there.

Breathless.

Red-faced.

Trembling.

And praying, please, that Katsuki couldn’t see the outline of every terrible, burning thought he was having written across his skin like a sin.

Chapter Text

Katsuki didn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to.

The silence between them pulsed like a second heartbeat—louder than the street noise, louder than the heating vents groaning in the walls. It filled every inch of space between them. It crawled under Izuku’s skin, made the hair on his arms stand up.

They stared.

Just stared.

Katsuki’s eyes raked over him—slow, deliberate. From his messy curls to the wrinkled sleep shirt clinging to his chest. Down over his to tight jeans. 

Izuku swallowed hard.

His lips parted. “I—”

But that was all he managed to get out.

Because Katsuki kissed him.

No warning. No sound. Just moved—like he’d snapped—fingers curling tight in Izuku’s shirt, yanking him forward with a growl and slamming their mouths together like he meant to ruin him.

Izuku’s thoughts scattered instantly.

The world stopped. Tilted. Imploded.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle.

It was heat, tongue, and desperation.

Katsuki kissed like a fight he intended to win. Like he wanted to taste Izuku’s every breath, steal every sound from his lungs. His grip on Izuku’s shirt was bruising. The other hand clutched his waist, rough and possessive, pulling him close like he didn’t trust the space between them.

Izuku whimpered into his mouth.

Oh my God.

He couldn’t think—could barely breathe. His heart pounded hard enough to rattle his ribs, like his body knew something his brain hadn’t caught up to yet.

He’s kissing me.
He’s really—
God—he’s devouring me.

And Izuku couldn’t stop it—didn’t want to. He was shaking already, knees weak, lips parting wider just to let more of Katsuki inside, needing the contact like air.

Then—

Katsuki pulled back.

Barely.

Just enough to hover—lips still brushing Izuku’s, breath ragged between them. His eyes burned into Izuku’s face like he was trying to read him. Like he was daring him to pull away.

But Izuku didn’t.
He couldn’t.

He must’ve made a sound—some soft, helpless thing—because Katsuki growled, low and primal, and then everything snapped again.

He shoved the door open wider and hauled Izuku inside.

Their bodies crashed like a storm—slamming against the door, then stumbling to the bed, mouths fused, hands everywhere.

Izuku gasped against his lips, grabbing blindly for Katsuki’s arms, his shoulders, anything to ground himself because his entire body was on fire.

“Kacchan—” Izuku spoke, but it came out as a litteral whine.

Katsuki bit the shorters bottom lip in response. Not hard—just enough to make Izuku feel it.

He moaned.

God, he was so loud. His brain knew it, but his body didn’t care. He was trembling, his back arching as Katsuki shoved him back onto the bed and climbed over him, knees pressing into the mattress, hands already sliding under his shirt.

Izuku couldn’t stop the heat flooding through him.

He’s so close. So heavy. So warm. He’s all over me—

Katsuki’s palm dragged up his chest, then to his nipples. rough and hot, like he was memorizing the shape of him. Every brush of his fingertips left Izuku gasping. His shirt was bunched under his armpits before he realized Katsuki had tugged it up.

“Shit, you’re sensitive,” Katsuki muttered, thumb brushing one nipple before leaning down to suck at it, teeth grazing just enough to send Izuku reeling.

Izuku arched hard, thighs clenching around Katsuki’s waist. “Fuck—Kacchan—”

Oh god, oh god, I can’t—he’s—

Katsuki grunted, his voice thick with hunger. “You’re a fuckin’ mess already.”

Izuku could only nod, breath caught somewhere between a moan and a sob.

Because he was. He was a mess. He wanted too much. Felt too much. His whole body was aching for Katsuki like it had been waiting for this forever.

Then Katsuki grabbed his wrists and pinned them over his head.

Hard.

Izuku choked on a sound—something half-wild—and Katsuki’s pupils blazed.

“You like that?” Katsuki hissed against his neck. “That it?”

“I—I don’t know,” Izuku stammered, breathless. “I think—I think I do—”

Katsuki ground their hips together.

Izuku screamed.

Oh my god.

Heat seared through him, friction sharp and perfect, Katsuki’s thigh shoved between his legs, pressing exactly where he needed. His back bowed, wrists straining in Katsuki’s grip.

“You do like it,” Katsuki said, eyes narrowing. “Fuckin’ needy little slut.”

Izuku flushed scarlet—wanted to hide. Wanted to cry. Wanted to grab Katsuki by the face and kiss him until they both couldn’t breathe.

“I want you,” Izuku gasped, barely coherent. “Please—I want you—I want all of you—”

Katsuki snarled like he was in pain.

And then he let all his thoughts just fly out the window.

He dragged Izuku’s jeans all the way off, throwing them somewhere on the floor, then boxers halfway down his thighs in one swift, brutal motion, then grabbed his ass, squeezing hard enough to make Izuku jolt and moan.

His touch was everywhere at once—shoving up Izuku’s shirt, mapping every inch of skin, grinding their hips together again and again until Izuku thought he might come from friction alone.

“Kacchan, I—” His voice cracked. “Please—I don’t—I can’t—”

“You can,” Katsuki growled. “You’re takin’ it. So take it.”

Then he bit him again—neck, shoulder, collarbone—like he was marking territory.

Izuku couldn’t hold it in. His thighs trembled violently. His hips snapped up, chasing every bit of contact Katsuki gave him. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

“Kacchan,” he moaned, breath hitching, “I’m gonna—fuck—please—”

“Not yet,” Katsuki barked, hand clamping down on his hip to hold him still. “You wait. You fuckin’ wait—”

Izuku whimpered—shaking so hard he thought his bones might shatter. His head lolled back, throat exposed, and Katsuki bit his way down his chest again, this time slower, meaner, licking over the spots he’d already bruised.

Izuku didn’t care.

He wanted to be wrecked.

He wanted Katsuki to leave handprints on his soul.

When Katsuki finally let go of his wrists, Izuku grabbed at him like he was drowning—nails dragging down his arms, desperate for more. He hooked his legs around Katsuki’s waist, yanking him down to feel everything again.

“Please, Kacchan,” he begged. “Please, I need you—I need this—I need—”

Katsuki cut him off with a kiss that bordered on savage—teeth clacking, lips swollen, breath panting through their noses like they might both die from it.

And then, through all of it—

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Katsuki rasped.

Izuku froze for a fraction of a second.

It felt like a slap. Like ice in the middle of a wildfire.

But he forced himself to nod. He had to.

“I know,” he whispered, voice so raw it barely made sound.

But his body still begged.

Still moved.

Still clung to Katsuki like he’d never let go.

Because it was too late.

Because Katsuki’s mouth was back on his again.

And Izuku knew—even if this was just one night, even if it ended with bruises and silence—

It meant everything.

“Kacchan—” he gasped again, breathless, hands flying to his shoulders.

Katsuki lifted his head, breathing hard, hair messy and sticking to his forehead. His eyes were blown wide, red at the corners, and hungry.

“What?”

Izuku swallowed thickly.

His cheeks were flaming, but he didn’t look away. Instead, his hand slid slowly down Katsuki’s stomach—tentative, shaking—and stopped right above the waistband of his gray sweats.

His fingers brushed his waist.

Then pressed a little lower.

Over the hard, heavy shape underneath.

Katsuki’s breath hitched.

Izuku licked his lips. His voice was quiet. Raw. Honest.

“…Can I make you feel good?”

Katsuki stared at him.

Like Izuku had just flipped his world upside down and dared him to like it.

He didn’t answer right away.

But his hips shifted—forward—just barely. Into Izuku’s hand.

A silent yes.

Izuku’s fingers closed over the outline through the fabric and squeezed, carefully.

Katsuki groaned, eyes fluttering shut for a second, his arm shaking from where he held himself up over Izuku’s body.

“You don’t have to,” he rasped, jaw clenched like it physically hurt to say it. “This wasn’t supposed to be—fuck, Deku-”

“I want to,” Izuku interrupted.

And he did.

God, he did.

His body was aching with it—need thrumming under his skin like a second heartbeat.

He sat up slowly, pushing at Katsuki’s chest. Not to make him stop—but to get him to move. To give him space.

Katsuki blinked down at him, dazed.

“What—?”

“I want to…” Izuku trailed off, eyes flicking to Katsuki’s lap. “Let me. Please.”

He sat up fully, knees tucked under him on the bed, green eyes wide, pink mouth already swollen from kissing too hard. His hand ghosted over Katsuki’s waistband again, fingers brushing the sharp cut of his hip.

Katsuki exhaled shakily.

“…You’re really gonna do this.”

Izuku nodded. “Only if you let me.”

Katsuki didn’t move at first.

Just watched him, like he was waiting for Izuku to come to his senses.

But Izuku didn’t waver.

Then they had quicky swiched positions, with Katsuki in a half sit half lay position, with his back leaning on the bed frame. Legs spread wide.

Nervously- but somehow confidently -Izuku climbed inbetween Katsuki's legs.

And after a second—Katsuki lifted his hips and shoved his sweats down to mid-thigh. -And of course he wasn't fucking wearing boxers.-

Izuku’s breath caught in his throat.

Because holy shit.

He’d imagined this.

A lot.

But nothing had prepared him for the real thing.

His mouth fell open.

And Katsuki noticed.

The smirk that pulled at the corner of his lips was tired, smug, and maybe a little nervous underneath.

“Too much for you?” he said, voice low and rough.

Izuku shook his head. He couldn’t stop staring.

“…No. Just—bigger than I thought.”

Katsuki huffed out a breath. “You’ve thought about it?”

“Yes,” Izuku said immediately. Too fast.

Katsuki’s smirk deepened.

But there was something soft in his eyes, too.

Something almost tender.

He leaned back, resting against the headboard, watching like he wasn’t sure if this was a dream.

Izuku didn’t waste time.

He reached out with both hands—gently—and wrapped one around the base. His fingers didn’t meet. The skin was hot to the touch. Heavy. Veined. It pulsed in his hand.

His other hand cupped the top, thumb brushing on the tip to spread some pre-cum.

Katsuki let out a sound that was barely a growl.

“Fuck—don’t tease.”

“I’m not,” Izuku breathed. “I’m just…”

He leaned in.

Close.

Close enough to smell him.

He stuck his tongue out and licked a slow stripe up the underside. 

Then he spit.

Katsuki cursed.

Izuku smiled faintly.

Then sucked the head in.

Soft. Gentle. Careful.

His lips wrapped around it, cheeks hollowing slightly as he pulled back, just to taste. His hand kept stroking the base, working in time with his mouth, and already his thighs were pressing together, aching.

Katsuki’s hand flew to his hair, not pulling—just holding. Aggressive.

“God, Izu- your mouth—”

Izuku moaned around him.

That pulled another curse from Katsuki’s chest.

Izuku sucked harder.

Got messier.

Deeper.

His tongue curled around the underside on every pull back. His lips sealed tight. Every time he went a little deeper, Katsuki twitched in his mouth.

Izuku’s eyes were glassy now. His nose brushed skin. His jaw ached already, but he didn’t stop.

Because Katsuki was panting.

Saying his name in a voice so wrecked it didn’t sound like him.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Katsuki rasped, hand tightening in his curls. “Look at me—look at me, Deku.”

Izuku looked up through his lashes, eyes wide and ruined. Tears threatening to spill.

Katsuki groaned.

“Fucking hell.”

Izuku moaned again. He couldn’t help it.

His own hips rocked against the mattress.

He was so hard he could barely think.

But none of that mattered.

All that mattered was the taste in his mouth, the heavy weight of Katsuki’s cock sliding against his tongue, the soft noises Katsuki made when he lost control for just a second.

He was unraveling him.

And he was going to finish the job.

And he just couldn’t stop the way his body shook every time Katsuki moaned. Couldn’t stop the way his fingers gripped tighter at the base, working in time with every deep pull of his mouth.

Katsuki was thick and heavy on his tongue, and every inch tasted like heat, like sweat and skin and something that made Izuku dizzy. He gagged once—twice—on the slide of it down his throat, but he didn’t back off.

He wanted to choke on it.

He wanted to feel it deep.

He wanted to give Katsuki something to remember every time he closed his eyes.

“Fuck—Deku—” Katsuki’s voice cracked, hand fisting harder in Izuku’s hair. His thighs were tense on either side of him, every muscle drawn tight with restraint. “You’re gonna fuckin’—ngh—you’re gonna ruin me.”

Izuku moaned around him in response.

It was messy now—obscene.

Spit slicked his chin. His lips were swollen, his cheeks flushed, eyes starting to water from the stretch and the effort—but God, he loved it. He didn’t even care how he looked. He wanted Katsuki to see him like this.

He wanted Katsuki to feel it.

Every flick of his tongue.

Every soft gag.

Every whimper of breath he couldn’t swallow in time.

Katsuki’s cock twitched against his tongue, and Izuku felt the shudder ripple up through his body. He hummed around it—soft and eager—and took him deeper, pushing past the sting in his throat.

He wanted to take all of him.

Even if it hurt.

Even if it made his eyes tear up and his jaw go sore.

Because Katsuki was breathing like he was coming apart.

Because Katsuki hadn’t said no.

Because Katsuki’s hand in his hair wasn’t holding him down—it was grounding him. A grip like he was afraid Izuku might disappear.

“Shit—shit, I’m close,” Katsuki grunted. “You’re—fucking—too good at this—”

Izuku pulled back with a gasp, panting, spit dripping from his mouth as he jerked Katsuki off with one hand, fast and tight.

“I wanna taste you,” he said, voice wrecked. “I want you to come in my mouth.”

Katsuki growled. 

His hand slid from Izuku’s hair to his jaw, fingers curling around his throat—not squeezing, not hurting, just holding. His thumb brushed Izuku’s wet lower lip.

“You want that?” Katsuki asked, eyes wild.

Izuku nodded fast.

“Yeah. Please—please, Kacchan—”

He didn’t even wait for an answer.

He swallowed him again.

Faster this time. Needier. He bobbed his head hard and fast, hand stroking what he couldn’t take. His other hand gripped Katsuki’s thigh, fingers digging in tight. His moans got louder, less controlled.

He could feel Katsuki twitching.

Tensing.

Right on the edge.

Then, ever so slightly, Katsuki started to trust upwards into his mouth.

“Deku—” Katsuki barked, voice low and broken, “Fuck, fuck—I’m—!”

And then—

Katsuki’s hips jerked.

His hand tightened in Izuku’s curls, and he groaned, full and raw and helpless, as he came hard down Izuku’s throat.

Izuku took it.

All of it.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t pull away.

Just swallowed, over and over, breath catching on the slide of it, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes from the fullness and heat and the brutal, aching want of it all.

When it was over, Katsuki let go of his hair with trembling fingers, panting like he’d just run a marathon.

Izuku pulled off slowly, breath hot, lips slick, chin soaked, bits of white cum dripping down the side of his mouth.

His throat hurt.

His mouth was sore.

But he was smiling.

Not smug.

Not proud.

Just… relieved.

Like he’d finally given something he’d been holding onto for too long.

Katsuki looked down at him.

Still dazed. Still breathing heavy.

His face was flushed, sweat sticking to his collarbone, eyes dark and unreadable.

“…You’re a fuckin’ menace,” he said hoarsely.

Izuku gave a weak laugh, voice still shaky. “Only for you.”

He barely had time to breathe before Katsuki grabbed his waist—both hands splayed wide and demanding—and flipped him, just like that. One minute he was catching his breath clinging to Katsuki's thighs, and the next he was flat on his stomach, face pressing into a pillow that still smelled like cedar and heat and winter spice.

"Good."

“K-Kacchan—” Izuku tried, dazed and already reeling from the sudden change in position, from the cold air against the back of his thighs, from the loss him on Katsuki. 

“Shut up,” Katsuki muttered, but there was no heat behind it—just need. Tension. The kind of restraint that cracked between every breath.

Izuku froze when he heard the drawer open.

Then the unmistakable sound of a bottle cap snapping open.

Lube.

His breath caught in his throat, body already arching before anything touched him.

And when that first slick finger slid between his thighs—low and slow and so deliberate—he gasped like it was air and he’d been drowning.

“Kacchan,” he whispered again, voice muffled against the sheets.

It wasn’t even pleading anymore. It was reverence.

The first finger breached him with terrifying gentleness. Katsuki didn’t rush. Didn’t growl or grab or snarl. He just—eased it in. Let Izuku squirm and breathe and adjust, shushing him softly when he whined too high.

But Izuku noticed something.

Katsuki wasn’t moving the way he expected. He wasn’t stretching him out in steady, not even scissoring motions.

No—it sorta felt like he was... searching?

Crooking his finger in slight angles. Pausing. Pressing.

Pulling back. Trying again.

And then—

“Agh-~” Izuku jerked, hands clutching at the sheets, legs tensing around nothing. “Oh god—K-K" He pressed on it again. Harder. "Ngh- O-oh K-Kacchan- w-wha-"

“There,” Katsuki muttered. More to himself than to Izuku. “Knew it.”

He pressed again.

Izuku saw stars.

It was like his body had been lit from the inside, a firework blooming too fast in his chest and his spine and his brain, and all he could do was let out a sound that didn’t even sound like him. Desperate and broken and grateful.

Fuck, he couldn't think, couldn't speak, just let out loud, heavy scream like moans, unable to control himself. 

And Katsuki kept going.

His finger dragged slowly over that same spot again. And again. And again.

Izuku couldn’t breathe.

His thighs shook. His mouth fell open in a silent scream. His brain short-circuited on a loop of fuck fuck fuck it’s too much, but he didn’t want it to stop. He couldn’t even think about it stopping.

And then Katsuki added another.

He choked—whined—and Katsuki didn’t stop.

“Kacchan, I—” Izuku gasped. His fingers twisted in the sheets. “I can’t, I c-can’t—fuck, please—”

“Yes, you can,” Katsuki growled behind him, leaning in close, his breath hot on Izuku’s shoulder. “You’re just overstimulated. S’what this is.”

“I—I—” Izuku’s voice cracked on a moan. “I- I—c-can’t—”

“Yes, you fucking can,” Katsuki whispered again, slower this time. “You’re gonna take it.” 

Katsuki slowed down a but, so if Izuku did actually want an out, he could take it. But instead Izuku pushed back on his fingers, practically begging for more with his body.

Izuku whimpered.

Because he was taking it.

His hips kept jerking down into the mattress, instinct chasing sensation, even as his mind begged for mercy. Katsuki’s fingers moved inside him with a kind of cruel devotion, dragging over that spot with near scientific precision—until Izuku was trembling, drooling into the pillow, legs splayed and sweat pooling at his lower back.

Katsuki pressed down again, adding a third finger, and Izuku cried out.

“Kacchan—please—please, I c-can’t—” His voice was wrecked. Wrecked and ragged and utterly ruined.

“You can,” Katsuki said again. Not cruelly. Not even smug. Just… sure.

Sure like gravity. Sure like the world would keep spinning no matter how many times Izuku shattered beneath his touch.

Izuku sobbed.

He was close again. Too close. So overstimulated he felt like a live wire, every nerve exposed and raw and begging.

And then—right when it reached that edge again—

Katsuki pulled his fingers out.

All of them.

The emptiness was instant.

The betrayal.

Izuku gasped like he’d just been yanked back from the brink of death.

“N-no, what—Kacchan—!” he cried, pushing back blindly, his voice all broken frustration and hungry disbelief.

Katsuki didn’t answer. Just leaned over him, breathing hard. His chest against Izuku’s spine, his hands bracketing his waist like he owned him.

“You’re shaking,” Katsuki muttered into the back of his neck, biting down.

“I—I—yeah—! No shit!” Izuku gasped, trying to twist under him, panting and flushed and visibly devastated. “You ruined me—!”

Katsuki kissed the nape of his neck.

Soft. Like an apology.

But then his voice came again, thick and unyielding:

“Good.”

Izuku shifted, spine arching as he flipped over, breath caught somewhere in his throat. His back hit the bed again, but only for a second—just long enough to get his balance before pushing himself upright on shaky elbows.

His chest was still rising and falling fast, flushed and heaving, green and black curls sticking to his forehead. But even breathless, even wrecked, he was still moving. He turned toward Katsuki, eyes dark and wide, and crawled forward on trembling hands and knees.

The mattress dipped beneath him with every motion.

When he reached Katsuki, he didn’t speak. He just leaned in and kissed him—softly at first, lips parted and searching. Their mouths met with a low sigh, one that Katsuki caught in his throat and swallowed down.

A hand shot up, strong and instinctual, gripping the back of Izuku’s neck. Katsuki held him there, fingers tight in his curls, deepening the kiss with something rougher—needier. Like he was trying to say everything without saying a word.

Izuku moaned into it, tilting his head, his body curling in closer. He shifted again, arms wrapping around Katsuki’s neck, clinging tight. And then—awkwardly, but somehow still confident—he hooked his legs around Katsuki’s lower back, locking his ankles together to hold him in place.

The move made them both inhale.

Izuku squirmed a little, adjusting his hips, aligning himself with the thick cock.

He paused.

Katsuki’s breath hitched.

Then, just as Izuku started to sink down—

“Fuck, Izuku...” Katsuki rasped, voice low and tight.

Izuku’s body froze immediately. “K-Kacchan?” he blinked, eyes flicking up. “I—shit—I’m sorry. Do you—should I stop? I didn’t mean to—”

But Katsuki cut him off with another kiss.

Quick. Firm. Reassuring.

“No,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to breathe, “No. I just—are you sure you want to… y’know…” He hesitated, jaw clenching slightly. “Raw?”

Izuku blinked.

His face scrunched up into a look that was part worry, part smile. His brows pulled together, lips quirking in something soft, something real.

“Only if you’re okay with it,” he said gently. His voice wobbled around the edges but stayed steady enough to be sure.

Katsuki stared at him—eyes roaming over every inch of his flushed, open face. His fingers flexed slightly where they still held Izuku’s waist.

Then he exhaled a quiet laugh through his nose.

“Sure, nerd.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Izuku’s mouth, small and affectionate. He nodded once, kissed Katsuki again—this one slower, deeper—and then sat up just enough to guide himself down.

He took a breath.

And began to sink.

At first, it was just the head. It felt... diffrent, but not in a bad way. 

Well Izuku was trying to adjust, sinking lower and lower, inch by inch, letting out small hisses of pain here and there, Katsuki was marking small hickeys into Izuku's neck. Well muttering encouragement. 

"Shh...shh... fuck, you're doing so good princess."

"Breathe Izuku, relax."

"It's okay bunny..."

All the pet names were making Izuku go insane. 

It felt like he was going down forever, until finally, finally, he bottomed out. 

Izuku dropped his head onto Katsuki shoulder, breathing heavily.

"K-Kacchan... i-i-its to f-full- I ca-"

"Shh... Izuku it's okay." He said, holding his waist with one hand, well rubbing his curls with the other.

After what felt like forever of silent hushes and kissing Izukus firehead and temple, Katsuki spoke.

"Tell me when, Deku."

.

.

.

"Okay..."

The second the word left Izuku’s lips, Katsuki’s hands clamped down on his waist.

Strong. Certain.

Without a second of hesitation, Katsuki lifted him—like it was nothing—and let gravity take over.

Izuku dropped back down with a cry, sharp and breathless.

His head fell forward, forehead pressing against Katsuki’s shoulder as his body trembled. But Katsuki didn’t stop—he did it again, and again, dragging Izuku up and letting him fall. The rhythm was relentless. Each downward motion hit deeper, harder. Izuku was already gasping, voice cracking with every movement.

Eventually—desperately—Izuku started to move with him. Trying to help. Trying to ease the ache that bloomed through his thighs and spine. He was shaking, overwhelmed, but still moving, even when his muscles threatened to give out.

“Shit—Kacchan—” he whimpered, voice a wreck.

He shifted his legs, trying to plant his feet flat against the mattress, fighting for more leverage. One hand curled in Katsuki’s modern mullet, the other gripping his shoulder like a lifeline. 

But he got it.

He started riding—slow at first, shaky and unsure—but then faster, needier. Katsuki let him take over for a second, watching him rise almost completely off before dropping back down. Each bounce made Izuku cry out, his back arching, mouth open, curls bouncing with him. Bits of lube sliding out of Izuku with evrey thrust.

“Fuck,” Katsuki breathed, hands tightening on Izuku’s hips, guiding him even as he fought for rhythm.

Izuku was working for it—really working. His thighs trembled every time he lifted himself high enough that only the tip of Katsuki’s cock stayed inside before slamming back down with a moan.

He was wrecked already, sweat-slick and trembling, but he didn’t stop.

And neither did Katsuki.

Katsuki’s grip on Izuku’s hips tightened—almost bruising now—as the pace between them picked up. Each thrust met with a ragged breath, a choked sound that tore from Izuku’s throat without permission. The tension between them was electric, high and taut, like a string about to snap.

Izuku clung to Katsuki’s neck like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

He was so close.

He could feel it curling low in his stomach, rising and rising and rising, and Katsuki wasn’t helping. Katsuki was pushing up into him now, taking back control without saying a word. Just rough hands and raw rhythm and the heat of his mouth, suddenly at Izuku’s throat.

Izuku gasped when he felt teeth scrape over the sensitive skin beneath his ear. Then a sharp sting—Katsuki’s mouth sealing around a spot just below his jaw and biting. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to leave a mark. A reminder.

“K-Kacchan—!” Izuku choked, nails digging into his shoulder.

“Mine,” Katsuki growled against his skin, breath hot and uneven.

Izuku could barely breathe. His vision blurred, head tilted back as Katsuki’s mouth kept moving—down his neck, across his collarbone, leaving heat and pressure and color behind with every kiss, every scrape of teeth.

It was possessive. Messy. Desperate.

Izuku returned the favor.

His lips found the side of Katsuki’s throat, open and damp and clumsy, and he sucked hard, dragged his teeth just enough to pull a growl from deep in Katsuki’s chest. He didn’t care how sloppy it was. 

“Kacchan—” he gasped, eyes fluttering closed. “I’m— I don’t think I can—”

“Yeah, you can,” Katsuki panted, voice rough. “You’re so close, I can feel it—”

“I—please—I’m gonna—!”

Katsuki sat up slightly, chest flush with Izuku’s, arms locking around his back and holding him tight. Izuku couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Could barely get air in his lungs.

“C'mon Deku,” Katsuki muttered against his shoulder. “Let go." He said just as he grabbed Izukus cock.

That's what sent him over the edge.

His whole body went tight, then loose, then trembling with release, it shot up as Izuku come smudged inbetween their stomach's.

and still—still—Katsuki didn’t stop. He kept holding him, kept moving, like he was chasing something just out of reach.

Izuku could only hold on, shaking and gasping, lips brushing Katsuki’s neck, the scent of him thick and dizzying.

He wanted this to last forever. Or maybe just a little longer.

Thirty seconds later, Izuku felt it.

Katsuki groan as he released in Izuku.

It was hot.

Izuku felt it, as Katsuki's pace started to slow down, milking out as much as he could.

Then it stopped. 

And they stayed like that, what felt like forever..

Izuku’s body was limp, folded against Katsuki’s chest, their skin sticking together with sweat and heat and whatever else. His breathing was shallow, hitched. His arms still loosely wrapped around Katsuki’s neck. One of his thighs was trembling from where it’d been locked so tightly around his waist.

His heartbeat felt like it was echoing in his throat.

Katsuki was still inside him, though neither of them seemed in a rush to change that. One of Katsuki’s hands rested heavy on Izuku’s waist, the other fisted loosely in the sheets like he needed something to anchor him. He hadn’t said anything—not since the last shaky breath he exhaled against Izuku’s neck.

There was something sacred in the silence. Tense. Too full.

Eventually, Katsuki shifted. Just slightly. A small twitch of muscle as his body started to come back to itself. He exhaled hard through his nose, then slowly dragged his palm across Izuku’s spine.

Izuku flinched. Just a little.

Katsuki pulled his hand back.

And then, without a word, he moved. Slipped out of him, slowly.

Izuku gasped at the sensitivity, at the strange emptiness. His legs tightened instinctively before giving out entirely, and he collapsed forward onto his stomach, face buried in the mattress. His body felt ruined. His thighs were sticky, his chest was flushed red, his lips sore from biting down on them too hard.

He heard Katsuki stand up. The floor creaked under his feet. The faint rustle of fabric being pulled back on. Then drawers. The soft thump of the bathroom door swinging open.

Izuku kept still.

He didn’t know what to expect. He didn’t want to expect anything.

But Katsuki came back.

A warm towel hit the edge of the bed first. Then came the soft sounds of a plastic container being opened, and the faint smell of something clean and herbal. Wipes. Cream, maybe.

Still no words.

Katsuki knelt beside him, towel in hand. He paused, his breath catching in his throat as he looked down at Izuku's back. His hand hovered for a second. Then it landed—carefully.

Slowly, he started to clean him up.

He didn’t rush it.

He wiped down Izuku’s thighs first. Gently, but thoroughly. There was a lot—Katsuki didn’t flinch. Just kept moving, methodical. The towel was warm against Izuku’s sore skin, and it felt embarrassingly intimate in a way the sex hadn’t.

Katsuki shifted his weight and dragged the cloth lower, carefully running it between Izuku’s legs with deliberate pressure. Izuku winced, biting into the mattress.

Katsuki didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask if he was okay. But his touch stayed steady.

Then came the wipes. Cool and damp. Katsuki cleaned him slowly, quiet and focused, like he was doing something delicate. His fingers grazed the backs of Izuku’s knees, the dip of his spine, the base of his tailbone. Every pass of the wipe was calm. Respectful.

Not once did he ask Izuku to roll over. He moved around him instead—cleaning each section with a patience that made Izuku’s chest ache. His throat went tight.

After he was done, Katsuki tossed the wipes into a nearby trash bin.

Then Katsuki returned with a water bottle, cracked it open, and handed it to him. Still without a word.

Izuku drank. A few sips. Then more. His eyes stung.

"T-Thank you, Kacchan..." The 

Katsuki pulled the blankets back and climbed in next to him.

They didn’t face each other.

Izuku turned toward the wall, curled onto his side, and Katsuki layed on his back, one arm over his eyes, like he needed to block out the world.

But after a minute… his arm dropped.

Izuku felt the bed shift. The warmth of Katsuki’s hand found his lower back—light. Just resting there. Not asking for anything.

And still, he said nothing.

But somehow, it was the quiet that made Izuku’s heart pound hardest of all.

 ...

Izuku woke up to a low gray light bleeding through the blinds.

He didn’t move at first.

The sheets were unfamiliar—coarse, heavy—and bunched weirdly around his legs. His skin was flushed, too warm. The air in the room was cold. And his body… ached.

Not like a bad dream. Not like a pulled muscle.

More like…
Well.

He blinked.

This wasn’t his room.

The ceiling was wrong. The air smelled like sweat. The blanket covering him was black, worn thin at the edges. There were clothes scattered on the floor.

Then he shifted.
And flinched.

His back tugged tight, muscles sore from too much movement—or maybe too much stillness. His thighs tensed. Something lower throbbed, dull and constant.

Then he saw it.

A bottle of lube, tipped over on the floor beside the bed.

His heart jumped. Then dropped.

Everything hit at once.

The heat in his face surged. He shoved the blanket off and stood too fast, nearly losing his balance as pain sparked up his spine. His legs were shaking. He stumbled into the hallway on instinct, barefoot, trying to move before his brain caught up.

The bathroom door shut with a click. He locked it. Braced his hands on the sink. Didn’t breathe for a second.

He didn’t want to look.

But he did.

Slowly, he raised his eyes.

The mirror didn’t lie.

His neck was covered in blooming red and purple marks—bitten, kissed, dragged into color. His lips were chapped. Swollen. His hair was sticking up in every direction like he’d been tossed around.

He turned, carefully. Just enough to catch the mirror behind him.

There were faint bruises on his hips. Finger-shaped. Faint. But real.

Izuku exhaled, shaky.

He didn’t cry. Didn’t panic. He just stood there, stunned into silence, with his pulse roaring in his ears.

Eventually, he moved. Wiped his face with a cold towel. Found his way back to the bedroom and rifled through a laundry basket for something to wear.

Boxers—tight, not his.
A black t-shirt from the floor—wrinkled, stretched, with a fading skull graphic on the front.

He didn’t care.

He just wanted to be covered.

He tugged the shirt over his head and made it halfway across the room when his shin cracked into something solid.

Clang—thunk—clatter.

He yelped as a cymbal tilted sideways and nearly took out his ankle.

Katsuki’s drum kit.

Of course. Right at the foot of the bed, half-set-up and in the way, like everything else in Katsuki’s life.

Izuku hissed, hopping on one foot and grabbing the snare stand for balance. “Ow—fuck—shit”

The crash echoed through the apartment like a signal flare.

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

He limped out into the hallway, heart pounding.

“Oi,” Katsuki called, from somewhere near the kitchen.

Izuku winced. He padded forward, trying to look casual—even though he was dressed in Katsuki’s clothes, covered in his marks, and still stinging from the shin collision.

Katsuki was standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot. His hoodie was halfway zipped. His hair was crushed flat on one side and sticking up wildly in the back, like he’d slept on the floor.

He didn’t look over.

“Hey,” Izuku said, voice rough.

Katsuki didn’t say anything at first. Just a grunt. Then: “Coffee’s on the counter.”

Izuku poured himself a mug, hands slightly trembling. The silence that followed was sharp. Loud.

Katsuki turned off the burner. The spoon clinked against the pot.

“I’m not doin’ a talk about this,” Katsuki muttered, still not meeting his eyes. “So don’t look at me like you’re expecting something.”

Izuku blinked, caught off guard by the bite in his voice.

“I wasn’t,” he lied. “It’s… fine.”

Katsuki crossed his arms. “It was just a thing. One-time.”

Izuku nodded. “Yeah. Same.”

"Cool."

"Yeah."

"Perfect."

Silence.

Katsuki leaned on the counter like he wanted to sink through it. Izuku stared down into his coffee like it might tell him what to do.

Neither of them said what mattered.

No Are you okay?

No Did you want that?

No What now?

They just stood there in mismatched clothes, pretending last night hadn’t happened. Pretending it didn’t matter. Pretending they weren’t both thinking about it, still tasting it in their mouths.

Izuku’s shin still ached. His throat still burned.

Katsuki didn’t look up.

And somehow, it felt lonelier than before they’d ever touched at all.

Chapter Text

Monday

They didn’t talk.

Not really.

Not beyond the necessary—quiet, clipped phrases like “move” and “you dropped that.” Izuku didn’t even look up when Katsuki passed him in the hall. Couldn’t. His face still went hot every time he remembered the sound Katsuki made when he’d finished—when Izuku had been on his knees and Katsuki had been gripping his hair like he was trying to memorize it.

His body still ached a little. In a good way. The kind that whispered you didn’t imagine that.

But he hated how empty it felt between them now.

In class, he barely heard a word the teachers said. He doodled on the edges of his paper and kept stealing glances at Katsuki’s back.

He didn’t once turn around.

Tuesday

They exchanged six words.

Izuku counted.

“Here,” Katsuki muttered in the cafeteria, sliding a juice box across the table without looking at him.

Izuku blinked at it. “Thanks.”

Katsuki shrugged.

Later, in the hallway between classes, Izuku had been bumped into by someone from the baseball team and nearly fell. Katsuki caught his arm. Just for a second.

“Watch it, dumbass.”

Izuku nodded. “Sorry.”

Then Katsuki let go.

That was it.

Six words.

But it felt like something.

Wednesday

They sat next to each other again at lunch.

Not like they used to. Not with the loud arguing or snide remarks or shared fries.

But Katsuki didn’t move when Izuku sat down, and Izuku didn’t get up when their knees accidentally bumped.

It was… quieter. Not bad. Not painful. Just weird. Like their friendship had been taken apart and put back together slightly wrong, with one screw left loose and something rattling in the middle.

But then Katsuki had adjusted the hood of his hoodie. And Izuku could've sworn he saw a faint bite mark. 

His breath had caught. He flushed.

But Katsuki didn’t say anything.

And neither did Izuku.

Thursday

They were almost back to normal.

At least, that’s what Izuku told himself when Katsuki bumped his shoulder before class and muttered, “Your hair’s even more of a mess than usual.”

Izuku rolled his eyes and said, “Like yours isn’t completely feral.”

Katsuki had snorted. A real, actual sound of amusement.
It made Izuku’s whole chest feel stupidly warm.

Then, during group work, they actually made eye contact. It only lasted a second. But something passed between them.

Something that made Izuku’s heart pound and his palms sweat.

After school, Izuku was halfway out of the building when he felt it.

That pull again.

That awareness.

He turned around and saw Katsuki standing just down the hall, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, a frown set into his mouth like always. But his eyes—his eyes were fixed on Izuku like he’d been waiting.

“Kacchan?”

Katsuki nodded toward the side stairwell.

Izuku followed.

They didn’t say anything as they ducked into the unused music room. Dusty air. Old keyboard in the corner. A warped acoustic guitar missing a string. No one came here after second period, and Izuku knew it. Katsuki knew he knew it.

He closed the door behind them.

Silence.

Izuku’s heart was pounding. He could hear it in his ears, feel it in his throat.

Katsuki stood there, back half-lit by the grayish winter light bleeding through the narrow windows. He didn’t look angry. Just—tight. Coiled. Like he had something to say and didn’t know how to say it without setting something on fire.

Izuku stuffed his hands into his hoodie pocket.

“A-Are you okay?” The shorter asked softly.

Katsuki’s eyes flicked up.

Then—slowly—he moved forward. Just a step.

And then, in the quietest motion Izuku had ever seen from him, Katsuki reached out and tugged gently at Izuku’s hoodie collar. Just enough to shift the fabric—just enough to see the edge of an old bruise. A bite mark, faint and healing but still there, just over Izuku’s collarbone.

Izuku swallowed.

Katsuki stared.

His fingers lingered a moment longer than they needed to. And when he let go, it felt like something snapped back into place inside Izuku’s chest.

Katsuki didn’t move away.

“…I didn’t mean to make things weird,” he said, voice low and rough. Like the words tasted bad but needed to come out anyway. “That wasn’t what I—meant to do.”

Izuku blinked. “You mean…"

Katsuki’s jaw clenched. “Yeah.”

Izuku shifted his weight from foot to foot, heart thudding. “It’s okay. It’s not—it wasn’t bad. A-And I was the one who- uhm... initiated it... But I don’t regret it."

Silence.

Then:

“I was gonna ask you,” Katsuki muttered, not looking at him, “if you could skip school tomorrow.”

Izuku’s eyes widened. “What?”

“There’s this place. Woods. Couple hours out. Snow’s better up there, but it’s not, like, freezing. I got gear. I was gonna go alone but…” He paused. “Thought maybe you’d wanna come. Just us.”

Izuku stared at him, stunned.

“You wanna go camping?” he asked.

Katsuki crossed his arms. “Yeah. Unless you’ve got somethin’ better to do.”

“No! I mean—I’d love to!” Izuku blurted. “Yeah. Of course I want to. I’ll ask my mom tonight.”

Katsuki finally met his eyes.

Something warm flickered behind the red.

“Okay,” he said.

Izuku nodded, cheeks pink, heart rattling in his ribs.

...

The house smelled like garlic and ginger.

His mom stood at the stove, humming to herself as she stirred the curry. The warm, savory scent filled the kitchen—comforting and familiar. It made his chest feel tight for reasons he couldn’t quite name.

Izuku hovered in the doorway, hands shoved in the front pocket of his hoodie, shoulders up by his ears.

He stared at her back for a moment. At the slight sway of her hips as she moved to the sink. The little puff of steam rising from the rice cooker. The TV murmuring quietly from the living room.

He took a breath.

"Hey, Mom?"

She turned slightly, still stirring. “Hey, hun. Welcome home. What's up sweetie?”

Izuku cleared his throat. “Um.”

His fingers twisted in the fabric inside his hoodie.

"Can I—um. Can I go camping tomorrow?"

She paused.

He rushed to fill the space. "W-With Kacchan. From… Friday to Sunday. We’d be back Sunday afternoon. I-Its uhm a couple hours away... but Kacchans a really good driver!"

Inko turned around fully now, wooden spoon in hand.

"You want to go camping," she repeated.

"Yeah. With—um. Kacchan."

He tried to smile. It felt crooked on his face.

She didn’t answer.

He shifted on his feet. "I—I thought it might be good. We’ve been talking more, and things are, uh, better."

He realized he was rambling. He shut his mouth.

His mom blinked slowly. Then set the spoon down.

"Camping," she said again, quieter.

Izuku nodded, suddenly nervous. "Yeah. Just for the weekend."

Inko didn’t speak. Not for a long second.

Then she turned off the stove.

He straightened, heart thudding in his throat.

"Mom?"

She faced him again.

Her expression had shifted. Something deeper now. Older. Not angry. But far, far away.

“No,” she said gently.

Izuku blinked. “...Huh?”

She winced at the tone in his voice but repeated, just as softly, “No, Izuku. I—I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

His breath caught.

“But—why?” he asked, stepping forward. “It’s just for the weekend. It’s just Katsuki, and it’s—it’s not like anything will happen—He's literally been over like-not even a month ago Mu-”

“That’s not it,” she interrupted, almost too quickly. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Then what are you worried about?” he asked, sharper than he meant to. His voice cracked on the last word.

Inko opened her mouth.

Closed it again.

The silence stretched between them like a held breath.

Then—quietly, barely above a whisper—she said, “I know things seem better now. But I need you to remember what he used to do to you.”

Izuku felt like the floor shifted under him.

“M-Mom—”

“You came home with bruises, Izuku,” she said, her voice thickening. “Real bruises. You lied to me for years about where they came from.”

“I was a kid,” he said, throat tight. “I didn’t know how to explain—”

“I knew,” she whispered, eyes going glassy. “I knew, sweetie. I always knew. And I let it go, and I smiled, because that what you wanted me to do, 'Zu,"

He froze.

And she looked at him—small, hurting, barely holding it in.

“Izuku,” she said, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks, “you don’t remember what you looked like that night, but I do.”

The apartment was quiet—still—but warm.

Inko lit the last sparkler on the birthday cake and stepped back, smiling softly at her work. It wasn’t much, but it was perfect for him: bright green frosting with yellow stars, fluffy white borders, and a strawberry cream center he always asked for. 

Fourteen .

Her baby was fourteen.

She looked at the clock. 7:12 PM.

He was pretty late, but he probably stopped to walk someone home or give someone notes or… get teased a little. He always brushed it off, tried to keep it from her, but she knew. She saw.

She picked up the cake carefully, sparklers crackling, ready to hide behind the doorway and jump out singing when he opened the front door.

And then—

The lock turned.

The knob creaked.

Inko’s heart lifted. She moved toward the hallway, holding the cake steady, sparkler tips spitting light across the green icing.

The door opened slowly.

“Izu—”

She froze mid-step.

The cake hit the floor.

Frosting and strawberries splattered across her slippers, the glow of the sparklers fading into little embers as they hit the wood.

Izuku stood in the doorway.

His uniform was barely recognizable. His shirt was ripped down one side, smeared with dried blood and dirt. His tie was missing, and his left sleeve was torn nearly to the elbow. One eye was swollen shut, dark and already bruising deep violet. His nose was bleeding—slowly, sluggishly—as if it had only just started again. His lower lip had been split open, and there were scrapes along the side of his face, just beneath the corner of his jaw.

His hands were bloody. Two fingers bent wrong.

There was a deep, dark stain on the side of his ribs.

He was trembling.

“…M-Mum.”

It was barely a whisper. Not even a full word.

He took one step forward—then swayed.

She caught him with both arms, her hands sliding under his armpits, her body bracing against his. She eased him down to the floor as gently as she could, but he still hissed through his teeth when she accidentally pressed against his side.

“Oh my god—oh my god—b-baby, what happened?”

Izuku shook his head, fast and frantic, curls bouncing in disarray.

“I’m fine—I’m fine—”

“You’re not fine, Izuku—look at you—your face—what the hell happened—”

“I made him mad,” he blurted, breath hitching. “I—I was supposed to just keep my mouth shut and I—I said something and then he—”

His voice broke.

Tears welled up in his eyes, glimmering behind the bruise and swelling.

“I think he was already having a bad day,” Izuku whispered, as if trying to excuse it. “He looked pissed. He told me to shut up but I—I asked anyway. I asked if we could hang out. For my birthday. And he just—”

He winced.

Inko’s hands flew to his ribs.

“Did he kick you?”

Izuku shook his head. Then nodded. Then pressed his hands to his eyes like he could smother the whole thing out of existence.

“I said I was sorry, but he just kept going. He shoved me into the fence. And I tried to get up and then he hit me. He was yelling, but I—I don’t even remember what he said. He sounded so far away.”

Tears slid down his cheeks, silent and hot.

“I tried to cover my face. I tried not to cry. That just made him angrier.”

Inko’s chest caved. She couldn’t breathe.

“I didn’t want to come home like this,” he choked. “I wanted to go wash up. I wanted to hide it. I wanted to be normal today, i-im sorry- I just wanted to blow out my candles—”

His voice cracked mid-word, and suddenly the tears weren’t silent anymore.

They ripped out of him in shuddering sobs, his body curling forward, pressing into her lap like he was trying to bury himself there.

“I’m sorry, Mumma—hic I’m sorry, I ruined it—I’m so sorry—I'm sorry” He yelled in between sobs.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Inko said, but her own voice was gone now too, shredded by grief and helplessness.

“You made me a cake,” he cried, voice high and breaking, his fingers clutching the edge of her sleeve. “You—y-you had sparklers—I saw them—I saw the green frosting—why did I ruin it—I didn’t mean to—I tried to be good—I tried—”

“You are good,” she whispered, cradling the back of his head. “You are so, so good. None of this is your fault, baby. Not one single thing. He doesn’t get to do this to you anymore.”

But Izuku couldn’t stop crying.

Not now.

Not after everything.

He cried like a dam bursting, like years of swallowed apologies and bruised silence were pouring out of him all at once.

She sat there on the hardwood floor, holding her son as he broke in her arms, the birthday cake melting into the floor behind them, uneaten.

And she knew.

This wasn’t just a bad day.

This was the moment she would never forget. The night she’d remember every time Katsuki Bakugou’s name came out of her son’s mouth with softness.

Izuku blinked.

He was sat at the kitchen table, his fingers curled tight around the edge of his chair.

The warmth of the curry still lingered in the air, but it felt far away now. Distant. Like everything had dimmed around her words.

You don’t remember what you looked like that night. But I do.

He remembered some of it, now. Enough. The raw cold on his skin. The blood in his mouth. The way Katsuki’s face had crumpled, like he was the one who’d been punched in the ribs.

Izuku swallowed. His voice came out quiet, but steady.

“I know what he did. I’m not pretending it didn’t happen.”

Inko didn’t say anything. Just watched him, her eyes red.

“I know I looked awful when I walked in that night. I couldn’t even stand up straight. I scared you.”

“You couldn’t breathe,” she said, her voice brittle. “You sat on the floor of the hallway and sobbed. You didn’t even take your shoes off.”

Izuku’s heart twisted. Shame burned beneath his skin, but he made himself meet her gaze.

“I was hurting. Yeah. But not just because of what he did,” he said. “Because I thought it meant everything we’d been trying to rebuild was fake. That I’d been stupid to hope again.”

He sucked in a breath, his voice catching.

“But it wasn’t fake. Mom, he’s—he’s different now. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. The way he talks to me. The way he listens. It’s slow. It’s messy. But it’s real.”

Her eyes searched his face. There was so much pain in hers—so much fear.

“I know you don’t want to believe it,” he whispered. “And maybe it’d be easier if I just hated him. But I don’t. I-I can't... I never have.”

She closed her eyes. Her fingers curled around the edge of the table, knuckles white.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” she said. “I’m not just afraid he’ll hurt you. I’m afraid you’ll let him. Because you still love him more than you love yourself.”

Izuku’s breath hitched.

Inko looked at him.

“I love him. But I also know my worth now. I know what I deserve. And if he ever treats me like that again—if he ever crosses that line—I’ll walk away... I promise Mumma.

The tremble in his voice was real. So was the steel beneath it.

“I’m not the same kid I used to be, Mom. He’s not, either.”

Silence.

Just the soft bubbling of the curry on the stove.

Then, slowly, she got up and moved toward him. Her hand came down gently on his hair, smoothing his curls like she used to when he was little.

“I don’t trust him,” she said. “But I trust you. So if you really believe this is something worth saving…”

She paused.

“You can go.”

Izuku blinked up at her. “Wait—”

“But,” she added, giving him a stern look through tears, “you text me when you get there. You check in every morning. And you tell me everything when you get home.”

He nodded quickly, breath escaping in a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I will. I promise.”

She wrapped her arms around him, and for a moment, they just held each other.

Neither of them spoke again. The only sound was the soft clink of a spoon in the pot, and the quiet rush of a boy trying not to fall apart—because for the first time, he felt like someone believed him.

...

Friday – 7:32 a.m.

“I said one bag, you damn nerd. One. Not five. Not a whole-ass department store.”

Katsuki was crouched by Izuku’s backpack, pulling out the fifth rolled-up hoodie Izuku had snuck in and tossing it onto the bed with a scowl. “We’re gone for two nights, not a semester abroad.”

Izuku tugged it back with a pout. “But what if it gets cold?”

“It will. That’s what the sleeping bags are for, genius.”

“Yeah, well, what if I spill something on my first hoodie and then get rained on and then—”

Katsuki gave him a flat look. “If you pack another hoodie, I swear to god I’m gonna set it on fire to this hoodie before we even get to the campsite.”

Izuku gasped and clutched it protectively. “Thats one of my favorites! You wouldn’t!”

“I would.”

“You’re awful, Kacchan.”

“You’re dramatic.”

Izuku opened his mouth to argue—and then paused as Katsuki grabbed a small stuffed sack and dropped it on top of the pile.

“What’s that?”

“Toiletries. And your backup flashlight. I packed extras ‘cause I knew your dumb ass would forget.”

Izuku blinked. “Wait—you already packed for me?”

“Only the important shit,” Katsuki grunted, shoving the last few items down and yanking the zipper closed. “God, you pack like my mom.”

Izuku snorted, cheeks pink. “She throws everything into a suitcase in ten minutes and then yells at me for forgetting my own shit. Just like you’re doing now.”

“I’m not yelling!”

“You’re high-pitched.”

“I’m excited!”

Katsuki rolled his eyes—but his mouth twitched, just slightly, like he was trying not to smile.

“And anyway,” he added, straightening up, “we’re sharing a tent, so you don’t even need all this crap.”

Izuku paused mid-lace-tie. “Wait—sharing?”

Katsuki gave him a look like he was the slowest boy alive. “It’s a two-person tent. I told you. Campsite’s small. You think I’m dragging two tents out into the woods for no damn reason?”

“I—I thought we’d each have our own…”

Katsuki scoffed, hauling the backpack over his shoulder. “What, you scared of being near me for a night or two?”

“No!” Izuku said quickly, ears going red. “I just—uh. I mean, you—snore. Loud.”

Katsuki shot him a narrow glare. “You snore louder. And you talk in your sleep.”

“I do not!”

“Last time you fell asleep on my couch, you asked your pillow if it was proud of you.” he said blankly.

Izuku covered his face with both hands and groaned. “Kacchaaaan—”

Before Katsuki could tease him more, a soft knock came at the door—and Inko poked her head in.

The teasing vanished in a heartbeat. Izuku sat up straighter. Katsuki froze, still holding the bag.

Inko smiled gently. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said, voice quiet. “I just... wanted to say goodbye. I gotta leave for work.”

Izuku’s heart squeezed.

Inko looked between the two of them, eyes warm but wary.

“Have fun,” she said, “and be safe. Okay?”

Izuku opened his mouth—but to his surprise, Katsuki answered first.

“Thanks, Auntie.”

Inko blinked.

So did Izuku.

Katsuki didn’t look up when he said it, didn’t shift his weight, didn’t flinch. Just kept adjusting the bag’s strap on his shoulder like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Inko’s face softened. “You’re welcome, Bakugou.”

She closed the door with a gentle click.

Izuku stared at him. “...it's been a while since you've talked to her..."

“Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”

“You were so polite.”

“Shut up.”

Izuku grinned.

Katsuki sighed, but his voice was gentler than before. “You ready?”

Izuku grabbed his water bottle and phone charger and zipped up the last pocket. “Yeah.”

Katsuki held the door open. “Then let’s go, nerd.”

Katsuki’s car door shut with a loud thunk.

Izuku climbed into the passenger seat a second later, the cold air still clinging to his cheeks, and immediately noticed something strange.

Everything was... already set.

The seat was leaned back just how he liked it. The heater was turned to medium-low—the way he preferred so his face wouldn’t dry out. The mirrors were angled slightly too low for Katsuki’s typical driving posture. Even the Bluetooth screen still had his phone name in the recently connected list.

His playlist, the one he secretly added to Katsuki’s queue a few weeks ago, was paused mid-song.

Izuku blinked at the dash.

Katsuki hadn’t reset anything. Not since the last time Izuku was in here.

He sat a little slower than usual, tugging his seatbelt over his chest and pretending not to notice how his heart had suddenly picked up speed.

“You gonna put your feet on my dash again?” Katsuki asked, flicking the gear into reverse without glancing over.

Izuku snapped out of it. “No!”

“You were thinking about it.”

“I wasn’t!” Izuku protested, shoving his sock-covered foot under the glove compartment quickly. “I was just stretching!”

“Sure you were.”

Izuku huffed and crossed his arms, but he was smiling. He sunk a little deeper into the hoodie he was wearing—a heavy black one that smelled like cedarwood and burnt sugar and—

Caramel.

He still couldn’t believe Katsuki had just tossed it at him that morning before they left the house, mumbling, “here, since you packed all your damn hoodies. Don’t be dumb and freeze.”

Izuku’s own hoodies were all in his bag, buried under snacks and socks. But Katsuki’s was warmer. Way too big. The sleeves covered his hands entirely. The collar was loose enough to show the slope of his collarbone if he leaned a certain way. Every time he shifted, the scent curled around him like static.

It felt like the sort of thing you borrowed from a boyfriend.

Which was… insane.

Because Katsuki was not his boyfriend.

No matter how much Izuku thought about it. Or how often he replayed that night. Or how the scent of caramel made his stomach twist.

“You’re quiet,” Katsuki muttered after a minute.

“Just… thinking,” Izuku said, fiddling with the string of the hoodie.

“Don’t start overthinking already. We’ve got four hours of this.”

“Technically three and a half now.”

Katsuki side-eyed him. “You say that like it makes a difference.”

Izuku grinned despite himself.

They pulled out of the sleepy neighborhood and onto the snowy road. The world around them was covered in frost and early morning light—pale and soft, like powdered sugar on a windowsill. The trees were stripped bare, black against the cold gray sky. A few cars passed by, but the road felt mostly theirs.

“So,” Izuku asked, still half-smiling. “Where exactly are we going?”

“Shirogane Bluffs,” Katsuki said, tapping the wheel. “It’s up by Lake Himori.”

Izuku’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait. Isn’t that the lake that freezes over every winter?”

“Yup.”

“You’re taking me to a frozen lake in the mountains?”

“It’s not like we’re camping on the lake, nerd. It’s on a cliff above it.”

Izuku blinked. “...That’s somehow worse.”

Katsuki huffed, clearly amused. “It’s a good site. Isolated. High up. You can see the whole valley when it’s clear. Used to go up there with my old man before…”

He trailed off.

Izuku didn’t push. But the way Katsuki’s jaw shifted—tight and thoughtful—said enough.

“It’s got a firepit, a bench near the edge, some trees around for shelter,” Katsuki continued. “And yeah. It’s snow-covered this time of year. But the tent’ll be warm.”

“We’re sharing one, right?”

“Yeah. Two-person.”

Izuku stared ahead and tried not to think about that too hard.

Katsuki. In a tent. Inches away. In the cold. At night. In a sleeping bag-"

He curled tighter into the hoodie and adjusted the heater.

“Sounds… cozy,” he said, his voice embarrassingly light.

Katsuki glanced at him. “You’re thinking weird shit.”

“I’m not!”

“You are.”

Izuku kicked the glove compartment lightly. “Just because I don’t want to die of hypothermia doesn’t mean I’m thinking weird shit.”

Katsuki didn’t answer, but his smirk said everything.

The next hour passed in a blur of half-serious bickering and dumb conversation.

Izuku got excited over a frozen creek and made Katsuki slow down to look at it.

Katsuki ranted about other drivers, especially the ones going under the speed limit. Izuku called him a menace.

At one point, Izuku reached over and adjusted the heat vents—again—and accidentally brushed his fingers over Katsuki’s wrist where it rested on the center console.

Neither of them said anything.

But Katsuki didn’t move his arm away.

It stayed there.

A quiet, charged line of warmth between them.

Ten minutes later, Izuku had built up the nerve to finally say what's been on his mind for the past week.

His hands were warm inside the sleeves of Katsuki’s hoodie, his cheeks a little flushed, and the sun had broken through the clouds—just enough to cast light on the frozen trees.

And he thought, Okay. I’ll ask. I need to.

“Kacchan?”

“Mm?”

Izuku hesitated. “I-I really think.. I think we should tal-"

Just then, a silver car swerved hard into their lane.

Katsuki slammed the brakes.

“FUCKING DICKHEAD!”

Izuku lurched forward in his seatbelt, gasping. His pulse spiked.

Katsuki’s hands were tight on the wheel. “Goddamn-Fucking asshole—did you see that?! Swerved outta nowhere.”

“I—yeah.” Izuku blinked. His mouth had gone dry. “I saw.”

“Stupid fucking—” Katsuki muttered something under his breath, still glaring at the car speeding off.

Izuku stared ahead, heart still racing.

Katsuki let the silence hang for a moment, then exhaled sharply. “Fuck-Sorry. What were you gonna say?”

Izuku shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t matter.”

Katsuki looked over, but Izuku had already turned his face toward the window.

A big blue highway sign came into view a few minutes later.

Izuku sat up a little straighter. “Hey, can we stop at that gas station?”

Katsuki blinked. “Why?”

“I want snacks. And a drink. And I really have to pee.”

Katsuki sighed, like this was the biggest inconvenience on Earth. “Fine. I need gas anyway.”

“Yes!” Izuku unbuckled early. “You’re the best.”

“I know.”

“I’m getting you spicy jerky whether you like it or not.”

“I’ll throw it at your face.”

Izuku grinned. “That’s fair.”

They pulled off the highway and into the little snowy gas station lot, windows fogging slightly as the engine cooled. Katsuki clicked the parking brake and cut the engine.

Outside, the wind whipped flakes of powder across the ground. The gas station windows glowed yellow with warmth.

Izuku was already cracking his door open. “I’m gonna get like, five snacks. Minimum.”

“You’re banned from buying any more sour gummies.”

“No promises!”

Katsuki rolled his eyes and followed him out.

Izuku glanced back at him as they crossed the lot—at his sharp profile, the way the wind caught his hair, the quiet tension in his shoulders.

And something in his chest fluttered again.

They weren’t even halfway there.

The gas station door chimed above them as they walked in, a soft electronic ding-dong cutting through the low murmur of a tiny space heater on the floor behind the counter.

It was the kind of place that looked the same in every town—half convenience store, half time capsule. Dusty racks of chips. A cooler full of off-brand energy drinks. The walls plastered with faded posters and signs reminding customers that the bathroom was for paying customers only.

Izuku immediately made a beeline for the snack aisle.

“I’m going to choose chaos,” he declared, grabbing a bag of sour gummy worms and tossing it into a small red plastic basket.

Katsuki followed behind him, rubbing his hands together from the cold. “You always do.”

“Do you want anything?” Izuku asked over his shoulder. “I can grab you something sweet.”

Katsuki grunted. “I don’t eat candy.”

“You do. You literally ate half a box of strawberry Pocky like last week.”

“That was an isolated event.”

Izuku snickered. “You’re so full of it.”

He held up two options—cheesy crackers and a chocolate-covered granola bar—and looked at Katsuki expectantly.

Katsuki stared. “What, am I supposed to choose?”

“Yeah. I said I’d get you a snack.”

“I don’t want a snack.”

Izuku pouted. “Liar.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes and tapped the chocolate bar. “Whatever. That one.”

Izuku grinned. “Knew it.”

While Katsuki went to fill up the tank outside, Izuku paid at the counter, chatting politely with the cashier and pocketing a couple packs of gum near the register. He spotted a pair of matching hot chocolate cups in the small self-serve drink station and, without thinking too hard about it, poured two and added a splash of hazelnut syrup to Katsuki’s.

When he stepped back outside, steam curling from the lids, Katsuki was leaning against the side of the car, arms crossed, breath misting the air in front of him. His cheeks were pink from the cold. He looked up as the door swung open, brows lifting slightly.

Izuku held out a cup.

Katsuki blinked. “...Is that for me?”

“No,” Izuku said, “I just like holding two hot beverages while I struggle to open car doors.”

Katsuki snorted but took it anyway, his gloved fingers brushing against Izuku’s bare ones for a second longer than necessary.

They got back into the car, and the heater roared to life again as Katsuki pulled them back onto the road. A low hush settled in. Steam drifted from the cupholders. The windows fogged a little. The sky had gone from cloudy silver to something bluer, just enough to make the snow sparkle on the trees lining the highway.

Izuku popped open the sour gummies and leaned back into the passenger seat with a satisfied sigh. He tucked his legs up again—carefully not on the dashboard this time—and stole a glance at Katsuki.

The hoodie was so big on him that when he moved, it slipped off one shoulder slightly. He tugged it back up, but Katsuki noticed. His eyes flicked over and lingered just a moment too long.

Izuku felt it like a charge in the air.

“Something on your mind?” he asked, voice light.

Katsuki’s hand on the wheel tightened. “Nope.”

“You sure? You’ve been making that face.”

“What face?”

“That face. The one where you look like you’re thinking really hard about something and trying not to say it.”

Katsuki scowled faintly, but his ears were just a little pink. “Maybe I just don’t wanna listen to you talk.”

“Rude.”

They hit a stretch of road with tall trees on either side, snow blanketing the ground like untouched frosting. Izuku leaned forward to look through the windshield. “God, it’s beautiful out here.”

Katsuki hummed in agreement.

For a while, the only sound was the low hum of tires against icy asphalt and the clink of Izuku digging in the snack bag. At one point, he tried to toss a gummy into Katsuki’s mouth during a stoplight and hit him in the cheek.

“You fuckin’—”

“It was a good throw!”

“You’re gonna make me crash!”

“Just admit you’re bad at catching.”

Katsuki gave him a murderous look but didn’t actually yell. Not the real yelling, anyway. Just enough grumbling to cover up the fact that he was smiling into his drink.

As the road curved up into higher elevation, the snowbanks grew thicker. The trees looked more untouched. The kind of remote where GPS got patchy and everything felt oddly sacred.

Katsuki rolled his shoulders and said, “It’s another two hours or so from here.”

Izuku looked over. “You okay with driving the whole way?”

“I’m fine.”

“I could offer to switch but you’d just insult my driving again.”

“You suck at parallel parking.”

“You’ve never even seen me do it!”

“I don’t need to.”

Izuku laughed. “Okay, jerk. Just say you like being in control and go.”

Katsuki side-eyed him. “What if I do?”

The tone was casual—but it hung there. Heavy. Sharp enough that Izuku’s laugh caught in his throat.

He swallowed. “Then, uh. Good for you?”

Katsuki didn’t reply. Just smirked slightly and turned the volume up a little on the music.

Izuku tried not to squirm in his seat.

Somewhere just before the halfway point, Izuku’s phone lost signal.

“Great,” he muttered. “We’ve entered the dead zone.”

“It’ll come back once we’re past the next ridge,” Katsuki said.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I told you—I’ve been here before.”

Izuku chewed his lip. “With your dad, right?”

Katsuki nodded, eyes still on the road.

Izuku waited a beat, then said, “Do you, like… ever think about that? Going back somewhere you used to go with him?”

Katsuki was quiet. Then: “Yeah.”

Izuku didn’t press, but he watched the way Katsuki’s fingers flexed on the steering wheel again.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he added, softer.

“I know.”

Another beat of quiet.

Then Katsuki said, “He used to bring me here during the off-season. Taught me how to chop firewood. Said winter camping makes you tougher.”

“Did it?”

Katsuki snorted. “Hell yeah. You learn fast when your ass is frozen.”

Izuku laughed, eyes warm. “He sounds cool.”

“Yeah. He was.”

It was the closest Katsuki had come to saying anything real about his dad since they were kids. Izuku didn’t say thank you. Didn’t touch it too hard. But he nodded.

Katsuki glanced over.

And something passed between them—thick and invisible. A warm thread in the cold.

Izuku turned back toward the window, heart full.

The GPS blipped back to life. They had just under two hours left. The sun was climbing higher in the sky, though the air stayed sharp and dry.

Katsuki adjusted the heater again. “We gotta stop near the last gas station before the trail turnoff.”

“I already got snacks.”

“Not for gas, dumbass. For firewood. I’m not hiking through knee-deep snow just to gather twigs. And that's where the car will be parked for the weekend."

Izuku grinned. “So you do plan to keep me alive.”

“No promises.”

“Rude again!”

They fell into easy silence again, broken only by Izuku humming to the radio and Katsuki reaching into the console for a pair of sunglasses. He looked cool in them. Way too cool for someone who’d just gotten hit in the face with a gummy worm.

Izuku stared at him, biting his lip for a second.

Katsuki noticed.

“What.”

“Nothing.”

“You’re looking at me like you wanna say something.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Izuku blushed. “Okay, maybe I was just thinking about… nothing important.”

Katsuki didn’t say anything. Just slowly let his tongue press against the inside of his cheek and looked back to the road.

Izuku shifted in his seat, squirming slightly.

The hoodie he wore was too warm now. Or maybe it was just the silence.

Definitely the silence.

They still had almost two hours left.

And Izuku didn’t think he was going to survive the tension if Katsuki kept smirking like that.

They pulled off the highway onto a narrow gravel road that curved sharply between pines, each branch dusted with soft snow. The gas station Katsuki had mentioned sat tucked under a small ridge, humble and wooden with a crooked “OPEN” sign in the window and a rack of bundled firewood out front.

Katsuki parked the car with a sharp crunch of snow under the tires. “Last stop.”

Izuku cracked his door open and shivered immediately, the colder mountain air sinking straight through his jeans. “Ugh—it’s colder up here.”

Katsuki smirked. “You said you like snow.”

“I like looking at snow. Not being slowly frozen alive by it.”

“Too late now.”

Izuku blew warm breath into his hands and followed Katsuki to the firewood rack. Katsuki hoisted two bundles easily and handed one over. Izuku nearly dropped it.

“Jesus,” he muttered, hugging it to his chest.

“Lightweight,” Katsuki said under his breath, grabbing his own and heading inside.

The gas station smelled like propane and cheap chili. They picked up waterproof matches, a lighter, an extra canister of butane for their mini heater, and a backup blanket just in case.

Katsuki paid in cash. The old man behind the counter never looked up from his crossword.

Outside, the light had shifted—a cooler gold now, stretched long across the treetops.

Katsuki popped the trunk and started pulling out gear. He tossed Izuku his bag and clipped the firewood bundle under his own pack with a taut cord.

Izuku was still adjusting his straps when Katsuki handed him something else.

The tent-safe portable heater.

“I packed it last night,” he said gruffly, “just in case you complain all night and ruin my sleep.”

Izuku blinked at it, touched despite the phrasing. “Wait, really?”

Katsuki just clicked his own pack straps in place. “I know what I’m doing.”

Izuku grinned at his back and whispered a quiet, “Thank you,” that he wasn’t sure Katsuki heard.

The trailhead started behind the gas station, marked by an old wooden sign and a faded red blaze on a tree. The path itself wound upward through the forest, climbing steadily. The snow grew deeper with each step, sometimes crusty and hard, sometimes soft enough to sink halfway to their shins.

Izuku stumbled more than once.

Once, he tripped and slammed into a frozen branch. Another time he stepped into a drift and nearly pitched forward—but Katsuki caught him by the waist before he could fall.

“Graceful,” Katsuki muttered.

“I’m trying,” Izuku panted, face pink. “Snow is slippery!”

“No shit.”

Izuku rolled his eyes, but didn’t pull away from Katsuki’s hand until he had his footing again.

They hiked in silence after that—Izuku panting and muttering under his breath while Katsuki marched ahead like it was nothing. Their boots crunched with each step, breath steaming in the sharp air. The trees gradually thinned as they climbed, until—

“Whoa,” Izuku whispered.

The trail opened into a wide clearing near the edge of a bluff. A flat circle of packed snow marked the old campsite. Beyond it, the frozen lake stretched out below them, a sheet of glittering silver ringed by pine trees and low ridges. The sun was low now, casting the entire valley in golden-pink light.

Izuku stopped walking entirely.

“It’s like… a dream.”

Katsuki dropped his bag with a grunt. “Told you.”

He moved toward the center of the clearing, eyes scanning the ground like he’d already mapped it in his head. “Flat enough. Trees break the wind. We’ll set up the tent here.”

Izuku nodded and shrugged off his pack, already cold again without the weight pressed against his back.

They made quick work of the tent. Katsuki moved fast, like muscle memory. Izuku fumbled with the poles and snapped one the wrong way before Katsuki fixed it with a muttered curse. But within fifteen minutes, the small two-person tent stood sturdy and zipped tight near the tree line, facing the lake.

Inside, Katsuki laid out the heat-reflective mat and then tossed in the portable heater. Beside it, he placed both of their sleeping bags—separate, but close, nearly touching along the edges.

“You set us up with two bags?” Izuku asked, crouching beside him and pulling his hoodie tighter.

“No shit. I’m not trying to get kicked to death in my sleep,” Katsuki said. “You move like a feral dog.”

Izuku laughed. “You remembered my sleeping bag roll?”

“Obviously.”

“You remembered the heater.”

Katsuki didn't look at him. “You’re not exactly subtle when you're cold.”

“I’m touched.”

“Shut up.”

Izuku just smiled and crawled out of the tent.

The sun had nearly dipped behind the far ridge by the time they got the fire going.

Izuku worked on arranging snacks while Katsuki handled the wood and kindling. The fire roared to life with a satisfying whoosh, and Katsuki sat back on his heels, brushing ash from his gloves.

They sat beside the flames, close but not touching, the heat flickering against their cheeks.

Izuku sipped from the thermos Katsuki had packed—black coffee, still hot—and tucked his knees into his chest.

“This is nice,” he murmured.

Katsuki hummed. “Wait till night.”

“Why?”

Katsuki nodded toward the lake. “The whole valley goes quiet. You’ll see the stars, too. No light pollution.”

Izuku blinked. “You really came up here a lot, huh?”

“Used to,” Katsuki said, staring into the flames.

Izuku didn’t ask more. But he let the words settle—let them stay between them without demanding to be unwrapped. He just sipped from the thermos and looked out across the frozen lake, letting the quiet say what neither of them was ready to.

Later, after they'd eaten and added more firewood, Izuku stretched his legs and let his eyes drift back to the tent.

Katsuki had double-checked the zipper earlier. Had tested the heater. Laid their bags out with just enough space to not technically be close—but not far, either.

Izuku could still feel the pressure of their shoulders from earlier, brushing briefly as they leaned in toward the fire. Could still feel the quiet warmth in Katsuki’s voice when he’d said “You’ll see the stars.”

It was all so careful.

Too careful.

And he couldn’t shake the feeling that Katsuki had thought about this trip a lot more than he let on.

He let his breath fog in front of his lips. “Kacchan?”

Katsuki glanced over from where he was stoking the fire.

Izuku hesitated. “Thanks for… bringing me. I know it probably would've been easier alone.”

Katsuki looked at him for a long moment.

And then—softly, like it hurt to say: “Would’ve been quieter. Not better.”

Izuku’s heart stuttered. He blinked, wide-eyed, but Katsuki was already standing, brushing snow off his jeans.

“I’m gonna piss,” Katsuki muttered.

Izuku nodded wordlessly and watched him walk toward the trees, his figure vanishing between trunks.

The fire crackled behind him.

They stayed outside even after the fire died down.

Izuku sat curled in Katsuki’s hoodie, the sleeves hanging long past his fingers as he pulled them up to his face. It smelled like caramel and smoke and snow. Like him.

Katsuki had stomped out the fire ten minutes ago. Just a few kicks of snow, a muttered “that’s enough”, and the last flickers of flame hissed away, swallowed by the dark.

And then the stars came out.

Without the firelight, the sky opened up above them—huge and black and endless, dotted with more stars than Izuku thought actually existed. The air turned colder, sharper. But neither of them moved.

Izuku was the first to fall backward into the snow, arms out to catch himself. He landed with a soft thud and just... lay there, mouth slightly open, breath misting up into the stars.

“…Oh my god,” he whispered.

Katsuki hovered nearby, hands shoved in his coat pockets, staring out at the frozen lake, faintly outlined by moonlight. He didn’t say anything. Just dropped down beside him, slow and steady, like he didn’t want to rush whatever this was.

They lay side by side, boots barely touching, the cold biting through their layers but somehow still bearable.

The air was so quiet it felt thick. Like it could hold all the things they weren’t saying.

Izuku turned his head, eyes wide and soft. “Kacchan,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s so beautiful.”

He was still looking at the sky when he said it.

Meanwhile Katsuki was stairing at a green haired person. 

It really is.

But he didn’t say it right away. Just watched Izuku’s face glowing faintly in the moonlight, eyes reflecting stars, mouth parted like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

When he finally did speak, it was quiet. Steady.

“Yeah. It really is.”

Izuku smiled, still looking up and the midnight stars.

He didn’t see Katsuki’s eyes linger a second longer.

Didn’t see the way Katsuki’s jaw clenched when he finally looked away.

Didn’t hear the silent breath he let out into the frozen air.

They laid there in the snow until their fingers started to go numb. Until a few stars drifted behind passing clouds. Until Izuku started to shiver just enough for Katsuki to notice.

“I’m not carrying you back if you turn into an icicle,” Katsuki muttered.

Izuku let out a quiet laugh. “You’re no fun.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious. This is the most beautiful thing you've done, and you’re threatening to let me die.”

Katsuki groaned. “Jesus Christ.”

Izuku giggled, and the sound was too soft, too warm for how cold it was. “We should do this again.”

Katsuki stood, brushing snow off his joggers. He hesitated for a second.

“Maybe,” he said, barely audible.

Izuku didn’t hear him. He was still staring at the sky.

Later, they trudged back to the tent, stomping snow off their boots. The little heater inside hummed faintly, casting the nylon walls in a soft, flickering orange glow. Two sleeping bags were rolled out side by side, close enough to share heat, but not touching.

Izuku peeled off his boots, face flushed from the cold, hair a mess, eyes still glassy with starlight.

Katsuki didn’t look at him.

Didn’t trust himself to.

The tent was quiet except for the low hum of the little heater in the corner, just loud enough to fill the silence. Izuku layed on his back in his sleeping bag, hair still damp from where he’d thrown a handful of snow at Katsuki earlier and got hit back twice as hard. He was grinning quietly in the dark, eyes just barely open as the soft light from their lamp flickered against the orange fabric of the tent.

Katsuki sat up to flick it off. “That thing’s gonna blind me.”

Izuku hummed. “You're just sensitive.”

The lamp went dark with a quiet click, and they were left in near-total blackness, save for the faint glow of the heater and the occasional gust of wind outside the tent rustling against the fabric.

For a while, they didn’t say anything.

Just breathed.

The warmth built slowly, trapped inside with them. At first, Izuku felt relieved. Cozy, even. But then… his back started to sweat. He shifted a little in his sleeping bag.

Katsuki let out a quiet breath. “It’s hot as shit in here.”

“I thought you said it would be freezing.”

“It was. Until we turned on the space oven.”

A few beats of silence. Then a soft rustle as Katsuki unzipped his sleeping bag halfway, letting the cold air in. Izuku followed, then kicked off his socks. Another few minutes passed before a hoodie came off. Then Katsuki muttered something under his breath and sat up just long enough to pull his hoodie over his head.

Izuku bit his lip, face warming in the dark as he did the same with his own. They didn’t say anything, but the air between them felt weirdly loud. Too aware of how quiet it was. Too aware of each other.

Eventually, they settled into stillness again—Katsuki in just a t-shirt and joggers, Izuku in an old sleep shirt and some thermal pants.

Izuku rolled onto his side, arm tucked under his head, back facing Katsuki now. He let out a soft, content sigh.

“Hey, 'Suki?” The shorter male mumbled, already halfway asleep.

Katsuki turned his head toward him. “What.”

“…Thanks for bringing me.”

Katsuki didn’t answer right away.

“…You've said that already... but, Whatever.”

Izuku’s lips curled sleepily. “G-Goodnight, Kacchan.”

“…Night.”

He was asleep within minutes.

...

He woke up at the same time like clockwork. 5:30am.

The heater buzzed low in the corner, and faint blue light was starting to seep through the top of the tent. The cold outside was still real—he could feel it press faintly through the nylon—but in here, it was warm.

Too warm.

Because there was a body on him.

It took Katsuki a second to realize he couldn’t move his arm. That his chest was… heavy. Something was pressed right up against him—soft curls brushing his jaw, the slow rise and fall of another body’s breathing synced up with his own.

He tilted his head down, just barely.

Izuku.

Fast asleep on his chest, one arm loosely resting on one of Katsuki's pec, nose tucked into his collarbone like it was a pillow.

Katsuki blinked slowly.

His own hand was buried in Izuku’s hair, like he was massaging his scalp.

The other was wrapped firm around his waist, holding him there.

When the fuck did that happen.

He could feel the warmth of Izuku’s breath against his skin. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against his chest. And for the first time in a long time, Katsuki didn’t feel like getting up right away.

Didn’t feel like being anywhere else, either.

He just… stayed there.

Let himself feel the weight of Izuku against him. Let himself breathe in the soft scent of his shampoo, still faint even after a day of laying in snow and hiking. Let himself listen.

Eventually, he slipped his arm out from under Izuku’s head, slow as hell, carefully shifting out of his grip.

Izuku didn’t stir.

Katsuki sat up on one elbow, looked down at him for a second longer than he meant to.

“…Dumbass,” he muttered softly, brushing a single curl away from Izuku’s forehead before turning to unzip the tent.

The cold morning air bit at his skin as he slipped out into the snow.

But for some reason, he didn’t feel cold.

Quietly he buried his face his his hands muttering a small curse. 

"Fuck."

Chapter Text

Izuku stirred faintly, eyelids fluttering. Something was off.

The sleeping bag rustled as Izuku rolled to the side, fingers brushing at the faint impression of heat left behind on the mat. His brows furrowed.

The tent was empty.

The heater hummed softly in the corner, casting a gentle warmth against the walld. Pale morning light filtered through the fabric, cold and blue, tinting everything in a quiet calm. But Katsuki was gone.

Izuku pushed himself up on one elbow, still bundled in his old sleep shirt and thermal pajama pants. His hair was a complete mess, curls sticking up at every angle, but he didn’t notice.

He yawned. Stretched. Then blinked at the soft sounds outside—thunk... thunk... thunk...

It took a second to place the rhythm.

Chopping wood?

He rubbed his eyes and crawled forward, unzipping the front flap of the tent just a few inches, and peeked outside.

And froze.

Right there, at the edge of the trees, stood Katsuki.

His back was to Izuku, wide shoulders rolling with each swing of the axe, sweat-slicked muscles pulling taut beneath a black tank top that clung like it had been poured onto him. Gray sweatpants hung low on his hips, slung loose with a black hoodie tied tight around his tiny waist. Heavy gloves covered his hands, flexing with each precise movement as the axe came down in a clean, practiced arc.

Thunk.

Izuku stared.

.

.

.

And then he kept staring.

Something about the contrast—the sharp power of each swing and the gentle mist curling from Katsuki’s breath in the cold air—left him wide-eyed and frozen.

Katsuki’s cheeks were flushed from the cold. His jaw set. The muscles in his back rippled every time he lifted the axe, and his breath hitched just slightly each time the blade met wood.

Thunk.

Izuku gulped.

Holy shit.

Then Katsuki paused, resting the axe against his shoulder with one gloved hand. He tilted his head back slightly and wiped his forehead with the back of his arm, breath coming slow and even.

And then—he looked over his shoulder.

Right at him.

“Mornin’, nerd,” Katsuki said, voice rough from disuse, eyes sharp but warm with early sunlight.

Izuku nearly swallowed his own tongue.

“M-Morning,” he squeaked, instantly pulling his head back inside the tent like a cartoon character caught peeking.

He pressed both palms to his face, mortified. His entire soul was blushing.

What the hell was that. Why did he look like he just walked off a lumberjack-themed thirst trap calendar. Oh my god, he saw me staring—

A few chaotic seconds later, Izuku pulled on his coat and thick socks, still in his pajama pants, and zipped up his boots with fingers that barely worked. He needed air. Or maybe ice water dumped over his head. Or both.

When he stepped outside, Katsuki was stacking logs into a neat pile near the edge of the camp.

“Y-You’re gonna get sick, Kacchan,” Izuku said as he approached, tightening the drawstring of his coat. “You’re sweating in, like negative  twenty degrees.”

“I’m fine,” Katsuki grunted. “Sweats are warm. Keeps me loose.”

Izuku hugged his coat tighter around his middle, boots crunching softly over the thin layer of frost. “Still, you should’ve layered up. That tank top’s basically a napkin.”

Katsuki shot him a look. “You watching me that hard, nerd?”

Izuku choked. “Wha—no! I just—I heard the chopping and—and it was just—it’s cold!”

Katsuki smirked, just barely, and turned back to the wood pile.

Izuku flushed down to his toes.

“You sleep okay?” Katsuki asked after a beat, tossing a smaller log on the stack without looking at him.

“I think I passed out,” he said eventually, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t really remember when.”

Katsuki didn’t say anything for a second. Then he shrugged. “You were out cold. Even drooled a little.”

“I did not!”

“You absolutely did.” Katsuki grabbed another log and set it down with a casual thud.

Izuku groaned and hid behind his sleeves. “I’m never sleeping again.”

“Good,” Katsuki said. “More tent for me.”

Izuku narrowed his eyes. “You’re evil.”

“You’re a pain.”

They stared at each other for a second—Izuku glaring, Katsuki smug.

Then Izuku huffed and stepped aside, letting out a foggy breath into the morning air. His boots made soft crunching sounds as he shifted his weight.

Katsuki picked up another log but paused when he noticed Izuku wasn’t watching him anymore.

“What?” he muttered.

Izuku was gazing out at the trees, at the patchy sunlight speckling the forest floor. “Nothing,” he said. “Just… I wanna check out the area a little. Maybe walk around the lake before it gets too cold.”

Katsuki grunted. “Don’t get lost.”

“I won’t,” Izuku said with a smile. “I’ll stay close. Promise.”

Katsuki didn’t respond, just nodded once and turned back to his work.

Izuku shoved his hands in his coat pockets and turned toward the woods. The cold air stung his cheeks, but it felt good somehow. Crisp. Awake.

His heart was still thudding a little too loud in his ears.

Because of the cold, he told himself.

Definitely the cold.

Maybe.

He glanced back once, just before the trees swallowed him, and saw Katsuki standing there in the morning light—axe over his shoulder, hoodie swaying at his waist, steam rising from his breath in the crisp air.

And Izuku kept walking.

Trying very hard not to think about the fact that he didn’t want to stop staring. Or how warm he still felt.

Even now.

Even out here.

And, at first, it was beautiful.

The way the frost clung to the tree branches, catching the light just right. The distant shimmer of the lake framed between trunks. The quiet. The solitude. The soft crunch of his boots against frozen dirt.

Izuku smiled to himself, breath puffing out in pale clouds, his body still warm from sleep and layered clothes. He felt light—like the air was clearer out here. Easier to breathe.

It wasn’t until the fifth fork in the trail—when he stepped over a fallen tree and rounded a gentle slope—that he realized he’d gone farther than planned.

He stopped. Looked back.

The campsite was gone. The tent, the firepit, the faint smell of coffee and pine smoke—all of it swallowed up by the quiet of the trees. The slope behind him looked the same as the one ahead. Everything was brown and white and gray and quiet.

Too quiet.

“…Okay,” Izuku muttered under his breath, rubbing his gloved hands together. “No big deal. Just turn around. Retrace your steps. Easy.”

He turned.

Took one step.

And that’s when it happened.

The snow beneath his foot gave way—slick ice hidden underneath, just waiting.

He slipped.

His foot twisted sharply, his body falling sideways with a grunt and a snap of branches beneath him. He didn’t even have time to catch himself. The landing was hard, sharp, unforgiving.

The pain hit immediately.

White-hot and blinding.

“Agh—!”

His breath caught in his throat, hands clutching instinctively at his ankle. The shock of it was dizzying. His vision blurred at the edges.

“F-fuck—shit, no—” he hissed, trying to pull himself upright. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s fine—just a twist—”

But it wasn’t.

The second he tried putting weight on it, he screamed—raw and unrestrained—before collapsing again into the snow with a choked sob of pain.

His hands shook as he gripped his shin, gasping like he’d been punched. The cold rushed in around him, biting at the base of his spine, slicing through the thin fabric of his pajama pants. The sweat he’d built from walking chilled instantly on his skin.

His ankle throbbed. Every heartbeat pulsed in it, deep and sharp and wrong.

“I-It’s fine,” he whispered again, voice shaking. “I’ve—I’ve sprained things before. I can handle this.”

But he couldn’t even sit up straight. His hands were already trembling. His whole leg was starting to go stiff, and the cold—

The cold was getting worse.

He looked around. Spun in a slow, panicked circle from the ground, trying to find some glimpse of the campsite. Something. Anything. But it was just trees.

Endless trees.

And no Katsuki.

A spike of fear stabbed through his chest.

“Kacchan!” he shouted, his voice cracking in the still air.

Silence.

He swallowed, heart pounding.

“Kacchan!” he yelled again, louder this time, the sound echoing off tree trunks and dying into the empty woods.

No answer.

Only the soft sound of branches creaking overhead. Snow falling in faint flurries. A crow somewhere far off, crying once.

Izuku’s chest heaved. Panic clawed at his throat.

This wasn’t just a sprain. This wasn’t a funny story he could laugh about when he limped back to camp. This was real.

He was alone. Injured. Barely dressed for the weather. And Katsuki was too far away to hear him.

He doesn’t even know I left the ridge.

He tried again—another shout, voice hoarse. Another name ripped from his throat.

“Kacchan—please!”

But the woods swallowed it. 

He felt it in that moment—the fear. Cold and hollow. Pressing into his chest and gut and lungs, like something reaching inside and squeezing.

His breathing came faster.

Okay, he thought, okay, you can’t walk. So sit. Stay warm. Don’t cry. Don’t panic. He’s gonna come find you. He has to.

He dragged himself backward with his arms, gritting his teeth as he slid through the snow toward the nearest tree. Every jolt sent pain lancing up his leg, but he pushed through it.

When he reached the trunk, he pressed his back against it and curled into himself, hugging his arms around his knees. His ankle throbbed—huge and swollen and angry—but the cold was the worst part now.

It cut through every layer. Seeped in under his coat, under his clothes. His body was still trying to regulate from the adrenaline spike, and the sweat made it worse. His lips had already started to go numb.

His fingers wouldn’t stop shaking.

He buried his face in his scarf and clenched his eyes shut.

He didn’t want to cry.

But his whole body ached, and the silence felt like it was going to crush him.

Katsuki, he thought, biting his lip hard enough to sting. Please find me.

Please come stomping up the hill like an asshole. Please yell at me for wandering off. Please tell me I’m an idiot. Please.

His breath came faster. He couldn’t stop shaking.

He imagined Katsuki still out there, chopping wood. Thinking Izuku was just wandering near the lake. Not knowing how far he'd gone. Not knowing he was down.

Not knowing he was scared.

And that was the worst part. Not the pain. Not even the cold.

It was the waiting.

The not knowing.

He pressed the side of his face to the rough bark and curled tighter into himself, like maybe he could disappear into the trunk and wait out the fear.

His voice cracked one more time—soft, broken:

“…Kacchan…”

But the woods didn’t answer.

It’d been forty minutes.

That was already too long.

Katsuki had been stacking firewood, kicking snow off his boots, rechecking the heater, pacing the edge of camp. Waiting. Irritated at first. Muttering curses under his breath about dumb, aimless nerds who didn’t know how to stay put.

He kept glancing up the ridge. Kept expecting to see green wide eyes. A stupid wave. That soft, sheepish smile Izuku always made when he knew he was late.

But he didn’t come back.

It’s fine, Katsuki told himself, rubbing a gloved hand down his face. Probably stopped to take a hundred fucking pictures of moss or something.

Still, his boots were already moving—downhill, toward the lake’s edge.

Twenty minutes later, he was calling Izuku’s name.

At first, it was calm. Just loud enough to carry. No answer.

He looped back around the southern edge of the lake. Nothing.

“Oi!” he snapped into the trees. “If you’re hiding to piss me off, it’s working.”

Silence.

No footprints leading off trail. Just the occasional broken branch, a birdcall, and his own boots crunching over frozen ground.

By the half-hour mark, the quiet had changed.

It wasn’t peaceful anymore. It was too heavy. Like something was missing from it. Like something had been scooped out of the world and left a hollow.

Katsuki's heart beat faster.

He retraced his steps once. Twice. Searched the lakeside again. Yelled louder this time.

Still nothing.

The panic came creeping in through the cracks—slow, quiet, insidious. The kind he hated. The kind that got in under your ribs and made it hard to think.

Then he noticed it.

There weren't any footprints.

The brush here was undisturbed. No prints. No signs of someone passing through.

“Shit.”

He spun around and took off the other way—back toward camp, then past it, into the trees along the ridge. He hadn’t checked this side yet. He should’ve earlier. Should’ve known.

Fuck. Fuck—

He picked up speed. His calls came sharper, hoarser.

“Izuku!”

The forest didn’t answer.

He broke into a run.

Branches whipped against his arms, snow flying beneath his boots as he barreled down narrow paths, jumping over roots and rocks.

He kept yelling, voice cracking. Kept scanning every tree, every rock, every dip in the terrain.

He wasn’t even thinking now. Just moving.

His mind was spiraling—what if he slipped? what if he hit his head? what if he’s unconscious? what if he’s not breathing?

His chest felt too tight. His breath came too fast.

And still—nothing.

The fear was unbearable now. It crawled up the back of his throat and sat there like a stone.

He could see it. The worst-case scenario playing in the back of his mind like a movie reel.

Izuku, lying at the bottom of a slope, blue-lipped and motionless.

Izuku, not responding when he shook him.

Izuku, not waking up at all.

“No,” he growled to himself. “No, he’s fine. He’s—he’s fine.”

But he didn’t believe it.

And then—At fifty minutes—He hit a dead end.

A small rise, the trees thinning a bit, the trail flattening. His lungs burned. His feet skidded to a stop, boots crunching over dry frost and half-melted snow.

He looked around—nothing but the endless repeat of bark and white and shadow.

His heart thudded.

Where the fuck—where the fuck did he—

He turned back.

One last desperate pivot, eyes sweeping the area again, about to sprint to another ridge—when—

He saw it.

Just a sliver of color. Barely there, half hidden by the rise in the hill.

A shock of green.

A tuft of black.

Katsuki’s heart stopped.

He blinked—once, twice—and then his whole body moved at once.

He ran.

“Izuku!”

The name tore from his throat like something primal.

The panic surged into action. Everything else fell away.

His legs burned. His breath came in ragged gasps. The wind sliced at his face and none of it mattered—his heart was in his throat.

His feet stumbled to a halt the moment hhe saw that familiar splash of green and black slumped against the base of a tree. For a second—just one blinding second—he couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

All he saw was Izuku, curled in on himself like he’d folded under the weight of the cold, bundled tight in that stupid scarf Katsuki had watched him wrap three times around his neck that morning.

His knees hit the snow before he could feel the impact.

“Izuku,” Katsuki choked out, grabbing his shoulders, shaking him once. No response.

“-Izuku—fuck, wake up!” His voice cracked under the sheer panic tightening in his throat.

Still nothing. Not until Katsuki shook him harder, hands rough and frantic and desperate.

Then—

A faint flutter. A weak, stuttering breath. And slowly, like he was dragging himself back from the edge of something, Izuku’s eyes blinked open.

“…K-Kacchan?”

Katsuki let out a sound that wasn’t quite a breath and wasn’t quite a sob. His arms wrapped around Izuku in one fast motion, pulling him against his chest in a hard, shivering hug.

It wasn’t long. Just a few seconds. A grounding squeeze to make sure he was real. That he was alive. That Katsuki hadn’t fucking lost him.

But it was everything.

When Katsuki finally pulled back, his hands found Izuku’s face instantly, cupping his cheeks, thumbs brushing the cold-red flush under his eyes.

Izuku was trembling, lips parted, eyes wide and wet and overwhelmed.

Katsuki didn’t say anything. He just stared—devoured every breath, every blink, every line of his face like he was memorizing it. Like he was terrified it might vanish if he looked away.

Izuku leaned into the touch.

He let out a shaky, whispery string of words that tumbled out like they’d been locked in his chest the whole time. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry Kacchan—I didn’t mean to go that far—I didn’t mean to worry you—I was trying to come back—I didn’t think it was that far—I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop,” Katsuki said, low and hoarse.

But Izuku couldn’t.

He was spiraling.

Katsuki sighed hard and yanked off his gloves. His fingers stung from the cold, but he didn’t care. He reached for Izuku’s hands—already gloved—and pulled them into his own, slipping his own thicker gloves over Izuku’s. “Your hands feel like ice,” he muttered. “Fucking idiot.”

Izuku sniffled hard, chest hitching. “I fell—I fell and my ankle—I couldn’t get up—I screamed for you—Kacchan, I couldn’t move—I’m so sorry—I didn’t know what to do—”

Katsuki felt something crack in his chest knowing that Izuku was yelling his name.

He didn’t say anything.

He just moved.

One arm hooked behind Izuku’s back. The other under his knees.

And then he was lifting him. Holding him.

Izuku let out a soft, startled breath—but then his arms looped weakly around Katsuki’s neck, and his face buried deep into Katsuki’s shoulder like that was the only safe place left in the world.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku sobbed again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—I was so scared, Kacchan—”

Katsuki clutched him tighter, holding him by the thighs with one arm, the other wrapped around his back like a lifeline. He didn’t care that Izuku was soaking his jacket with tears. Didn’t care that his own hands were raw or that his legs were starting to go numb.

He had him now.

“You’re alright,” he muttered, barely audible. “You’re alright. I got you.”

Izuku hiccuped through another round of sobs.

Katsuki ducked his head slightly, his cheek resting on Izuku’s temple. His voice was soft and harsh all at once. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Izuku breathed, words muffled in the crook of his neck.

“I know you didn’t,” Katsuki bit out. “Still did.”

He started walking—one slow step at a time through the snow. His boots sank deep, but he kept going, adjusting Izuku’s weight so he wouldn’t jostle the ankle too much.

He rubbed slow, shaky circles through Izukus curls, pushing the hair from his face.

Izuku cried harder at that.

Katsuki said nothing.

He didn’t need to.

Izuku was alive.

And Katsuki would carry him all the way back to the fucking tent if he had to.

Izuku winced softly when his ankle shifted, and Katsuki immediately adjusted him, cursing under his breath.

“Shit—sorry. Sorry.”

“I-It’s okay,” Izuku mumbled, sniffling, his cheeks still blotchy and damp from crying. “I’m okay…”

Katsuki pulled off both their gloves and threw them aside. His jaw clenched as he looked at Izuku—really looked at him now that they were somewhere safe, back in the tent. There were red marks on Izukus face from the cold, and his eyes were glassy and raw, but he was there. Breathing. Talking. Alive.

And still trying to downplay everything like a goddamn idiot.

Katsuki pulled the sleeping bag up to Izuku’s chest, then leaned back on his heels and exhaled hard, his voice rough as he ran a hand through his hair.

“…I shouldn’t’ve brought you out here.”

Izuku’s eyes flicked to him instantly.

“What?”

Katsuki wouldn’t meet his gaze. “This was stupid. You could’ve frozen out there. If I hadn’t turned around when I did—if you hadn’t woken up—if I’d kept going the other way—”

“Kacchan.” Izuku’s voice cut in, soft but sharp. “Stop.”

Katsuki blinked down at him, stunned by the sudden firmness in Izuku’s tone.

Izuku shifted slightly, propping himself up on his elbow despite the tremble in his limbs. “This—” he gestured vaguely at the tent, the air, the snow-covered trees just outside the flap, “—this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Katsuki’s lips parted. “What?”

Izuku gave a breathless, watery smile. “A little fall isn’t gonna ruin that. You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t you dare say you shouldn’t have brought me.”

Katsuki stared at him like he’d just grown wings.

“I mean it,” Izuku said, softer now. “I’m glad I came. I’m so glad.”

And that was when Katsuki smiled.

Not a smirk. Not a huff. Not a sarcastic, I-can’t-believe-you’re-this-dumb twitch of the lips.

A real smile.

His eyes softened, his mouth curved slightly, and for just a second—he looked young. Like a boy at peace. Like someone who let himself feel something gentle without yanking it back in the next breath.

Izuku blinked.

Then blinked again.

“…Kacchan?”

Katsuki furrowed his brows. “What.”

“You—” Izuku flushed. “You smiled. Like really smiled. I think my heart just stopped.”

Katsuki scoffed, but the smile didn’t fully disappear. “You’re such a nerd.”

“Maybe,” Izuku said softly, letting his head fall back against the pillow. “But it’s true.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes and reached for the first aid kit he’d dragged into the tent earlier, his expression sobering again. “Alright. Lemme see that ankle.”

He tugged off Izuku’s sock carefully, his fingers warm and steady. His face went into that serious hyper-focused mode, brows drawn together, lips pressed in a tight line. Izuku held still as Katsuki examined the bruising starting to form around the joint.

Then Katsuki pressed just a bit too hard near the swelling.

Izuku yelped in pain, jerking instinctively.

“Shit—fuck, I’m sorry.” Katsuki’s eyes shot up, guilt written all over his face. “Didn’t mean to—fuck.”

“It’s okay,” Izuku panted, eyes squeezed shut. “You didn’t—don’t worry. It just surprised me.”

Katsuki hesitated for a second longer before exhaling, softer this time. His hands slowed, more careful now, movements precise and measured as he wrapped the ankle with bandages and stabilized it with a splint from the kit.

Izuku watched him silently—watched the way his fingers moved with care, watched the faint crease of worry still sitting between his brows.

When Katsuki finished, he tugged the blanket tighter around Izuku’s body, brushing some curls off his forehead without even thinking about it.

“You’re warm enough?” he muttered.

Izuku nodded, his voice a whisper. “Yeah. Especially now.”

Katsuki didn’t respond at first. Just stared down at him like he was still trying to believe he was here—really here.

Then, in the quiet, Katsuki said lowly, “Don’t scare me like that again.”

Izuku gave a tiny, tired laugh. “I’ll try not to.”

Izuku breath finally evened out.

It took a while. He kept twitching, flinching in his sleep like his body didn’t trust the warmth yet. Like it hadn’t fully caught up to the fact that he was safe now. Katsuki didn’t dare move too far from him—not yet. He just sat cross-legged at Izuku’s side, elbows resting on his knees, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath the sleeping bag.

His normally tan skin was pale. Puffy-eyed from crying. His hands still clenched slightly in the oversized gloves Katsuki had forced over his fingers. But at least his breathing was steady. At least he was still here.

Katsuki let out a slow breath and rubbed a hand over his face. His own fingers were numb now, stiff from earlier panic. That crushing thirty minutes—forty minutes—where he'd been pacing the campsite, cursing under his breath, waiting for that green-haired idiot to come sauntering back, probably with some dumb excuse like I found a cool tree, or I forgot which way the camp was, or some other bullshit.

But it never came.

The sun had been rising slow and golden by the time Katsuki had realized something was wrong.

By the time the worry had kicked in like a slow burn in his gut.

By the time he started yelling.

By the time he started panicking.

And now Izuku was asleep—fragile and exhausted—but okay.

Katsuki swallowed hard. Something about watching him now, vulnerable and quiet, made his stomach twist in a way he hated.

He stood up slowly, careful not to jostle the sleeping bag, and ducked out of the tent.

The sun was higher now, warm enough that his breath didn’t fog up in front of him anymore. It must’ve been close to ten. Snow was still dusted lightly across the ground, but the air was shifting—just enough to tease a little relief.

Katsuki made his way over to the portable stove and fumbled with the ignition. The sharp click broke the silence of the forest, followed by the low hiss of the flame catching. He sat down cross-legged beside it, pulling out a small pot and the last of the instant miso soup packets. Something warm.

He didn’t even realize how badly his hands were shaking until he tried to pour the water.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath and gripped the pot tighter.

It wasn’t just the cold anymore.

Now that things were quiet—now that Izuku was sleeping and safe and wrapped in every blanket Katsuki could find—he didn’t have anything to do. No direction. No search. No urgent task that let him ignore what was happening inside his own damn chest.

And it hit him all at once, stupid and raw:

He had been terrified.

Like really terrified.

Not just worried—sick.

Because somewhere along the way, he’d started giving a shit. More than he meant to. More than he was comfortable with.

He’d always known Izuku was annoying. Loud. Clumsy. Soft. The kind of guy who'd trip over his own feet and try to apologize to the ground afterward. Katsuki used to hate that softness. Thought it made him weak. But now… now it was like he couldn’t stop noticing it. The way Izuku always looked up at the sky like it was telling him something. The way he talked like he cared about every goddamn person he met.

The way he said Kacchan like it still meant something.

Katsuki stared at the flames, the pot beginning to steam beside him.

He didn’t have a lot of friends. Not real ones. He didn’t trust easy, didn’t talk easy, and he sure as hell didn’t let people see him panic. But when he thought about it—about who had been there all this time, who kept showing up even when Katsuki didn’t deserve it—there was only one name that kept coming to mind.

Izuku.

Izuku, with his wide eyes and dumb freckles. Izuku, who still got flustered if Katsuki stood too close. Izuku, who went for a walk just to enjoy the woods and ended up half-frozen and crying in Katsuki’s arms.

And Katsuki had carried him. All the way back. Held him. Put gloves on his hands. Watched him fall asleep just to make sure he was okay.

That wasn’t just caring.

That wasn’t just friendly concern.

That was… more.

He closed his eyes and let out a long, shaky breath.

Izuku Midoriya was his best friend.

He hadn’t said it out loud. Probably never would. But it was true.

Maybe had been for a while now.

Katsuki opened his eyes again and stirred the soup.

The tent was still zipped shut behind him, a soft, silent bulge in the shape of a boy who’d scared the life out of him.

And Katsuki, for once, didn’t try to push it down.

He just stayed there beside the stove, warming his hands and letting the sun reach his face. Waiting for the soup to finish.

Waiting for Izuku to wake up.

Because he wasn't going anywhere.

Not again.

...

Izuku woke up to the sound of a zipper.

Then a figure walking into the tent.

The second Izuku tried to sit up and crawl out of the tent, he barely got one knee down before a firm hand on his shoulder pushed him right back onto the sleeping bag.

“What the hell do you not understand about not moving, you damn nerd?” Katsuki grumbled, glaring down at him with all the gentleness of a very pissed-off nurse. “You wanna twist your busted ankle even worse?”

Izuku blinked up at him, lips parting to argue—but Katsuki’s hand was still on him, warm and steady, and for some reason, that shut him up.

“…Fine,” Izuku muttered, flopping back dramatically.

Katsuki rolled his eyes, but his hand lingered for a second longer than necessary before he pulled away. “Good. Stay.”

With that, he slipped back out of the tent.

A few minutes passed. Izuku tried not to fidget, tried not to think about how sore he was or how weirdly domestic this all felt. He wasn’t sure how long he laid there staring at the fabric of the tent ceiling until Katsuki returned—unzipping the flap with one hand and balancing a steaming bowl in the other.

“I made soup,” Katsuki muttered like it was some kind of sin. “Eat it. And don’t spill it in my fuckin’ tent.”

Izuku propped himself up a little, eyeing the bowl gratefully. “Smells really good…”

Katsuki knelt beside him and held out the spoon.

Izuku reached for it automatically, but—

A sound came from Katsuki’s throat. It wasn’t words. It wasn’t quite a sigh. It was something feral and primal and absolutely a growl.

Izuku’s hand froze mid-air.

“…Did you just growl at me?” he asked, bewildered.

“Don’t touch it,” Katsuki snapped, dipping the spoon into the soup. “I’m feeding you. You’re useless right now.”

“I can feed myself, I’m not paralyzed—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki said calmly, lifting the full spoon toward Izuku’s mouth like this was a hostage negotiation.

Izuku eyed the spoon, then Katsuki. “This is so dumb.”

“You’re dumb. Now eat.”

But as the spoon hovered in front of his face, Izuku’s lips twitched.

Then he started laughing.

“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki muttered immediately, clearly already regretting every choice that had led to this moment. “Don’t be a freak about it. Just drink the soup.”

Izuku tried—he tried—to behave, but something about the way Katsuki was kneeling there, all red-faced and huffy, trying to spoon-feed him like some reluctant caregiver… it was too much.

Still chuckling, Izuku leaned in and finally accepted the spoon. Katsuki moved his hand at the last second, reaching up and gripping Izuku’s chin with practiced ease, tilting his head up gently to make it easier for him to swallow.

Izuku blinked.

Then locked eyes with him.

And—without breaking eye contact—he deliberately sucked the soup off the spoon. Slowly. With intent. Letting out a very small moan.

Katsuki froze like he’d just been struck by lightning.

His ears flushed scarlet. “What the FUCK, you damn nerd?!”

Izuku immediately burst into laughter, trying not to jostle his ankle as he hunched over, shoulders shaking. “Oh my god—your face—Kacchan you’re so red—”

“I swear to god, you absolute little shit,” Katsuki said, throwing the spoon into the bowl and dragging a hand down his face, “you just ruined soup forever.”

Izuku was wheezing now, hand clutched at his stomach. “You were being so gentle too—like-like- open wide, baby, here comes the airplane—”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

Katsuki muttered something under his breath that sounded like “un-fucking-believable” and turned toward the flap of the tent, but not before grabbing the soup bowl protectively.

“Wait—come back,” Izuku said between giggles. “I’m hungry—come on, I’ll be good.”

Katsuki narrowed his eyes at him. “You better be. Next time you try that shit, I’m dumping it on your head.”

Izuku grinned, wiping his eyes. “Deal.”

Katsuki groaned and sat back down. “I should’ve just made toast…”

The fire crackled steadily in front of them, a small, flickering warmth against the still afternoon. The breeze rustled the trees overhead, sending scattered light dancing across the campsite.

Izuku sat with his ankle stretched out in front of him, resting on a chunk of wood Katsuki had kicked over to prop him up. He was angled slightly sideways, leaning into Katsuki’s elbow in that casual, natural way he always did when he got too comfortable to realize it. Their arms brushed every now and then, skin against fabric. Neither of them moved away.

Izuku’s phone was balanced in his hands, the screen dim now. He hadn’t typed anything in a while. He just sat there, scrolling aimlessly, staring at nothing.

Katsuki noticed.

“Oi,” he muttered, poking at the fire with a stick. “You got quieter than usual. It's annoying. What’s up with you?”

Izuku didn’t answer at first. He shifted a little against Katsuki’s elbow but kept his eyes down.

“I was just texting my mom earlier,” he said finally. “She wanted to make sure I got here okay.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Katsuki grunted. “You’ve been tapping away since I brought you soup -like a damn hero-. She give you shit or something?”

Izuku hesitated, thumb brushing over the edge of his phone.

Then, without looking at him, he said, “She doesn’t… really trust you.”

Katsuki blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of it.

“What the fuck for?”

Izuku didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

His silence filled the air in a way that made Katsuki’s chest tighten—like the oxygen had shifted, gone heavier somehow.

Katsuki’s breath caught. He looked down at his lap. “Oh.”

There it was.

That awful, sour echo of the past. All the shouting. All the cruel words. The pushing. The humiliation. The things Katsuki never apologized for—not really. Not in the way Izuku probably deserved.

And now it was still following them. Even out here. Even after everything.

Izuku finally locked his phone and set it down beside him on the log. He didn’t shift away from Katsuki entirely, but the lean against his arm became stiffer. Distant.

“You never told me,” Izuku said quietly, “why you… you hurt me back then.”

His voice cracked at the end of it. Just slightly. Like he was trying to make it sound casual, but couldn’t quite fake it all the way through.

Katsuki froze.

The fire snapped and hissed.

His jaw clenched so tightly it ached. His nails dug into his palms where his fists had curled without thinking.

Izuku kept looking straight ahead at the fire, eyes glazed and heavy.

“Honestly, I dont even want an apology... I just wanna know, why...” he said, softer now. “I told myself it was just because you hated me. That I was annoying. Weak. Always in your way. But sometimes I think…”

He stopped himself. Shook his head.

“Never mind.”

Katsuki didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t say anything.

Izuku let out a hollow, tired breath and sat back, just slightly.

“Still just gonna be quiet?” he asked, voice thin. “Like you always do? Every time I try to actually talk to you about anything real, you shut down.”

Katsuki’s shoulders went tight.

Izuku wasn’t even angry. That was the worst part.

He didn’t snap or yell. He just spoke with this quiet, worn-out sadness, like he’d expected this. Like this moment had already happened a hundred times in his head.

“Cool, Kacchan,” Izuku said with a humorless little laugh, eyes fixed on the flames. “Real cool.”

Katsuki’s throat worked, like he wanted to say something—anything—but nothing came.

There was too much to say. And no way to say it right.

So he just sat there, tense and silent, while Izuku stared into the fire and didn’t lean into him anymore.

They didn’t really talk after that.

Not out loud, anyway.

Katsuki kept feeding the fire, tossing in sticks and bits of dry bark, the repetitive motion giving his hands something to do—something that didn’t involve reaching over and grabbing Izuku and forcing him to talk. Because that’s what the old him would’ve done. The younger him. The version of himself that Izuku’s mom still remembered.

Izuku sat beside him the whole time, still propped up, ankle supported, back straight, distant. He scrolled through his phone a little, but not with any real focus. He wasn’t smiling at whatever he was reading. Wasn’t reacting to anything. Just watching the screen light his face up and fade again.

Eventually, the sun started dipping lower through the trees, and the shadows stretched longer. It was probably getting close to five or six.

Katsuki let the silence sit for another minute.

Then, finally, he cleared his throat.

“…What do you want to eat tonight?”

Izuku looked up slowly, blinking like he hadn’t expected Katsuki to speak at all.

“I got stuff for curry, or we could do ramen. There’s instant, or I can make it from scratch. Got those grilled rice balls you like, too. Or—uh—miso soup again, if you want. With tofu this time. And eggs.”

Izuku just stared at him.

Not angry.

Not annoyed.

Just… blank.

His expression barely moved as he gave a light shrug. “Anything’s fine.”

Katsuki stared at him for a second.

Something about those words—anything’s fine—made his stomach twist.

It wasn’t the words themselves. It was the way Izuku said them. Flat. Careless. Detached. It was the kind of thing you said to a stranger. The kind of thing you said when you didn’t want to be part of the conversation anymore.

It felt like a wall had gone up.

A big, quiet, familiar one.

Katsuki looked back at the fire, his jaw tightening. The back of his neck itched.

He hated this.

Hated how easy it had been—one question, one quiet moment—and now it was like Izuku was somewhere else entirely. Like that brief little lean against his elbow earlier had never happened.

Like the warmth had been sucked out of the air.

Fucking hell, he thought, stabbing at the dirt with a stick. I ruined it again.

He knew why Izuku’s mom didn’t trust him.

He knew why Izuku had gone quiet.

But what Katsuki didn’t know—what he’d never known—was how to fix it when the silence settled in like this. When he wanted to reach across it but didn’t know what to say that wouldn't make it worse.

He blew out a breath through his nose. “You wanna pick, though. I’m not makin’ a bunch of shit just for you to sit there and poke at it.”

Izuku didn’t even look up this time. “Whatever you feel like.”

Katsuki frowned.

The silence stretched again, too long.

He suddenly missed the sound of Izuku’s laugh. His dumb humming. His constant, mindless talking.

He missed him.

And the fact that Izuku was sitting right next to him and still somehow felt far away made something in Katsuki ache.

Fix it, something in his head hissed. Do something.

He stood up abruptly and muttered, “I’m makin’ curry,” before walking over to where the food bin was stashed.

His hands moved on autopilot as he pulled out the ingredients—rice, carrots, potatoes, the vacuum-sealed curry blocks. But his mind was still over there, by the fire, next to the boy who used to never shut up around him, and now wouldn’t even make eye contact.

The rice was already cooking in the pot, and Katsuki stood hunched over the small cutting board, slicing the carrots into stubborn, uniform rounds. Each thunk of the knife into the wood was sharper than it needed to be. He kept glancing toward the fire every few seconds, toward where Izuku still sat, curled slightly inward, scrolling aimlessly like his brain wasn’t really there.

Katsuki stared at the blade in his hand, then at the potatoes.

He gritted his teeth and grabbed one.

“…You know this curry’s gonna taste like shit if you don’t come over and insult me while I’m making it.”

It wasn’t smooth. Or cool. Or casual.

It came out gruff and a little too loud. Like he was trying to play it off like a joke but didn’t know how.

Izuku’s head lifted slightly, brow furrowed.

Katsuki kept his eyes on the cutting board. “Just sayin’. You usually hover. Tell me I’m using too much oil or—whatever.”

He sliced the potato too hard and the piece shot off the board and onto the dirt.

He swore under his breath.

When he turned to grab another, Izuku was looking at him—still guarded, still quiet—but there was a crack in the blankness now.

“I’m not really in a hovering mood,” Izuku said quietly.

Katsuki huffed and went back to cutting. “Yeah. I noticed.”

Another pause. The rice cooker hissed.

Then Katsuki muttered, without looking at him, “I’m not good at this shit, okay?”

Izuku blinked. “At… curry?”

“No. Talking.” Katsuki’s hands stilled over the vegetables. “At—not fucking things up.”

His voice was lower now. Not angry. Just honest.

Izuku didn’t say anything at first. Katsuki could feel the weight of his gaze, though. Like he was trying to figure out if this was real. If he should let himself believe it.

Katsuki swallowed. “I know I… said stuff. Did stuff. Back then.”

He paused.

“I remember all of it,” he said. “Every time I said you were useless. That time I told you to jump. The stairs. All of it.”

The fire popped.

Izuku looked down.

Katsuki’s fingers flexed around the handle of the knife.

“I’m not gonna give you some dumbass excuse,” he went on. “But it wasn’t because I hated you. It was never that.”

Izuku’s chest rose and fell slowly, like he was bracing for something.

“…Then why?” he asked, voice tight.

Katsuki stared at the cutting board.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don't fucking know, and that's the worst part of all this,"

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “And I hated myself for that. So I took it out on you.”

Silence settled again, heavy but different.

Katsuki finally glanced sideways. “That’s why your mom doesn’t trust me. I get it.”

Izuku was still staring at the fire, lips parted slightly. His eyes looked glassy again, like he wasn’t expecting Katsuki to actually say it out loud. Not like that. Not here.

Katsuki turned back to the food and muttered, “She shouldn’t, honestly.”

He scooped the chopped potatoes into the pot and stirred them roughly.

Then, quieter: “But I want to be someone she can trust. Someone you can trust.”

Izuku blinked.

“…Kacchan,” he said softly.

Katsuki didn’t answer.

His hands were still moving, a little too fast, a little too stiff.

But then Izuku shifted.

He slowly pushed himself up from the log—awkwardly, carefully—gritting his teeth as he hopped once toward the food prep area.

“Oi—What are you doing—?”

“I’m hovering, obviously,” Izuku said, reaching to stabilize himself on the edge of the table. “Your potato chunks are uneven. You’re gonna ruin the texture.”

Katsuki stared at him, half-glaring, half-stunned.

Izuku gave him a small, tired smile. “You’re not very good at talking.”

Katsuki scowled. “I said that alr—”

“But,” Izuku added, “you’re trying.”

Katsuki looked at him, then down at the pot.

“…Shut up and taste this when it’s done.”

Izuku leaned into him slightly, just enough to nudge their shoulders together again.

“I will,” he said softly. “And I’m probably gonna complain.”

“Good,” Katsuki muttered. “Be weird if you didn’t.”

They stood there in silence again, but it didn’t feel so cold this time. The fire crackled behind them. The scent of onions and curry started to rise with the steam. 

...

The last of the curry was scraped from their bowls, the fire still crackling low in front of them. The sky had begun to darken, that slow fade into evening where everything went blue and still.

Izuku let out a soft, content sigh, licking a bit of sauce from his thumb. “Thanks for dinner,” he said quietly, leaning back just a bit against the log.

Katsuki just grunted. “Tch. ’S not like I poisoned it.”

Izuku smiled to himself. He didn’t push it.

After a moment, he moved like he was going to get up, bracing a hand against the log—but Katsuki immediately shot out an arm and pressed it to Izuku’s shoulder, keeping him down.

“Don’t,” he snapped. “You’re not walking around on that busted-ass ankle.”

Izuku blinked, caught somewhere between confused and touched. “…I was just gonna help with the dishes.”

“I’ve got it. You just sit there and… do whatever nerdy shit you do.”

Izuku laughed softly, shaking his head. “You’re such a weirdo.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes and shoved his empty bowl into the crate nearby before dropping back down beside Izuku. The silence returned, but it felt calm now—more like a shared pause than anything uncomfortable.

Izuku hugged his knees up slightly—well, one of them. The other he left stretched out and braced with wood under his ankle. His gaze lingered on the soft sky bleeding into stars.

“…We’re going home tomorrow, huh?” he said quietly.

Katsuki didn’t answer right away. He tilted his head toward the fire, fingers flexing lightly against his thigh. Then he said, almost too casually, “Unless we don’t.”

Izuku blinked. “What?”

Katsuki finally turned his head to look at him. “I know the guy who runs this place. Used to come here a lot when I was younger. If we wanted to stay another night—like, head back Monday—I could swing it.”

Izuku stared at him, startled. “You’re serious?”

Katsuki shrugged. “Yeah. Not like it’s booked solid. I can text him later, see if it’s cool.”

“I—” Izuku opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wasn’t expecting that. “I mean… that’d be nice. I’d like to stay. But I dunno if my mom’ll go for it.”

“Then ask her in the morning,” Katsuki said, like it was obvious. “Tell her I won’t let you fuckin’ die or anything.”

Izuku laughed under his breath, warmth blooming in his chest. “Yeah, that’ll reassure her.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes. “You think she hates me that much?”

Izuku didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned back on his hands and looked up at the sky again. “She doesn’t hate you. She just… remembers stuff. Y’know. From before.”

Katsuki went quiet.

Izuku didn’t press it.

After a minute, he nudged his elbow into Katsuki’s again, gently. “But maybe she’ll say yes. I’ll ask her.”

“Good,” Katsuki muttered, and that was that.

They didn’t say much else. Just sat there by the dying fire, shoulders close, the forest humming around them. For once, the quiet between them didn’t feel like something that needed fixing.

It just felt like peace.

It was late when they finally settled back into the tent.

The fire had long burned down to nothing, and the surrounding forest was all shadows and silence. Katsuki helped Izuku hobble over and sit down, muttering something about how he’d “better not fall on his face.” Izuku rolled his eyes but leaned on him anyway, too tired to fake independence.

They’d both changed into their pajama clothes earlier—Izuku now wearing a hoodie two sizes too big, Katsuki in a dark shirt and sweats—and even with the little heater humming in the corner of the tent, the temperature had dropped fast. The silence between them was calm, comfortable even, until Izuku started shivering under the covers.

He tried to hide it, curling up tight under the extra blanket Katsuki had tossed him earlier. But no matter how many layers he wore, he couldn’t stop trembling. His legs were cold. His fingers ached. And eventually, he heard Katsuki shift behind him.

“…Oi,” Katsuki said gruffly. “You good?”

“Mhm,” Izuku mumbled into his pillow, though his body was giving him away with every small shiver.

“You’re fuckin’ shaking.”

“I’m fine.”

A pause. Rustling.

Then: “You cold?”

Izuku hesitated, then gave a small nod, still facing away from him.

He wasn’t expecting Katsuki to move. But he did—slow and a little clumsy, dragging his sleeping bag until he was right up behind Izuku. And then, without asking, Katsuki wrapped an arm around him and pulled him into his chest like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Izuku froze. Completely.

“W-what—?! Kacchan, wh-what the hell are you doing!?”

“Shut up,” Katsuki muttered, voice sleep-rough and close to his ear. “You’re cold. I’m warm. Stop making it weird.”

Izuku’s whole body tensed as Katsuki’s legs lined up behind his, arm snug around his middle, their bodies fully pressed together now.

“I-I wasn’t—!”

“Yeah, you were,” Katsuki muttered. “God, you’re annoying…”

Izuku opened his mouth, ready to argue—but stopped.

He could feel Katsuki’s breath on the back of his neck. Feel the warmth soaking through his hoodie. His cheeks were burning. And despite the flustered panic bubbling in his chest, his shivering had stopped almost instantly.

“…Thanks,” Izuku whispered finally, embarrassed.

Katsuki didn’t say anything, but his grip didn’t loosen.

And after a while, his breathing evened out.

He fell asleep like that.

Izuku stayed awake.

Just laying there, staring at the tent wall, barely blinking.

His heart wouldn’t slow down. His chest felt too tight.

Friends… didn’t do this. Right?

Friends didn’t crawl over and wrap around you like a human space heater. Friends didn’t hold you like that—like it was instinct. Like it meant something. Like they’d done it before.

Friends didn’t sleep with their faces buried in the back of your hoodie.

Izuku swallowed, eyes flicking down to the arm still draped over his waist.

Kacchan… what are we even doing anymore?

His body was finally warm, but his head was spinning. He’d spent so long trying to figure out how to talk to Katsuki, how to fix whatever was broken between them. And now they were here, tangled up in a tent, pretending like this was just something normal.

Like this didn’t mean something.

And even if Katsuki was asleep—soaked in warmth and silence and maybe even peace—Izuku wasn’t.

Not even close.

He bit his lip.

This wasn’t friendship. Not the kind they used to have. Not the kind anyone else would understand.

And yet, he didn’t pull away.

He didn’t want to.

Izuku woke up warm.

His lashes fluttered as he stirred, cheek squished into something solid and soft at the same time. It took him a few seconds to realize it wasn’t his pillow. Or a blanket.

It was Katsuki’s chest.

His very real, very solid, still-breathing, still-holding-him chest.

Izuku blinked hard, heart skipping as the events of the night before came flooding back.

Right. He’d been shivering. And Katsuki had… moved. Had wrapped himself around Izuku like a furnace and passed out like it was nothing.

And apparently never let go.

Oh god.

Katsuki’s arm was still slung loosely over his waist, his palm splayed casually across Izuku’s hoodie. Their legs were tangled up under the blankets. And Katsuki’s face was—god—right there, tucked into the crook of Izuku’s neck.

Izuku stiffened slightly, lips parting like he was about to say something, but then—

Katsuki snored. Just a tiny one.

It startled a quiet laugh out of Izuku’s chest before he could stop it.

“Kacchan,” he whispered, voice hushed but gently amused. “Hey. Wake up…”

Katsuki didn’t move at first, just gave a tired grunt and buried his face even further into Izuku’s shoulder.

“Kacchan,” Izuku said again, nudging him lightly. “Come on, it’s morning.”

Katsuki groaned, this time dragging his arm back and finally blinking open one eye. “The fuck… what time is it?”

“I dunno. Eight? Maybe?”

“…Why’re you waking me up first? That’s not how this works,” Katsuki muttered groggily, rubbing his eyes and sitting up slowly. "How did I sleep in so fuckin' late," He grumbled.

Izuku sat up too, brushing a hand through his hair. “I was shocked too, trust me.”

They both looked a little dazed, a little puffy-eyed. But Katsuki didn’t say anything else about waking up tangled together, and Izuku didn’t bring it up either.

Still, his face felt warm for a while after.

Eventually they got dressed, Katsuki helping him into clean sweats and his jacket, careful of his ankle. The heater clicked off, and they stepped outside into the fresh, slightly chilly morning.

It smelled like dew, moss, and pine.

Katsuki started organizing their gear, boiling water for tea, while Izuku sat on the log with his phone, watching the weak sun rise over the trees. His ankle throbbed a little, but nothing too bad.

Then, Katsuki’s voice broke the quiet.

“You gonna ask your mom?”

Izuku glanced up, startled. “Huh?”

“For another day,” Katsuki said, not looking at him, just tearing open a granola bar wrapper. “You said you’d ask her.”

Izuku’s heart did a little flip.

Right. Last night, Katsuki had said they could stay until Monday. One more day. Just them. No rush.

“I…” Izuku hesitated, looking down at his phone. “…Yeah. I’ll call her.”

“You don’t gotta if you don’t want—”

“No, I will,” Izuku interrupted quickly. “I said I would. I just—need a minute.”

Katsuki finally glanced over at him, eyes scanning his face like he was trying to read something between the lines. But he didn’t push.

“…Alright,” he said after a beat, quiet. “Lemme know how it goes.”

Izuku nodded, fingers fidgeting nervously with the zipper of his hoodie.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted more—his mom to say yes… or no.

Because staying another day sounded amazing.

And terrifying.

Because what even were they anymore?

Izuku swallowed, took a deep breath, and opened his contacts.

Izuku leaned against a tree near the campsite, phone pressed to his ear, one leg stretched out and resting carefully on the cooler. Katsuki was pacing nearby, pretending not to listen — but Izuku could feel his eyes flick over every few seconds.

The line clicked.

“Hi, Mom,” Izuku said quickly before she could even greet him. “It’s me.”

“Izuku,” Inko said, surprised. “You’re calling a little early — everything okay?”

“Yeah! Everything’s fine,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Um. So I kinda… wanted to ask you something.”

“…Alright,” she said slowly. “What is it?”

Izuku took a breath. “Would it be okay if I stayed an extra night?”

Silence.

“We were supposed to head out this afternoon,” he went on, voice climbing nervously. “But… my ankle’s still kind of bad, and the idea of hiking back and sitting in a car for four hours just—doesn’t sound great. And it’s nice out, and we’re actually having a really good time, and Katsuki said he could get us one more night here because he knows the owner, and—”

“Izuku,” Inko cut in, her voice firm but not angry. “No.”

He blinked. “Wha—wait, what? Why not?”

“You’re supposed to be back tonight. You already missed school Friday for this trip, and now you want to skip Monday too?”

“Well—yeah, but I’ll catch up!” he said quickly. “It’s just one more day!”

“It’s not about catching up,” she said. “It’s about responsibility. And if your ankle is that bad, maybe you should be coming home sooner.”

“I can’t walk on it, that’s the whole point!” he argued. “It hurts, Mom. Katsuki’s been helping me with everything but I really don’t want to deal with traveling tomorrow morning like this.”

Izuku had texted Inko about his ankle yesterday. She went into immidet panic, so Izuku quickly under exaggerated his pain.

More silence.

Izuku glanced over his shoulder. Katsuki was still pacing, slower now, clearly eavesdropping.

Inko finally sighed. “It’s a four-hour drive, and you’ll get home late. That’s half a school day you’re going to miss, maybe more.”

“I’ll go to class Tuesday,” Izuku offered. “I swear. Just… I dunno, this trip’s been kinda important. For a lot of reasons.” He said quieter.

She was quiet again. Izuku could hear her faint breathing on the other side, like she was weighing something.

“Mom,” he said softly. “Please?”

“…You really want to stay another day?”

Izuku nodded, then remembered she couldn’t see. “Yeah. I really do.”

Another breath.

“I’m still not happy about it,” she finally said. “But okay. One more night. You go to school Tuesday. No arguments.”

Relief flooded his whole body.

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you—thank you.”

“You’d better make good on it,” she warned, but he could hear the smile creeping into her voice.

“I will. I swear.”

Just as he was about to hang up—

“Izuku?”

“Yeah?”

“…Is there something going on between you and Katsuki?”

His whole brain short-circuited.

“Wh—What?! No!! No, that’s not—why would you even think that?”

“I don’t know,” Inko said gently. “Maybe the way you talk about him. Maybe because you’re so eager to stay. Maybe because I’m your mother and I know you.”

Izuku turned fully away from Katsuki, lowering his voice into the collar of his hoodie. “We’re not—there’s nothing going on. We’re just…” He trailed off. “We’re just friends. Kind of.”

“That doesn’t sound very convincing.”

“I—Mom!”

“Okay, okay. I’ll drop it,” she said with a laugh. “You’re allowed to have a nice trip, sweetie. Just… be careful, alright? With your heart too.”

Izuku went completely red. “Goodbye, Mom!”

“I love you!”

“Bye—!” He hung up and practically melted into the log nearby.

Katsuki wandered over slowly, hands jammed in his hoodie pockets. “Well?”

“She said yes,” Izuku mumbled, still hiding his face.

“Hah. Figured.”

There was a pause.

Izuku dropped his phone into the pocket of his hoodie.

After he finished the call he limped back over to the log.

His mom had finally agreed to let him stay one more day—after several rounds of back-and-forths, guilt-tripping, Izuku felt weirdly guilty about it.

He stared out at the pines beyond the clearing, still dusted white at the tips, the cold air biting at his cheeks. His ankle was elevated across the log he sat on, stiff and swollen under layers of sock, wrap, and the edge of his blanket.

Katsuki stomped up beside him, holding a steaming paper plate in one hand and a plastic fork in the other.

“Here,” he said gruffly, thrusting it at Izuku. “Eat it before it gets cold.”

Izuku looked up. “Thanks.”

Katsuki didn’t respond, just crouched down beside the little portable stove again and started aggressively jabbing at something with the spatula. The smell of overdone eggs and slightly burnt sausage lingered in the air.

A beat passed. Birds chirped faintly in the trees. Somewhere in the distance, a woodpecker hammered out a rhythm against bark. Izuku finished his breakfast in silence, letting the warmth settle in his chest.

Then, because he was bored and kind of emotionally itchy, he said, “Wanna hike down to the lake?”

Katsuki froze.

Then he turned his head and gave Izuku a slow, dead-eyed stare. “You’re fuckin’ joking.”

Izuku blinked innocently. “What? It’s not that far.”

“You can’t even walk right now. You want me to drag your corpse down a hill in the snow for what, Deku? To go ice skating on your broken ankle?”

“I won’t skate,” Izuku pouted. “I just wanna see it.”

Katsuki stood fully, crossing his arms. “I’m not carrying your fat ass down to the lake.”

Izuku’s face lit up immediately.

He tilted his head, batting his lashes with exaggerated sweetness. “Awww… Kacchan thinks I have a fat ass~”

Katsuki’s face didn’t just turn red—it ignited. His jaw dropped slightly, and he looked like he was deciding between yelling and walking directly into the woods to scream into a tree.

“Shut the fuck up!” he exploded, voice cracking slightly. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Izuku just snorted into his hand, eyes wide and gleaming with mischief. “I mean, I didn’t say it, you did—”

“God,” Katsuki hissed, already marching toward him with dangerous purpose.

Izuku immediately stopped laughing, blinking rapidly. “W-What are you doing?”

Katsuki didn’t answer until he was right in front of him, crouching low.

“Carrying your fat ass down to the lake,” he gritted out.

Izuku flailed. “Wait—Kacchan, seriously?! I was joking—”

But it was too late. Katsuki hooked an arm under Izuku’s knees and another behind his back, lifting him clean off the log with a grunt, blanket still wrapped around him.

Izuku yelped, arms flying around Katsuki’s neck. “You’re insane! Put me down—!”

“Shut up,” Katsuki muttered. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”

“I wanted to walk! Or limp! Or crawl! Not get bridal carried like a damn princess—”

“Then stop talking like one,” Katsuki snapped, trudging forward.

Izuku groaned, head thumping lightly against Katsuki’s shoulder as he gave in to the absurdity of it all. “You’re gonna throw out your back…”

“Maybe,” Katsuki muttered, boots crunching over snow and dirt. “Might be worth it.”

Izuku tried to ignore that.

They descended the narrow trail in silence after that, save for Izuku’s occasional yelp when Katsuki hit a slippery patch. But true to form, Katsuki never faltered. Just kept walking like he was carrying a featherweight instead of a fully grown teenage boy who probably shouldn’t have gone for seconds at breakfast.

When the trees thinned and the frozen lake came into view, Izuku’s breath caught.

It was completely still—flat and pale, covered in a glassy sheen of solid ice. Snow crusted around the edges where it met the frozen dirt, and the reflection of the sky made the whole surface look silvery blue. It was eerily quiet, like the world had muted itself for winter.

“Whoa,” Izuku whispered.

Katsuki stopped a few feet from the shore and gently bent to set him down on a log overlooking the lake. Izuku winced a little as his ankle was jostled, but he adjusted, pulling his blanket back around his shoulders as he sat up.

“Thanks,” he said softly, this time with none of the teasing.

Katsuki didn’t answer. He was staring out at the lake, jaw tight, breath visible in the air.

Izuku watched him for a moment, then glanced back toward the ice. “Do you think it’s thick enough to walk on?”

“Maybe,” Katsuki said. “But don’t even think about it.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“I wasn’t!”

Katsuki gave him a flat look.

Izuku smiled faintly, then tucked his arms tighter around his chest. The cold bit deeper now that they weren’t moving, but he didn’t mind. There was something peaceful about the stillness.

“…You didn’t have to carry me, you know,” he said.

“I know.”

“But you did.”

Katsuki scuffed the toe of his boot against the snow. “Shut up.”

Izuku smiled to himself, heart pounding a little harder than he wanted to admit. Katsuki always got mean when he didn’t know what to do with softness.

And maybe Izuku liked pushing those buttons a little too much.

“Next time,” he said lightly, “I’ll just let you admire my fat ass from afar.”

Katsuki’s groan was immediate and full-body. “You’re the worst.”

Izuku laughed, breath fogging in the cold air.

The silence stretched comfortably for a few minutes, broken only by the occasional creak of ice shifting across the lake’s surface. Izuku hugged his blanket tighter, watching the way the pale sun glinted off the frozen water like glass.

Then Katsuki stepped forward, slowly making his way toward the lake’s edge.

Izuku blinked. “Wait… what are you doing?”

“Seeing if it’s solid,” Katsuki muttered, already crouching near the shore. He grabbed a heavy branch from the snowy ground and smacked the ice hard once—then again. The sound echoed like a dull drum, but the surface didn’t crack.

“Don’t,” Izuku said immediately, brows furrowing. “You’re gonna fall.”

Katsuki glanced over his shoulder. “It’s fine. I’m not an idiot.”

“That’s debatable,” Izuku muttered into his scarf.

But Katsuki had already taken a cautious step out, boots crunching faintly against the frosty crust. The ice didn’t even groan under his weight. He tested another few steps, slowly shuffling out farther, hands in his pockets like he wasn’t doing something extremely stupid.

“Kacchan…”

“Relax,” Katsuki called, now ten steps on the ice. “I’m not gonna—”

He slipped.

It wasn’t a dramatic fall. No arm-flailing, no full-body twist—but his boots slid out from under him with the perfect comedic timing of the universe, and he landed squarely on his ass with a loud, thud.

There was a pause.

Izuku blinked. Then slapped a hand over his mouth.

And then he lost it.

The sound of his laughter cut across the clearing like sunlight—bright, loud, uncontrollable. He bent forward on the log, clutching his sides, shoulders shaking as he laughed so hard it echoed.

“I told you!” Izuku cackled between breaths. “I warned you, I said don’t fall—!”

“Shut up!” Katsuki shouted from the ice, scowling like a child. “It was the boots!”

“It was your ego!” Izuku howled, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “Oh my god—the way you just—thump!”

Katsuki started laughing too. Just a little. Just enough to crack through the embarrassment. It rumbled out of his chest like gravel, low and reluctant, but real.

“You’re such a dick,” he muttered as he sat there on the ice, rubbing his elbow.

Izuku wiped his eyes. “I’m gonna remember this forever.”

“You better not.”

“I’m gonna add it in my poem.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Izuku was still grinning as Katsuki finally stood back up and slowly made his way back toward the shore, walking like a pissed-off grandma trying not to fall again.

When he got close enough, Izuku smirked and held out one mittened hand like he was offering to help.

Katsuki just stared at it. “You’re not pulling me down with you, moron.”

Izuku wiggled his fingers. “C’mon. I’ll be gentle.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes and ignored the hand completely, instead crouching next to Izuku with a grunt. He dusted the frost off his pants and muttered, “You’re lucky I didn’t bust my spine.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t film it.”

“Next time I’m leavin’ you up there on the hill to rot.”

Izuku smiled, still catching his breath. “Okay, okay. Truce?”

Katsuki gave him a long look. “Fine. Truce.”

They sat there for a while longer, the two of them hunched in their winter layers, facing the ice, the moment already softening into memory. Katsuki’s fall would live on in infamy. And so would the sound of their laughter echoing together across a frozen lake—brief, unexpected, and oddly warm in the middle of all that cold.

The sun had shifted by the time they made their way back up the trail, casting long shadows through the trees. The frozen lake disappeared behind them, swallowed by pine and quiet, as the narrow path sloped steadily uphill.

Katsuki insisted on carrying Izuku again—less dramatically this time, more practical and tired, with Izuku looped over his back like a lazy koala, arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders. His ankle throbbed a little with every step, but he didn’t complain.

Not when Katsuki’s hands were gripping his thighs so securely. Not when his breath came out warm and steady, clouding the cold air just beneath Izuku’s chin.
Not when the steady rhythm of their movement felt like a lullaby, like something safe.

It was quiet for a while, save for the occasional crunch of snow and Katsuki’s soft, annoyed muttering whenever the trail got slippery.

Izuku didn’t say anything. He just… looked.

Watched the back of Katsuki’s neck his hair looked to be getting a bit long. Watched the stubborn spike of blond hair that refused to be flattened by wind. Watched the curve of his shoulders, the tension there, the way his hands didn’t waver even after carrying him for so long.

He couldn’t help it.

He stared.

And eventually—Katsuki noticed.

“What?” he muttered, voice sharp but tired. “You’re starin’.”

Izuku blinked, caught. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Thought about lying. Thought about teasing again. But then—

“…Nothing,” he said softly, then leaned forward.

He let his cheek brush against the side of Katsuki’s neck. Let his nose nuzzle just beneath his ear, warm and gentle. Let himself breathe in the smell of firewood and frost and something Katsuki that made his chest ache in ways he wasn’t ready to name.

Katsuki went still.

The tension in his shoulders didn’t go away—but he didn’t pull back either. Didn’t shove Izuku off. He just… stood there for a second, snow crunching faintly beneath his boots, as Izuku nuzzled his neck like a sleepy, affectionate cat.

“…What the hell are you doing,” Katsuki mumbled.

Izuku smiled into his skin. “Nothing.” He said again.

Katsuki sighed, low and rough. “You’re so fuckin’ weird.”

“You’re warm,” Izuku whispered.

Katsuki didn’t answer. But his hands shifted—gripped tighter around Izuku’s legs, like maybe he wasn’t so ready to let go either.

They didn’t speak the rest of the way back.

When they got to the clearing, Katsuki set Izuku down gently on the log again, mumbling about checking the fire. Izuku watched him go, fingers still tingling from where they’d clung to his hoodie.

The moment passed, but it didn’t vanish.

It settled between them like steam rising from the snow.

...

They had just finished dinner, the sky a deep navy blue now, stars starting to break through the clouds above them like pinpricks in velvet. The fire cracked gently between them, flickering against Katsuki’s face as he stabbed at the last of his food with a fork.

Izuku licked his spoon clean and sighed contentedly. “That was really good, Kacchan.”

Katsuki just grunted in reply, looking oddly distracted. Then he suddenly muttered, “Shit,” under his breath and stood up.

“Huh?” Izuku blinked up at him. “What’s wrong?”

Katsuki didn’t answer—just turned and ducked into the tent without another word.

Izuku frowned, turning a little to look toward the flapping entrance. “Kacchan?” he called, confused. “A-are you okay—?”

Thirty seconds later, Katsuki emerged holding something behind his back, a smug glint in his eye.

“...What are you hiding?” Izuku narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Katsuki didn’t answer right away. He just flopped back down onto the log beside Izuku, then slowly revealed the bottle like he was presenting a rare treasure. A squat, amber-glassed thing with a cracked black label and a worn metal cap.

Izuku’s eyes went wide. “Kacchan! What the heck!!”

Katsuki smirked. “Surprise.”

“Wh—Wh—Why’d you bring that?! We’re in the middle of the woods!! That’s, like—like—dangerous! You brought illegal juice!!”

“It’s not illegal,” Katsuki said, already unscrewing the cap.

“Well—yeah, but—!”

“You sound like you’re about to call the cops on me.”

“I might!”

“You’re not.”

Izuku sputtered, flailing a little in his blanket cocoon. “Okay but seriously! You didn’t tell me you packed whiskey! What else do you have in there?! A flask? A hip holster? An emergency cigar?!”

“I was gonna wait until tonight,” Katsuki shrugged. “But you kept whining about how cold it was, so. Y’know. Liquid warmth.”

Izuku’s jaw dropped. “That’s not real science!!”

“Shut up and drink.” Katsuki passed him the bottle.

Izuku took it, staring at it like it was radioactive.

He sniffed it. Grimaced. Took the tiniest sip imaginable.

And made the ugliest face Katsuki had ever seen.

Katsuki burst out laughing.

Exactly one hour later, the bottle was more than half gone.

They were no longer sitting upright like civilized people. They were now slumped into each other on the log, bundled in one oversized blanket, both of their cheeks red and eyes glossy from heat, whiskey, and hysterics.

Izuku had tears in his eyes from laughing. He was wheezing. “You’re the one who called him a half-n-hald bastard!"

“He IS!” Katsuki shouted, chest shaking with laughter. “He’s like—like—a fucking uncooked spaghetti noodle with trauma!”

Izuku lost it. Again. He practically keeled over, wheezing into Katsuki’s shoulder.

Katsuki followed him down, arm slung lazily around Izuku’s back, both of them folded into each other, shoulders jostling, sides aching from laughing so hard.

“I—I can’t breathe,” Izuku gasped.

“Good,” Katsuki coughed, snorting. “Shut the fuck up then.”

Izuku hit him weakly with the corner of the blanket. “You shut up! You said frogs don’t wear jeans ‘cause their asses are too powerful. That’s not even—what does that mean?!”

Katsuki was howling again. “I don’t even know anymore!”

They were just. Gone. Absolutely feral. Everything was hilarious. Nothing made sense. Every stupid sentence sent them back into fits of laughter.

At one point Izuku leaned forward to grab the bottle and very nearly rolled off the log. Katsuki caught him by the blanket and dragged him back like a sack of flour.

“I’m dying,” Izuku declared, eyes wide, lips wobbly with barely-contained giggles. “My brain is melting. You poisoned me.”

“You poisoned yourself,” Katsuki said smugly, tugging the bottle away before Izuku could try again.

They stared at each other for a long moment, both red-faced, flushed from fire and drink and laughter.

Izuku grinned, leaning his head on Katsuki’s shoulder again with a hum.

Katsuki let him.

They sat like that for a while—both far too warm, slightly off-balance, draped over one another in a heap of limbs and shared body heat. The fire cracked and hissed, and the bottle of whiskey sat nearly empty between their boots.

Eventually, Katsuki tilted his head to the side. “You good?”

Izuku blinked at him, slow and heavy-lidded. “Happier than a frog in jeans.”

“Goddamn it,” Katsuki muttered, trying to hold back his laugh.

He failed.

The bottle was nearly empty.

Their cheeks were flushed. Their lips were wet. Their laughter had died down to lazy, slurred chuckles, breath puffing out in the cold between their faces.

Izuku reached for the whiskey again with clumsy fingers, nearly knocking it over in the snow. He giggled when Katsuki caught it and handed it to him like it was some sacred treasure.

“To our son,” Izuku said solemnly, holding up the bottle like a toast.

“You’re so fucking weird,” Katsuki muttered, grinning.

“You love it,” Izuku sing-songed, taking a sloppy sip and swaying forward.

Katsuki didn’t reply.

He was staring again.

Izuku caught the look this time—head cocked, lips parted, pupils blown wide, hair catching firelight like a damn halo. “...What?” he asked, breathless, giggling. “Why’re you lookin’ at me like that, Kacchan?”

Katsuki’s eyes were locked on him, unmoving. “Dunno,” he muttered, voice like gravel. “You’re just… stupid.”

Izuku snorted and leaned into him, head knocking against his shoulder. “You’re stupider.”

Katsuki turned slightly. Just enough for their noses to brush.

Everything stopped.

The bottle slipped from Izuku’s hand, landing in the snow with a dull thud.

Neither of them looked at it.

Katsuki shifted a bit. “You talk too much.”

“Then shut me up- Suki,” Izuku said-so close their lips nearly touched.

Katsuki's eyes flickered down to Izuku's mouth.

"I fuckin' hate you,"

“You like me,” Izuku teased, voice all syrup and smoke.

That was it.

Katsuki grabbed Izuku’s jaw with one hand and crushed their mouths together.

Hard.

Izuku gasped—a shocked, broken noise swallowed into Katsuki’s mouth—then melted, moaned, gave in. His hands clawed at Katsuki’s hoodie like he needed something to hold or he might fall apart right there.

It was immediate. Unforgiving.

Wet and open and messy.

They kissed like animals—teeth clacking, spit smearing, breath catching on every inhale. Like they didn’t know what would happen if they stopped.

Izuku whimpered into it, mouth eager, greedy, hips twitching forward like he couldn’t sit still. Katsuki groaned and dragged his hand up Izuku’s back, pulling him in until there was no space left. The blanket slipped off their shoulders and into the snow, forgotten.

“Shit,” Katsuki growled, lips brushing his. “You’re so—fuck—you’re loud.”

“But you knew that already-didnt you,” Izuku panted, giggling breathlessly, voice going hoarse.

Katsuki snarled—and then gripped his waist and yanked him up like it was nothing, bridal-style, again, his arms shaking just a bit from the effort.

“Kacchan—” Izuku yelped, still kissing him, still laughing, arms looped around his neck, legs dangling and hips shifting restlessly against his chest.

“Shut up,” Katsuki snapped, but his mouth found Izuku’s again, even sloppier this time. Open, desperate, relentless. They kissed through the stumble, through the tent flap Katsuki shouldered open like a man possessed.

The world narrowed.

Snow crunched. The fire hissed behind them.

Then crash—they tumbled onto the sleeping bag in a tangled mess of limbs and gasps and fabric, kissing like they couldn’t stop if they tried. Katsuki landed on top, but Izuku instantly hooked his arms around him and rocked up, hips grinding hard against his thigh without a hint of shame.

Katsuki groaned deep in his chest.

“You’re—” Izuku started, and then Katsuki shut him up with another bruising kiss.

No rhythm. Just need.

Their mouths met and missed and met again, spit glistening across swollen lips, their noses bumping. Katsuki’s hands were everywhere—up Izuku’s shirt, across his ribs, gripping his waist and dragging him up against him again and again.

Izuku arched, rutting upward like he couldn’t stop himself, moaning every time their hips met.

Katsuki was hard. He knew he was. Izuku had to feel it. Katsuki didn’t care.

Didn’t stop.

“You kiss like you wanna fight me,” Izuku panted against his cheek.

“I am fighting you,” Katsuki hissed. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

“Then stop kissing me.”

Katsuki bit his bottom lip instead.

Izuku moaned, low and loud, grinding up against him harder, heels digging into the sleeping bag, clutching Katsuki by the hair now—pulling, tugging. Begging.

It was filthy.

The tent filled with wet, breathy sounds—slurps and pants and groans layered under drunken giggles and stuttering inhales. They were overheating in layers of clothes, jackets bunched under their backs, snowmelt soaking the corners of the tent floor.

Katsuki’s hands slid up Izuku’s shirt again and this time stayed there, thumbs dragging over warm, bare skin. Izuku jolted under him, gasping into his mouth. “Fuck—Kacchan—”

“Shut up,” Katsuki said again, but it came out broken. Like he didn’t mean it.

Like he wanted to hear everything.

Izuku was grinding up into him now, slow and messy, drunk and needy. There was no rhythm. No control. Just friction. Desperation. Katsuki rutted back, biting at Izuku’s jaw, then licking the sting away like he didn’t know how to stop himself.

They kissed and kissed and kissed, like it was all they’d ever known how to do.

Like it was the only thing they were good at.

Izuku's thighs spread wider, hips rolling, chasing the heat between them like he needed it to breathe. Katsuki pinned him down with his weight, one arm under Izuku’s back, the other bracing himself, grinding hard and slow with a growl building in his chest.

They were gonna regret this.

But not yet.

Not now.

Izuku was whispering something—Katsuki couldn’t hear it, not with the blood rushing in his ears—but it didn’t matter. His hands were still on Katsuki’s hips, tugging him closer, anchoring him.

And then, finally—

It started to slow.

Their kisses softened. Got slower. Lazier.

Katsuki’s head dropped against Izuku’s shoulder, still panting.

Izuku blinked up at the tent ceiling, lips numb, eyes glazed. His fingers were tangled in blond hair, chest rising and falling fast.

Katsuki didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just shifted once, burying his face deeper into Izuku’s neck, sighing shakily. His whole body was warm, heavy, still pressed against Izuku from thigh to chest.

Izuku wrapped his arms around him with the last of his strength, breath fogging against Katsuki’s cheek.

They didn’t fix anything. Didn’t wipe the spit from their mouths or adjust their clothes. They stayed tangled in each other, jackets half-on, half-off, too tired and drunk and fucked-out to care.

Katsuki’s breathing was the first to even out.

Izuku kissed Katsuki’s temple once.

And then they slept—hot and flushed and sticky, hips still pressed close, lips swollen, hearts hammering.

Too drunk to talk.

Too far gone to pull apart.

...

The sharp beams of the morning light pierced through the thin fabric of the tent, too bright... way to bright, like as if the sun itself was scolding them for whatever they had done last night.

Izuku stirred first, wincing as his eyes opened to a blinding headache and a mouth that tasted like stale whiskey and ash. His stomach gave a quiet, traitorous flip, and his limbs felt weak and oddly heavy—like something was holding him down.

And something was.

He blinked a few times.

Katsuki was still asleep on top of him.

Izuku froze, his breath catching. The older boy's weight was draped over him like a too-warm blanket, face buried against the side of his neck. His breath was warm. His thigh was slotted between Izuku’s. One hand rested low on Izuku’s stomach, fingers curled slightly in the fabric of his hoodie like he hadn’t wanted to let go.

Memories from the night before hit him like thunder.

Kissing in front of the fire. Giggling in the dark. Katsuki carrying him into the tent, both of them slurring nonsense and pawing at each other like idiots. That breathless makeout, sloppy and full of heat and desperation. Spit on their chins, the slide of tongues, the way Katsuki had groaned against his mouth.

And now he was just… sleeping there, like it was normal.

Like it wasn’t the single most insane, wonderful, terrifying thing that had ever happened to Izuku in his life.

He barely moved.

He didn’t want to move.

But the pressure on his healing ankle was starting to sting, and the anxiety bubbling in his chest was getting harder to ignore. Carefully, awkwardly, he shifted beneath the weight, trying not to wake Katsuki—but it didn’t work.

Katsuki stirred with a low, gravelly groan, scrubbing his face against Izuku’s hoodie. His eyes cracked open, red and puffy with sleep, and for a moment, he looked confused—until their eyes met.

He stilled.

The weight of the night before seemed to crash into both of them at the same time.

Katsuki pulled away quickly, sitting up with a grunt, one hand pressing to his forehead. “Shit,” he muttered. “My head’s killin’ me.”

Izuku sat up slower, limbs stiff and sore. His ankle ached but… it wasn’t awful. He could probably walk on it now—maybe with a limp.

There was a long silence between them.

Then Katsuki exhaled hard, staring at the floor of the tent.

“Fuck- We were both wasted,” he said roughly, voice low and sharp. “It didn’t mean anything.”

Izuku’s breath caught in his throat.

His fingers curled in the fabric of his sleeves.

Katsuki stood abruptly, still not looking at him. “Let’s just forget about it,"

The words landed like ice in Izuku’s gut.

Forget about it.

It didn’t mean anything.

He didn’t respond. Couldn’t. His whole body went still, his heart beating so loud he was sure Katsuki could hear it.

He felt like throwing up. Or crying. Or screaming.

Instead, he nodded once. “...Yeah. Okay.”

His voice cracked at the end.

They packed in silence.

The tent came down. The sleeping bags were stuffed into sacks. Katsuki did most of the heavy lifting while Izuku fumbled with the mugs and food wrappers. Every now and then, Izuku had to pause to breathe through the ache in his ankle—but he didn’t complain. He didn’t even look at Katsuki unless he had to.

The hike back down to the car was slower than usual.

The trail was still muddy from the snowmelt, and the incline wasn’t kind on Izuku’s ankle. He bit the inside of his cheek every time he stepped wrong, trying not to make a sound—but Katsuki noticed.

“Oi,” he snapped eventually, stopping a few feet ahead and turning. “You’re limping.”

Izuku looked down. “It’s fine,” he mumbled.

Katsuki didn’t respond with words. He stepped closer, grabbed Izuku’s wrist, and slung Izuku’s arm over his shoulders with a sharp huff.

Izuku stiffened. “K-Kacchan—”

“Don’t be stupid. You’ll fuck it up worse if you keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

And just like that, Katsuki was helping him down the trail. Every few steps, their hips bumped. Their boots crunched in sync. Izuku felt too warm all over, even though the air was crisp and cold.

Neither of them spoke.

Izuku kept his gaze locked on the ground. Katsuki didn’t look at him once.

By the time they made it to the car, both of them were sweating and exhausted. Katsuki helped Izuku into the passenger seat, then tossed their bags into the trunk.

The whole ride home was a quiet blur.

Katsuki didn’t put on music.

Izuku stared out the window, fingers clenched tightly in his lap, still hearing those words over and over in his head.

It didn’t mean anything.

But if that were true… why did it still hurt so much?
Why did it feel like he’d left something behind in that tent—something soft, something real—and Katsuki had crushed it like it was nothing?

And quite frankly...

It pissed Izuku right the fuck off...

Chapter Text

The first week back from the trip felt… different.

Izuku couldn’t put it into words, not in a way that didn’t sound childish. Every time he thought about the tent, about Katsuki’s mouth on his, about the heat and weight of him—it was like his brain lit up in a way that made him dizzy. He felt like he was stuck in a dream, or nightmare, one that he couldn’t shake no matter how hard he tried.

And then the next morning, Katsuki had stomped all over it.

"It didn’t mean anything."

That phrase had been on loop in his head ever since. Izuku couldn't help but wonder if that was true. If it really didn't mean anything.

But then why did he feel like he'd been punched in the gut? Why did his heart still ache whenever he thought about it?

So, when they were sprawled out on Katsuki’s couch three nights later, trying to watch some dumb action flick, Izuku found himself… quieter. More brittle. When Katsuki made a sarcastic comment about the hero’s terrible aim, Izuku’s laugh came out flat. When Katsuki reached across him for the popcorn, Izuku shifted away like the couch was suddenly too small.

By the halfway mark, Katsuki finally noticed.

“What’s your problem?” he asked abruptly, eyes still on the screen.

Izuku didn’t look at him. “I don’t have a problem.” He tried to focus on the movie, but his mind kept wandering back to the tent, to Katsuki's lips on his. Just like it had been that night after Ochaco’s party.

“You’ve been weird since we got back,” Katsuki said, his voice getting sharper. “You’re sittin’ there like I kicked your damn puppy. What the hell’s up with you?”

Izuku’s fingers tightened around the blanket in his lap. “Nothing’s up.” He didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to relive the memories that still felt so new.

Katsuki leaned forward now, resting his elbows on his knees, glare cutting through Izuku's emeralds. “Bull fuckin' shit, Izuky. Spit it out.”

“I said it’s nothing,” Izuku snapped, sharper than he meant to. He felt a surge of defensiveness, like he was protecting himself from Katsuki's prying questions.

Katsuki’s brows twitched up, shocked by Izukus snappy behavior. Then- he furrowed his brows “Fine. Be a dick, then.” He sat back against the couch with a scoff, crossing his arms. “See if I give a shit.”

Izuku didn’t answer. Didn’t apologize. He just stared at the screen, jaw set, pretending to watch the explosion on TV while his heart thudded loud in his ears.

The rest of the movie passed in strained silence. When the credits rolled, Izuku grabbed his bag and left without saying much more than a stiff, “See you at school.”

As he walked home, Izuku couldn't shake off the feeling that something had shifted between them. He didn't know what it was or how to fix it, but he knew he couldn't keep ignoring it.

It started small after that.

Izuku stopped hanging out in their usual spot at lunch, with the whole baseball team. When Katsuki texted to come over, he claimed homework or chores. When they were in class together, he kept conversation short and to the point.

Instead, he found himself lingering near Toga more.

At first, it was just because she was there—chatty and odd, the kind of person who filled the silence whether you wanted her to or not. But she laughed at his dumb comments, actually listened when he talked about stuff no one else cared about, and didn’t look at him like he’d done something wrong.

She was… fun. In a strange way.

One afternoon, she found him doodling in the library and slid into the seat across from him without asking. “Whatcha drawing?”

He hesitated, then turned the notebook around. “Just… sketches.”

She grinned, leaning over. “Ooooh. You’re good. Do me next!”

Izuku rolled his eyes, but he was smiling faintly. “You’ll have to sit still for more than two minutes.”

“Challenge accepted.”

It was like that—quick, easy, light.

She’d nudge his arm in the hallway, pass him notes in class that made him snort into his sleeve, invite him to sit with her when he didn’t feel like facing Katsuki.

Little by little, the weight in his chest when he thought about the tent wasn’t so crushing. Izuku started to feel like himself again, like he was slowly coming out of the fog that had settled over him.

But he knew he couldn't avoid Katsuki forever.

The next time Katsuki cornered him about it, it was after class on a Tuesday.

“You’ve been blowing me off for days,” Katsuki growled, blocking the doorway with one arm.

Izuku’s bag strap dug into his shoulder. “I’ve been busy.”

“With her?” Katsuki’s glare was sharp enough to cut glass.

Izuku bristled. “What do you mean by her? Toga? She's my friend. What’s your problem?”

“She’s weird.”

“You’re weird!” Izuku shot back, snappier than he meant to.

For a second, they just stood there, both breathing hard, both looking like they might say something they couldn’t take back.

Izuku broke first, shoving past him. “Forget it.”

Katsuki didn’t move for a long time. Just stood there in the empty classroom, jaw tight, watching Izuku walk away.

Izuku disappeared into the crowded hallway.

The week slid by in a haze of small changes neither of them wanted to admit were happening.

By Friday, the shifts had settled into something that almost looked normal from the outside—but it wasn’t.

At lunch, Katsuki still sat with the same group, but his eyes kept darting to the far table, where Izuku was hunched over a tray, laughing at something Toga said. Every time, he’d scowl and look away, pretending he wasn’t paying attention. His friends didn’t comment on it. They didn’t have to. His irritation was loud enough without words.

Izuku noticed the glances too—he always did. And even though part of him wanted to march over and demand to know what Katsuki’s problem was, the other part was… tired. Tired of feeling like everything he did was wrong. Tired of that voice in his head reminding him that Katsuki was the one who had said it didn’t mean anything.

Toga didn’t seem to mind his moodiness. If anything, she doubled down on being around him—walking to class with him, tugging him toward the vending machines after school.

She had a way of pulling him out of his head before he even realized it was happening.

The following Monday, they were paired for one of the final group project in history—Izuku with Toga, Katsuki with Kirishima. It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but the moment Katsuki saw Izuku lean over Toga’s notebook, pointing at something and grinning, his pen snapped clean in half.

By the time the bell rang, Katsuki was wound so tight he barely made it to his locker before Kirishima said, “Uh… dude, you’re grinding your teeth so hard I can hear it.”

“Shut up,” Katsuki muttered, slamming the locker closed. He told himself it was just because Toga was annoying, not because of anything else. Not because Izuku had laughed in a way Katsuki hadn’t heard in weeks.

Izuku wasn’t oblivious. He could feel the heat of Katsuki’s glare in class, see him standing longer than necessary by the front doors after school, like he was waiting for something—or someone. But Katsuki didn’t approach. Not yet.

One afternoon, Toga and Izuku ended up lingering in the courtyard after the final bell. She was sprawled out on the low wall, balancing her bag on her stomach and kicking her boots in the air.

“You’ve got that storm-cloud look again,” she said without looking at him.

“I don’t have a look,” Izuku replied automatically, though his shoulders sagged.

She propped herself up on her elbows, hair slighty frizzy, eyes sharp despite her lazy smile. “You do. It’s all—” she mimicked a furrowed brow and a faraway stare—“like you’re carrying a really heavy backpack in your head.”

Izuku huffed out a laugh despite himself. “…You’re weird.”

“Mmhm. You like it,” she teased. Then, softer: “What's it about? Or should I say… who?”

His stomach tightened. “No one.”

“Liar.” She hopped off the wall, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. Just… don’t let whoever-it-is ruin your whole week.”

The words stuck with him longer than he wanted to admit.

By Wednesday, the tension was thick enough that even the teachers seemed to notice.

In gym, when Katsuki’s team was up against Izuku’s for a dodgeball match, things got ugly fast. Katsuki didn’t just aim for him—he gunned for him, every throw sharp enough to make the air whistle. Izuku caught one and hurled it back hard enough that it slammed into the wall beside Katsuki’s head, rattling the metal bleachers.

Their classmates ooohed and murmured, but neither boy reacted outwardly. They just kept locking eyes across the court, like they were both daring the other to make the first move.

That Friday, Toga was waiting outside the school gates with a coffee in each hand.

“For you,” she said, shoving one at him before he could even say hi. “You looked like you needed it.”

He blinked at the warm cup in his hands. “Thanks…”

Across the street, Katsuki had just stepped out of the convenience store, plastic bag swinging at his side. He froze mid-step when he spotted them.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Izuku forced himself to look away, taking a sip of coffee that was a little too sweet but still warm against the chill in the air.

Katsuki’s bag crinkled in his grip as he slammed his car door shut without looking back at them.

Izuku’s stomach knotted. He didn’t know how long this could keep going before something finally cracked.

By the following week, Katsuki’s patience was paper thin.

It wasn’t just the dodged texts, or the way Izuku avoided his usual seat at lunch—it was the fact that Katsuki still had no idea why. He couldn’t fix what he didn’t understand, and every time he caught Izuku with Toga, laughing about something he wasn’t a part of, it dug under his skin like a splinter.

Language class was no better. Izuku had kept his head down all period, scribbling notes without once looking in Katsuki’s direction. Katsuki had spent the entire hour pretending not to care while his pen spun restlessly between his fingers.

When the bell rang, Midnight called out, “Bakugou, can I speak to you for a moment?”

Katsuki stopped halfway to the door, shoving his hands into his pockets. Izuku lingered in the doorway, glancing back at him like he was about to say something—his mouth even opened a little—but then he seemed to think better of it. Without a word, he stepped into the hallway and disappeared into the crowd.

Katsuki let out a quiet, sharp scoff, turning back toward the teacher. Figures.

Midnight leaned against her desk, eyes sharp but curious. “How much progress have you made on your poem?”

He scoffed. “Which fuckin' one.”

"Avoid swearing in my class, Bakugou," she said blankly. “The semester-long five hundred word assignment,” she said, tapping a pen against her notebook. "Remember—the one you’re supposed to be writing about Midoriya.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened. “…Right. That.”

She studied him for a moment, then said, “I’ve noticed you’ve been a little… tense lately. Snapping more than usual. So I thought I’d check in before this turns into a last-minute disaster.”

“I’m fine,” Katsuki muttered.

“Fine,” she echoed, like she didn’t believe him for a second. “So… how much have you written?”

There was a long pause. He shrugged, eyes sliding away. “…None of it.”

Midnight stilled. Her eyes widened in shock. “…None?”

He crossed his arms. “I’ve been busy.”

“With what?” she asked, tilting her head.

He shot her a glare. “Stuff.”

For a few seconds, it was just the sound of the hallway outside and the faint ticking of the classroom clock. Then she leaned forward slightly, her tone casual—but with just enough of a hook to catch him off guard.

“Do you know how much Midoriya has done?”

The name hit him like a jab to the ribs. Katsuki froze, his mind immediately pulling up the image of Izuku’s head bent over his notebook in the library with Toga beside him. His throat tightened. “…No.”

Midnight hummed thoughtfully, not missing his reaction. “Might be worth finding out. Projects work better when you’re both actually working on them.”

Katsuki didn’t answer. He just grabbed his bag off the desk and muttered, “Yeah, whatever,” before pushing out of the room.

The hallway was already empty. Izuku was long gone.

Katsuki’s scowl deepened. He hated that the mention of Izuku’s name could stop him cold like that—and he hated even more that he still had no idea what the hell had gone wrong.

The rest of the day dragged like it was stuck in slow motion. Katsuki went from class to class, barely hearing anything, his pen tapping a steady, irritated rhythm against every desk he sat at. He didn’t remember the bus ride home, only that the moment he stepped into his apartment, the quiet felt wrong.

He tried to sit on the couch and zone out with the TV, but the noise didn’t match his mood. His tea went cold on the table. His knee wouldn’t stop bouncing. Every time he blinked, he saw Izuku standing in that doorway earlier, like he was about to say something before walking away.

By 8 p.m., Katsuki had had enough.

He yanked his coat off the hook, wrapped his scarf around his neck without bothering to fix the twist in it, and snatched his keys from the counter. A sharp jingle, a slam of the door, and he was stomping down to his car.

The heater roared to life the second he turned the key, but it didn’t melt the stiffness in his shoulders. He gripped the steering wheel hard, eyes flicking between the empty road ahead and the dull yellow glow of passing streetlamps.

Halfway there, he spotted the flicker of a neon sign—a gas station. Before he could think about it, he flicked on his turn signal and pulled in.

It was stupid. It was freezing. And it wasn’t like he owed Izuku anything. But the second he saw the shelf by the counter, stacked with that ridiculous caramel-chocolate snack Izuku always bought, his hand was already reaching for one.

He tossed it onto the counter with a few crumpled bills, barely looking at the cashier.

Back in the car, the bag sat in the passenger seat, glaring at him like it knew exactly how dumb it was that he’d bought it.

He had no fucking idea why he’d done it.

Katsuki tightened his grip on the wheel and pulled back onto the road, the knot in his chest pulling tighter the closer he got to Izuku’s place.

Tonight, they were going to talk.

Whether Izuku liked it or not.

...

Katsuki’s car engine went quiet, leaving only the cold stillness of the night around him. He sat there for a second, glaring at the dashboard like it might give him an answer. His hands stayed on the steering wheel, knuckles tight, the stupid chocolate bar crinkling in the seat beside him.

Finally, he grabbed it and stepped out, boots crunching over the frost on the walkway.

When he reached the porch, he stopped. The glow from the streetlamp painted his breath in white clouds as he stared at the front door. For a long minute, he just stood there, the thought gnawing at him—What the hell am I even doing here?

His gaze flicked to the driveway. No car. Inko wasn’t home.

Izuku was alone.

Katsuki exhaled sharply, almost like it hurt to make the decision, and lifted his fist. The knock was firm but not aggressive. He counted in his head. Ten seconds passed. No sound.

He knocked again, harder this time.

Footsteps approached, then the door creaked open.

Izuku appeared in the gap, eyes wide and startled, green catching the warm hallway light. His hair was an untamed mess of green and black curls, sticking up like he’d been running his hands through it all evening. The loose black pajama pants and plain white t-shirt made him look softer somehow, smaller, but no less himself.

For a second, Katsuki just looked at him. And in that second, he realized how much he’d missed him. The real him—right in front of him, not across a lunchroom or halfway down a hallway.

The moment didn’t last.

Katsuki stepped forward without warning, shoving the chocolate bar into Izuku’s chest.

The force made Izuku stumble back a little. His brows pulled together in an instant, mouth parting in indignation—until his eyes flicked down and he saw what it was.

And just like that, it was like the tension drained from him. His shoulders loosened, his grip on the wrapper gentle, like the silly snack had dissolved all his defenses for a moment.

Katsuki kicked his shoes off like he owned the place, the thud of rubber soles against the entryway tile echoing far louder than necessary. He didn’t even bother looking at Izuku as he headed for the living room, tossing his scarf onto the couch.

Izuku stayed rooted by the door for a moment, brows furrowed, still clutching the chocolate bar like it might vanish if he let go. “What are you doing here?” His voice was quiet, but the edge was there — sharp enough to catch if you leaned too close.

Katsuki didn’t answer right away. He paced once around the coffee table, slow and deliberate, his hands shoved in his pockets. “What, I can’t drop by without an invitation now?”

Izuku closed the door with a soft click, his jaw tightening. “You never ‘drop by.’”

“Tch.” Katsuki turned halfway toward him, eyes narrowing. “Maybe I’m trying to.”

Izuku blinked, taken aback, then quickly masked it with irritation. “Trying to what? Show up unannounced, throw candy at me, and… what? Pretend nothing happened?”

That earned a scoff. “Oh, give me a damn break, Deku. You’ve been avoiding me like I’ve got the plague. Can’t even look me in the eye at school. You think I didn’t notice?”

Izuku’s shoulders stiffened. “You think I owe you that after—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

“No. Not ‘forget it.’ Say it.” Katsuki’s voice was low now, steady in a way that made the air feel heavier.

Izuku’s grip on the chocolate bar tightened until the wrapper crinkled. “You don’t even care what you did back then, do you? You show up here acting like… like everything’s fine, like we’re just—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Katsuki snapped, stepping forward a little too fast, “you’ve been pissed at me for weeks and you still won’t tell me what the hell you want from me.” he pasued for a moment then continued, "It's not fuckin' fair when you get mad at me when I shut down when you try and talk to me about shit I don't wanna fucking talk about- but then you do the same fucking shit, Deku. So just tell me what you want from me." He snapped.

“I want—” Izuku’s breath caught, and for a second, he looked almost… unsure. Then the frustration came back tenfold. “I want to know why. Why you had to make middle school hell for me. Why you—” He gestured vaguely between them, heat rising in his voice, “—kiss me one night, sleep with me, and then tell me it meant nothing!”

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. Katsuki didn’t flinch, but something flickered in his eyes — too quick for Izuku to read.

“Don’t twist my words,” Katsuki muttered.

“They don’t need twisting,” Izuku shot back. “I remember exactly how you said it.”

Katsuki’s jaw flexed. He took another step forward, close enough now that Izuku had to tilt his head slightly to meet his gaze.

“You think I don’t—” Katsuki stopped himself, teeth clicking shut. His hands twitched in his pockets like they wanted out. “You don’t know shit, Deku.”

Izuku’s pulse was in his ears now. “Then tell me. For once in your life, tell me.”

Katsuki didn’t. He just stood there, glaring, breathing a little heavier, the space between them closing in like the walls had shrunk.

Izuku’s arms stayed folded across his chest, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. His brow furrowed.

 “What?” he finally asked, his voice sharp enough to slice through the silence.

“I’m thinking,” Katsuki muttered, his tone clipped, eyes on the floor like it might tell him something useful.

“Thinking about what?” Izuku pressed, tilting his head slightly, but his voice was already edged.

Katsuki’s jaw ticked. “None of your damn business.”

Izuku scoffed, a humorless puff of air. “Of course. Why would you actually answer me when you could just stand there acting like you didn’t storm over here for a reason?”

Katsuki’s eyes snapped up. “Don’t start.”

Izuku’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Why not? It’s not like you’ve ever given me an actual explanation for anything you’ve done.”

The words landed heavier than they should’ve, Katsuki’s shoulders tightening. “You don’t need an explanation for everything.”

“Funny,” Izuku said, taking one slow step forward. “Because I think I do.”

Katsuki raked a hand through his hair, fingers curling into the back of his mullet and gripping tight like he was holding himself back from something worse. “You’re gonna piss me off.”

“You’re already pissed off,” Izuku shot back, his own voice rising. “I’ve barely said anything and you’re ready to-to explode. Why is that, Katsuki?”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “Because you’re acting like a damn—”

“No,” Izuku cut in, jabbing a finger against Katsuki’s chest hard enough to make the other’s stance shift. “Tell me why. Tell me why you did it.”

“Shut the fuck up, Izuku, you know I don’t like to talk about—”

“That’s not fair, Katsuki!” Izuku’s voice cracked, frustration cutting sharp through the sound. He shoved at Katsuki’s chest, not hard enough to knock him back but enough to make him stumble half a step. “That’s not fair! You treated me like—like shit, and what, you expect me to just forget it because you don’t wanna talk about how you ruined my life?! I just wanna know why!”

Katsuki’s face twisted, a flash of something too quick to pin down, and then he shoved Izuku right back. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Izuku’s breath came fast now, the space between them feeling both too small and too wide. “You don’t get to do this,” he said, quieter but sharper. “You don’t get to pick when we talk about it, not after—”

“Not after what?” Katsuki barked, stepping forward, closing that inch between them. “Spit it out, damn it.”

Izuku’s eyes locked on his. “Not after everything you’ve already done," Izuku’s chest heaved, eyes wild, and for a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

Then Katsuki pushed again—this time with more force, shoving Izuku’s shoulders backward, until his back bumped hard against the edge of the couch.

“Don’t get all cocky,” Katsuki snarled, closing the space between them, his breath hot and ragged. “I’m not here for your lectures.”

Izuku swallowed hard but didn’t back down. His hands shot up, gripping Katsuki’s wrists to keep him at arm’s length. “I’m not lecturing,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m trying to understand.”

Katsuki’s fingers dug into Izuku’s wrists, muscles tight and trembling. “There’s nothing to understand.”

“Bullshit,” Izuku spat, pulling just enough to make Katsuki stumble.

Katsuki was quick to talk back. “You don’t get to shut me out and expect me to be okay with it.”

The room seemed to shrink, the walls pressing in as they wrestled for control—not just of their bodies, but of the words they couldn’t say out loud.

Katsuki’s hands found Izuku’s collar, gripping roughly, but Izuku held steady, meeting his gaze without fear.

“Say it,” Katsuki demanded, voice low and rough. “Say why you swiched up on me fuckin' randomly-and now you fucking hate me.”

Izuku’s jaw tightened. “Because you made me hate myself first.”

That cut through Katsuki like a blade, and for the first time, something flickered in his eyes—regret, pain, anger, all tangled together.

Before either of them could process it, Izuku shoved back hard, forcing Katsuki off balance. Katsuki stumbled but caught himself, spinning back with a snarl.

Katsuki’s fist cut through the air, striking Izuku’s shoulder with a sharp, painful crack. Izuku stumbled back, eyes flashing with a mix of pain and fierce determination. Without hesitation, he swung back, his fist connecting hard against Katsuki’s jaw.

Katsuki tasted blood, a sharp sting blooming across his lip, but his glare didn’t waver. He lunged forward, ramming his shoulder into Izuku’s chest and pushing him backward until his back slammed into the couch. The impact knocked the wind out of Izuku, but he refused to fall.

Grabbing onto Katsuki’s collar, Izuku shoved, trying to create space. Katsuki’s feet slipped briefly on the carpet, but he planted firmly, eyes burning with frustration.

“You think this fixes anything?” Izuku hissed, breath ragged. “Punching me won’t change a damn thing.”

A low growl rumbled from Katsuki as he yanked Izuku forward, their foreheads crashing together in a jolt of tension—anger tangled with something deeper.

Breaking just enough to shove Izuku against the wall, Katsuki pressed close, chest tight against his. “I’m done pretending to care about your feelings!” he spat. “I’m done with you acting like I’m a monster without knowing shit about what I’ve been through!”

Izuku’s breath caught, eyes narrowing. “Then fucking tell me.”

Katsuki's grip loosened for a moment, fists clenching at his sides as if wrestling with himself.

But the silence stretched too long, and frustration boiled over. Katsuki’s fist swung again, grazing Izuku’s cheek before striking his ribs. Izuku gasped but stayed upright, fists rising to block before throwing a counterpunch.

Blows and shoves collided, a whirlwind of pain and emotion. Katsuki’s knuckles scraped against Izuku’s skin, Izuku’s teeth clenched against the sting.

The fight dragged on—fast, brutal, desperate—until Katsuki’s grip found Izuku’s shirt, yanking him hard and forcing him down onto the couch.

Before Izuku could react, Katsuki was on top, pinning his arms with heavy hands, his chest pressing against Izuku’s. The room seemed to close around them, the weight of everything between them unbearable.

Katsuki’s breath was rough, eyes dark and unreadable. “Why do you keep pushing me away?” he growled.

Izuku struggled beneath him, heart pounding fiercely.

The weight of Katsuki’s body pressed Izuku deeper into the couch, the heat between them stifling, suffocating. The air crackled with unsaid things—years of anger, of pain.

Izuku’s breath came in short, uneven gasps, his fingers twitching against the cushions. His lips trembled, his vision blurring as he stared up at Katsuki—his rival, his tormentor, his oldest friend. The person who had shaped him in ways no one else ever could.  

And then—  

A single, broken sound escaped him.  

A sob.  

It started small, a shudder in his chest, a hitch in his breath. His throat tightened, his face crumpling as the first tear spilled over.  

Katsuki froze above him, his grip on Izuku’s wrists tightening reflexively.  

But Izuku couldn’t stop.  

Another sob tore free, louder this time, raw and unfiltered. His chest heaved, his body shaking beneath Katsuki’s as the tears came faster, streaming down his temples, dampening his hair.  

"W-Why…?" His voice was barely a whisper, fractured under the weight of everything he’d held back for so long.  

Katsuki’s jaw clenched, his fingers flexing against Izuku’s skin. "Iz—"

But Izuku wasn’t listening. The dam had broken.  

"Why did you—" Another sob, his voice cracking. "Why did you make me feel like I was nothing? Like I was—was some worthless pebble you could just kick aside?" His hands twisted weakly in Katsuki’s grip, his nails digging into his own palms. "Why did you—"

His breath hitched, his voice rising, trembling with years of pain.  

"Why did you act like you hated me?!"

Katsuki flinched.  

Izuku’s chest heaved, his sobs coming harder now, uncontrollable. "Why did you push me away?! Why did you—" His voice broke, his next words a scream. "WHY, KATSUKI?! JUST FUCKING TELL ME!"

The room seemed to shake with the force of it.  

Katsuki’s breath came fast, his grip on Izuku’s wrists almost painful. His eyes burned, his teeth bared in something that wasn’t quite anger—something desperate, something terrified.  

And then—  

"BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVED YOU, IZUKU!"

Everything stilled.  

The world narrowed to the space between them—to the weight of what had just been said, to the silence that followed.  

The moment Katsuki's confession tore from his lips, the air between them turned to ice.  

Izuku's sobs cut off mid-breath, his tear-streaked face going slack with shock. His lips parted, but no sound came out - just a weak, shuddering exhale that fogged in the scant space between their faces.  

Katsuki's grip on Izuku's wrists went slack first. His fingers twitched, then recoiled as if burned, peeling away from Izuku's skin inch by torturous inch. TThe expression awning across his face was slow and terrible to witness - eyebrows lifting, pupils shrinking, mouth falling slightly open as the realization of what he'd just admitted crashed over him in waves.  

Pure horror.

"K-Kacchan..." Izuku finally managed to whisper, his voice wrecked from crying.  

But Katsuki was already moving.  

In one jerky motion, he shoved himself off the couch, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to put distance between them. His breathing came in ragged bursts, shoulders heaving like he'd just run a marathon.  

Izuku scrambled upright, hands outstretched. "Wait-"  

Katsuki turned his back sharply, stalking toward the door with stiff, mechanical steps. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling like he didn't know what to do with them.  

"Kacchan, please-" Izuku's voice cracked as he stumbled to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him. He took an unsteady step forward, then another, his socked feet slipping slightly on the hardwood. "Just...just talk to me-"  

Katsuki didn't even pause. He reached down with shaking hands to grab his boots where he'd kicked them off earlier, fumbling with the laces in a way Izuku had never seen before. The Katsuki he knew tied his shoes with military precision - this frantic, clumsy version was someone entirely unfamiliar.  

Izuku's breathing hitched, panic rising like floodwaters in his chest. He could feel it happening again - Katsuki shutting him out, running away, leaving him behind with all these unsaid things between them.  

"No, no, no-" The words tumbled out in a desperate stream as Izuku lurched forward, catching himself on the arm of the couch. "Don't do this, don't leave like this, please-"  

Katsuki jammed his foot into the second boot with a rough jerk, still refusing to look at him. The set of his shoulders was so tense Izuku could see the muscles straining through his shirt.  

Izuku's vision blurred with fresh tears. He took another stumbling step, his throat tightening until he could barely breathe around the lump forming there. "Katsuki, just look at me! Just-" His voice broke into a sob. "Just say something!"  

For one heart-stopping moment, Katsuki froze. His back straightened slightly, head tilting just a fraction like he might actually turn around.  

Izuku held his breath.  

Then - with a sharp shake of his head - Katsuki wrenched the door open. 

The sound of the knob turning seemed to snap something in Izuku. A strangled noise escaped his throat as he lunged forward, fingers grasping at empty air. "KACCHAN, PLEASE!"  

But the door was already slamming shut behind Katsuki's retreating form with a final, deafening click.  

Izuku stood frozen for one terrible second, his outstretched hand trembling in the empty space where Katsuki had been. The silence of his home pressed in on him from all sides, so complete it made his ears ring.  

Somewhere outside, a car engine roared to life. Tires screeched against pavement. The sounds grew fainter and fainter until there was nothing left but the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the ragged sound of Izuku's own breathing.  

His knees buckled.  

Slowly, inch by terrible inch, Izuku slid down the length of the door until he collapsed in a heap on the floor. His fingers dug into his hair, tugging painfully at the roots as his entire body began to shake.  

The first sob that tore from his chest was so violent it hurt. The second one stole his breath entirely. By the third, he wasn't even making noise anymore - just gasping silently into the empty apartment, tears streaming down his face in endless rivers.  

Outside, small snowflakes began to fall lightly against the window.  

Inside, Izuku curled in on himself, alone with the echo of Katsuki's words.

and the hollow space where his heart got ripped out.

Chapter Text

Winter break isn’t supposed to feel like this.

It’s supposed to be warm—at least inside. You’re supposed to eat too much food, pass out on the couch with the TV on in the background, maybe see your friends, maybe even get dragged into some stupid shopping trip with your family.

Not this. Not staring at the ceiling at 2:47 am, eyes burning but too wired to sleep, then finally passing out from exhaustion only to wake up around noon feeling worse than before. Not this dull, heavy nothing sitting in your chest all day while you lie there, scrolling on your phone without actually seeing anything on the screen.

Not thinking about him.

And yet, that’s all he’s been doing.

He should be working on the poem. Hell, it should be more than half-written by now, but every time he sits down with a pen in his hand, his mind drifts straight back to that night. The sobbing coming from the boy he loved.

Its your fucking fault Katsuki.

And the way he ran from it-

Like a fucking coward,

the second Katsuki let out what he had been holding in for years.

They haven’t spoken since. Not a text, not a glance, just nothing. And nothing is worse than any shouting match they’ve ever had.

Katsuki keeps telling himself it’s better this way. For them to stop talking.

That he meant what he said-that it never meant anything. 

But that’s a lie.

The truth is uglier. The truth is that the reason he treated Izuku like garbage back in middle school is the same reason he can’t stand to be around him now.

Because he’s terrified.

Terrified of what it means to feel that much for someone—especially a boy. Especially Izuku.

He’d figured it out too early, way before he was ready. And the first time his mom caught on, she made sure he knew exactly how disgusting she thought it was. Her voice, sharp and cutting, still rings in his head sometimes when he’s trying to sleep.

And maybe that’s the worst part. That the first person who was supposed to love him no matter what made him feel like loving someone was a crime. So he buried it. Built a wall so high no one could see over it. And when Izuku kept climbing anyway, he didn’t know what else to do but shove him off every time.

Now, the wall’s still there, but so is the wreckage.

By the third day of break, he can’t take it anymore. The silence, the thinking, the restless energy clawing at his skin.

He draged himself out of bed, barefoot on cold floorboards, and makes his way to the corner of his room where the drum set waits.

He hasn’t touched it since—

Since...

Izuku-stupid green curls stumbling on the set.

The day after they-

Katsuki shakes his head hard, like that’ll make it disappear.

He sits, picks up the sticks, and starts playing. Slow at first, a steady beat just to fill the air. But his hands move faster, harder. The sound fills the room, rattles the walls.

He thinks about Izuku’s face that night-flushed, lips parted, back arched perfectly-eyes bright and unguarded.

God hes beautiful.

He thinks about the way Izuku was sobbing under his touch on the couch, begging - wondering why Katsuki had ruined his life.

Beacuse he just ruins evreything at some point.

He thinks about how much he wanted to say.

But instead he ran away like he always did.

The beat gets heavier, sharper. His arms ache, his grip tightens.

I should’ve never. Crash.

-never let it happen. Crash.

-never let him touch me. Crash.

-never-never-

The stick snaps mid-hit with a sharp crack.

“FUCK!” The word rips out of him, raw and furious. He throws both sticks across the room, the broken one clattering against the wall before hitting the floor.

For a second, all he can hear is the ringing in his ears from the loud sounds on the drums - bothering his hearing aids - His breath comes hard, the sweat cooling against his skin.

And then-

The wet warmth soaking through the fabric of his sweatpants.

He blinks down, frowning, confused-until he realizes his vision’s blurry. His chest feels tight, his throat hot. The first tear had fallen without him even noticing.

Now there are more.

They drip off his jaw, streak down his cheeks, soak into his clothes. His hands are trembling and he’s not sure if it’s from the playing or from something else entirely.

He squeezes his eyes shut, but that only makes it worse-because behind his eyelids, all he can see is Izuku.

Katsuki hadn’t moved in… hell, he didn’t even know how many hours. Days? Whatever. The blinds were still shut, his room stale with the sour scent of sweat and that faint trace of caramel that always clung to him. He’d been lying there flat on his back, staring at nothing, replaying it over and over in his head.

The way his voice had cracked.

The look on Izuku’s face.

Those stupid, watery eyes, like Katsuki had ripped something open he wasn’t supposed to touch.

He’d buried his face in his pillow after slamming the door that night, but it didn’t do a damn thing. His own words kept punching him in the gut on repeat: Because I fucking loved you.

Loved. Past tense. Like he didn’t still. Like he could turn it off just because he wanted to.

Katsuki let out a short, bitter laugh into the quiet, then groaned and shoved himself upright. His muscles ached from lying still too long, and his neck popped when he turned his head. The winter air in his room was sharp against his skin; he hadn’t bothered turning the heater up.

His phone sat face-down on the nightstand. He hadn’t touched it since. No calls. No texts. No noise. Just him and the suffocating weight in his chest.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cold floor biting at his feet. It took more effort than it should’ve to stand. He raked both hands through his hair, yanking it back like that would keep his thoughts from spilling out everywhere.

In the kitchen, the light was blinding. He squinted, grabbing a glass and filling it from the tap. The water tasted like metal, but he drank it anyway, gulping until his throat hurt. His reflection caught in the darkened microwave door—red-rimmed eyes, pale skin, hair sticking up worse than usual. He looked wrecked.

He thought about grabbing something to eat, but the thought made his stomach twist. Instead, he leaned on the counter and stared at the silent apartment.

The quiet was too much.

He wanted to punch something.

He wanted to call Izuku.

He wanted to never see him again.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, muttering, “Fuck.”

Winter break was supposed to be a relief—no school, no teachers, no group projects to keep them in the same room—but it already felt endless.

Katsuki ended up on the couch with his phone in his hand, the screen lighting his face in the dim room. His thumb hovered over Izuku’s name in his contacts.

He opened the chat.

Typed out:

We need to talk.

Deleted it.

Tried again.

Forget what I sa-

Deleted that even faster.

Every time he thought he had the words, his chest tightened and his brain screamed at him to shut the hell up. The typing bubble never appeared on Izuku’s end, but that didn’t make him feel better.

Katsuki tossed the phone down like it burned, scrubbing his palms over his face. He told himself he didn’t care. That it was better this way. That if he said one more thing, he’d make it worse.

It was only when he checked the date in the corner of the screen that he realized—

December 24th.

Tomorrow.

His stomach dropped.

He’d forgotten. His mom had said weeks ago she’d stop by for Christmas. Not maybe, not if you want, but a “I’ll be there, so clean your damn apartment” kind of promise. And somehow, he’d shoved that into the back of his head along with every other thing he didn’t want to deal with.

He hadn’t seen her in months. It wasn’t that he was scared of her exactly—it was the way she could cut him open without even trying. The way she could find the one thing he was trying to hide and drag it into the light.

And now, after everything that happened with Izuku, he felt… exposed. Like if she took one look at him, she’d know.

Katsuki got up, pacing the length of the living room. He glanced at the half-empty shelves, the pile of laundry in the corner, the general state of barely-functioning chaos he’d been living in since the fight. No way in hell she wasn’t going to comment.

He picked up his phone again, almost without thinking. Started typing:

Busy tomorrow. Don’t come.

Deleted it.

It was pathetic. He felt pathetic. His whole chest felt like it was closing in, and he hated that one stupid holiday could make him feel like he was twelve again—trapped between wanting her approval and wanting to push her out of his life entirely.

He ended up tossing the phone onto the couch again and heading for the sink, gripping the counter hard enough that his knuckles went white.

Tomorrow, he’d have to face her. And maybe that was worse than facing Izuku right now.

Katsuki dragged the vacuum out from the closet, he shoved furniture around with his foot, muttering curses under his breath. Dust, laundry, dishes, he tore through them like he was on a mission.

The faint hum of his old Bluetooth speaker filled the apartment. Some random playlist he’d thrown on months ago, just to keep the silence from becoming to loud. He didn’t even notice the songs changing, didn’t care-until the opening notes hit.

I don't like walkin' around this cold and empty house-

He froze.

Every muscle in his body went rigid, the sound of the vacuum still roaring under his grip. He hadn’t heard this song in what felt like years, but the second it played, it was like someone had jammed a hook into his ribs and yanked.

He remembered.

Izuku sitting on Katsuki island. His face lighting up as soon as he heard the first notes. Him mixing the cookie batter, swaying his hips. Then-him staring up at Katsuki-inches away, just as they were about to-

His throat went tight, his stomach twisting like it was warning him—don’t.

He shut the vacuum off so fast the motor whined. Crossed the room in three strides, snatched up his phone, and jabbed at the screen until the song skipped.

Silence. Then something different-something he didn’t recognize-took over.

Katsuki tossed the phone back onto the counter like it was a grenade. He turned the vacuum back on, drowning out the lingering echo of the melody in his head. But the memory wouldn’t leave.

No matter how hard he scrubbed at the countertops, it clung to him-the sound of Izuku’s voice, the way it had been impossible not to look at him when he was smiling like that.

The next day-by the time the knock finally came-Katsuki had already been pacing the length of his apartment for a solid hour.

He hadn’t cooked.

Hadn’t set the table.

Hadn’t done a damn thing to make it look like he was expecting anyone.

Instead, he’d scrubbed every surface until it squeaked under his fingers. Dishes, counters, floors—he’d worked through the whole place like a man on autopilot, just so he wouldn’t have to think too hard about the inevitable moment ahead. And when there was nothing left to clean, he’d sat on the couch, staring at the muted TV while a commercial played out silently.

Every few seconds, he’d check the clock.
Then check it again.

Then clench his hands into fists to keep them still.

When the knock came, it was sharp. Precise. The sound of someone who expected the door to open immediately.

Knock. Knock.

Katsuki’s stomach twisted hard enough to make him suck in a breath. His pulse thudded in his ears, and his shoulders rolled back instinctively, muscle memory from years of bracing himself before walking into the living room as a kid.

He pushed himself up off the couch, took a slow inhale through his nose, and pulled the door open.

“Hello, Katsuki.”

His mother’s voice was clipped. Businesslike. Her gaze swept over him from hair to feet in one unbroken line, a silent checklist clicking away in her head.

“Hi, Ma’.”

He stepped aside, holding the door wider. Masaru followed behind her, his expression quieter, almost unreadable. Katsuki gave him a curt nod-one man to another, no hug, no hand on the shoulder. Just a simple acknowledgment.

His father nodded back with equal restraint, hands buried deep in his coat pockets.

The moment Mitsuki’s heels clicked against his hardwood floor, the air shifted. He could feel it. Her presence was as familiar as it was exhausting—her eyes skating over every inch of his space.

“You’ve… decorated,” she said, letting the words linger just long enough for the subtext to bite. It wasn’t a compliment. More like: you didn’t decorate enough.

“Didn’t feel like putting up a tree,” he muttered, closing the door a little harder than necessary.

Her eyes slid back to him, sharper this time. “You’ve lost weight.”

Katsuki’s jaw flexed. “No, I haven’t.”

“Don’t lie to me, Katsuki. And you’ve got bags under your eyes. You look like you haven’t slept in—”

“Maybe I just woke up,” he cut in, the words coming out flat, defensive.

“At two in the afternoon?” she countered without missing a beat.

He ground his molars. “Maybe I had practice late.” He snapped

Mitsuki’s arms folded. Her mouth pressed into that razor-thin line he’d grown up dreading-the one that meant she’d already decided she was right, and everything else was just noise. “Maybe you’re not taking care of yourself.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides. “And maybe you should stop acting like—”

“All right,” Masarus voice cut through, calm but firm. He raised one hand as if physically separating the tension between them, just like he always had. “Should we start dinner before you two rip each other apart?”

The words landed heavy enough to snap them both into silence.

Katsuki exhaled sharply through his nose and moved aside, letting his father pass toward the kitchen. His mom didn’t follow right away. She lingered in the entryway, coat still on, eyes fixed on him like she could read every thought he was trying to bury.

He didn’t flinch under her gaze, but his shoulders stayed locked tight.

Katsuki finally stepped aside enough for her to pass. Mitsuki set her purse on the counter with a practiced flick of her wrist, unbuttoning her coat like she owned the place.

“You didn’t even set the table,” she noted, glancing toward the bare dining area.

“Like I said, I didn’t feel like—”

“It’s not about what you feel like. It’s about hosting.”

He bit down on the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste copper.

Masaru was already moving around the kitchen like it was second nature, opening cupboards without asking, pulling out a pan, a cutting board. “We’ll need a pot for the miso,” he said, voice calm but brisk.

Katsuki yanked open the cabinet under the stove and grabbed it, setting it down a little too hard on the counter.

Mitsuki slipped past him, her perfume trailing behind—sharp and citrusy, a smell that always made him think of arguments in cramped kitchens. She picked up a stray spoon from the counter, turned it in her fingers, and set it back down without comment.

“You still using that cheap soy sauce I told you to throw out?”

“It’s fine,” he muttered, reaching for the miso paste.

“It’s not fine. The flavor’s all wrong.” She opened the fridge, rifling through like she had every right. “Where’s your fresh ginger? Please tell me you’re not using powdered—”

“Ma’.” His voice had an edge now, a warning.

She looked over her shoulder at him, one brow raised. “What?”

Masaru set the cutting board down between them. “You two want to help me slice the vegetables, or are you just gonna bicker all night?”

Katsuki grabbed a knife, muttering under his breath, “Guess that depends on her.”

Mitsuki caught it. “Don’t start with me, Katsuki.”

“I’m not starting, you’re—” He stopped, jaw locking again, knuckles whitening around the knife handle.

For a moment, the only sound was the knife hitting the cutting board as Masaru methodically sliced scallions. The tension was thick enough to taste—like static in the air before a storm.

Mitsuki reached for the tofu, cutting it into perfect little cubes. “You’re not eating enough,” she said again, quieter this time, almost like it was a statement of fact rather than an attack.

“I am.”

She didn’t look up. “You look…" her movements slowed down slighty, "tired.”

Katsuki’s throat felt tight, but he kept his eyes on the scallions, slicing them too thin just to keep his hands moving.

Masaru cleared his throat. “Why don’t you set the table, Katsuki.”

He didn’t move at first, but then he tossed the knife onto the board and walked off without a word, the sound of his footsteps carrying through the apartment.

Mitsuki watched him go, her lips pressing together.

Masaru kept his eyes on the cutting board. “You push too hard, Mitsuki.”

She snorted. “I’m his mother. It’s my job.”

“No,” Masaru said quietly, “your job is to make him want to talk to you.”

She didn’t reply.

By the time they sat down, the apartment smelled like home—not his home, but the one he grew up in. Steam drifted from the miso, the fish was perfectly crisp at the edges, and the rice was just sticky enough to hold together in soft clumps.

For the first twenty minutes, it almost passed for a good Christmas.

They ate quietly, with the occasional hum of the heater and the faint murmur of the TV from the living room. Masaru asked about his school schedule; Katsuki gave short but actual answers. Mitsuki even let him speak without cutting him off, nodding here and there as she sipped her tea.

Masaru told a small story about a neighbor’s ridiculous Christmas lights, Mitsuki laughed softly, and for a second, Katsuki thought—maybe—this wouldn’t be a disaster.

Then Mitsuki reached into her purse.

“Here,” she said, sliding a red and gold envelope across the table toward him. “Merry Christmas.”

He raised a brow. “…You could’ve handed it to me before we started eating.”

“Just open it,” she said, smiling in that small, contained way that never quite reached her eyes.

Katsuki tore the flap and pulled out the card. Gold script on the front. Inside, a crisp stack of bills, hundreds, maybe more, tucked neatly into the fold. On the other side, written in neat, quick handwriting: Merry Christmas. Love, Mom and Dad.

That was it. No personal note. No memory. No real message. Just cash and a signature.

The smile fell right off his face.

“…Are you fuckin’ serious?” His voice was quiet, but it carried.

Mitsuki looked up from her bowl, brows pulling together. “What?”

“This.” He held up the bills between two fingers like they were contaminated. “You’re just gonna throw cash at me? That’s your Christmas present?”

“It’s not throwing cash, Katsuki,” she said, her tone sharp but steady. “It’s so you can get something you actually want.”

“I don’t need your money.”

“Everyone can use a little extra, especially this time of year.”

“That’s not the point.” His voice rose, chopping through the quiet. “You don’t even ask what I want. You just—” He flicked the bills down onto the table. “—make it a transaction. Like it’s supposed to cover everything else you don’t say.”

Mitsuki’s chin lifted, eyes narrowing. “Everything else? What the hell does that mea-?”

“It means you don’t try. You don’t call unless you’ve got something to criticize. You don’t visit unless Dad’s here to buffer. And when it’s Christmas? You think handing me a stack of bills is the same as—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening. “Forget it.”

Masaru set his chopsticks down carefully. “Katsuki—”

But Katsuki pushed his chair back with a hard scrape against the floor. “No. I’m not gonna sit here and pretend that this—” he gestured to the table, the food, the card— “—is fine. You can’t just buy your way into being a decent mom for the night.”

Mitsuki’s chopsticks clicked sharply against the edge of her bowl. “Don’t you dare talk to me like I don’t try. I raised you. I gave you everything—”

“You gave me hell,” Katsuki snapped, the words punching out before he could stop them. His chair legs screeched as he half-stood, fists clenched at his sides. “Everything came with conditions. Be stronger. Be smarter. Don’t look weak. Don’t be you—always be the version of me you wanted!”

Her voice rose to meet his. “Because I knew you could handle it! Because I wasn’t going to let you waste your potential! Do you think I pushed you for fun? You think I wanted to fight with you every day?”

“Yeah, kinda feels like it!” His throat burned. “Feels like you don’t know how to do anything else! You don’t know how to be my mom without tearing me down!”

The room trembled with the sharp inhale she took. “You ungrateful little—”

“Ungrateful?” Katsuki’s laugh cracked like glass. “I never asked you for money, or presents, or to scream at me until I hated the sound of my own name. I just—” His voice broke, just for a second, raw and guttural. “—I just wanted you to be proud of me without it costing me something.”

Mitsuki’s lips parted, but no words came out.

Masaru started to say something—“Hey, let’s all just—”
But neither of them heard him.

“You think I’m not proud?” she shouted back, standing now, palms flat on the table. “Every time your name came up, I bragged about you. I told people my son was the strongest, the smartest, the most determined. I was proud. I am proud. But I wasn’t about to tell you that every second and watch you get soft.”

Katsuki slammed his fist on the table, dishes rattling. “Soft? Is that what you think? That being treated like a human being makes me soft?” His voice cracked again, rough with something dangerously close to pleading. “All I wanted was to hear it from you! Just once. Just fucking once. Without the criticism, without the side-eye, without the reminder that I’m a disappointment because I’m not what you wanted.”

Her face twisted, torn between anger and something else—something he almost couldn’t look at.

“That’s not true,” she whispered, but it sounded fragile, unsteady.

“Yes it is!” His chest heaved as he stared at her, eyes burning. “You don’t even know me anymore. You never tried to. You just… stood there judging from a distance. And when you do show up?” He jabbed a finger at the card on the table. “It’s money in an envelope. That’s what I’m worth to you.”

“Katsuki—”

“No! Don’t ‘Katsuki’ me!” His voice cracked like thunder. “You kicked me out because of who I loved. You act like you didn’t, but you did. You shoved me out of your house like I was some… some fucking stranger. And now you wanna sit here and play nice like that didn’t happen?” His breathing hitched, too sharp, like his ribs couldn’t hold it all in. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to rewrite what you did.”

The silence that fell was so heavy it made his ears ring.

Mitsuki’s face went pale. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Masaru sat there frozen, chopsticks halfway between his plate and the table, eyes flicking between the two of them like he didn’t know which wound to tend first.

Katsuki’s fists trembled against the wood. He wanted to flip the table, punch a hole in the wall, do anything to stop feeling like his skin was too small to hold the fire burning inside him. But he didn’t. He just staid there, chest heaving, staring at his mother.

The silence stretched, thick and jagged. Katsuki’s chair still sat pushed back, his arms crossed tight over his chest, his breathing uneven. Mitsuki opened her mouth, ready to fire back—

But Masaru cut in sharply. “That’s enough.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

Masaru’s gaze was steady, heavier than usual. “You should go.”

Mitsuki’s head snapped toward him. “What? Masaru, don’t—”

“I said, you should go.” His voice didn’t raise, but the firmness in it made Katsuki freeze. “This isn’t helping. Not tonight.”

Her jaw clenched, lips pressed into a line. “You’re really telling me to leave my own son’s—”

“Yes.” Masaru’s eyes didn’t waver. “Go wait in the car. Ill be out soon.”

For a long moment, the only sound was Katsuki’s ragged breathing. Mitsuki’s hands tightened around her tea cup, then slowly, with a sharp exhale, she set it down and stood.

Her eyes flicked to Katsuki—hard, unreadable. “Fine.” She grabbed her coat from the chair, muttering, “Merry damn Christmas,” and stormed toward the door.

The apartment fell quiet as the door shut behind her.

Katsuki didn’t move. His head was bowed low, shoulders hunched forward, fists clenched tight in his lap. His chest rose and fell too fast, like he was trying to swallow down everything clawing its way up his throat.

Masaru sat still, watching him carefully. He wasn’t sure what to say—until something glinted under the light.

A single tear slid down, dropping off Katsuki’s chin and hitting the tabletop with the softest sound imaginable.

Masaru’s breath caught. He hadn’t seen Katsuki cry since he was a little boy, back when he scraped his knees, or when he lost a toy he’d been proud of. Not since then. Not like this.

“Katsuki…”

The name was soft, startled, almost reverent.

Katsuki’s head jerked up, eyes wide with fury—but he didn’t meet his father’s gaze. Instead, he swiped his sleeve across his cheek so quickly it was almost violent, trying to erase the evidence. His jaw was locked, his lip caught between his teeth, but another tear was threatening at the corner of his eye.

He sniffed hard, turning his head away. “…Shut up.”

Masaru’s chest ached. He didn’t move closer, didn’t push—just kept his voice low, careful. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re looking at me like—” Katsuki cut himself off, fists curling tighter, nails digging into his palms. His shoulders trembled once, and he immediately forced himself still again.

Masaru swallowed, his own throat tight.

Katsuki’s breath hitched, sharp, but he still wouldn’t look up. His hand came up to his face again, rough, quick, trying to smear away the wetness before it could betray him more. His knuckles were red from the pressure.

The silence pressed in around them, heavy but fragile.

Masaru finally leaned forward, elbows resting gently on the table. “…You don’t have to hide from me, son.”

That single word—son—made Katsuki flinch like he’d been struck. His throat worked, but he didn’t answer.

The silence sat there, Masaru could feel his own heart in his throat, watching the way Katsuki kept his face turned down, sleeve pressed against his eyes.

He hesitated—God, he hesitated—because this wasn’t ground he’d ever been good at walking on. But the image of that tear kept flashing in his mind. He couldn’t just sit here.

Masaru cleared his throat lightly. “...Is this about Izuku?”

Katsuki’s head snapped up. “The fuck—why would you—” His voice cracked sharp, defensive, almost desperate. He pushed back from the table a little, glaring like a cornered animal.

Masaru didn’t move, didn’t flinch. His hands stayed flat against the wood.

Katsuki’s mouth opened, then snapped shut again. His teeth ground together, his breath harsh. He looked like he wanted to bite through the question and spit it out.

Masaru’s tone softened, almost pleading. “Talk to me, Katsuki.”

Katsuki let out a bitter laugh, short and ugly. “Yeah, right. ‘Talk to me. That’s fucking rich. You don’t want to hear this shit.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

Katsuki shoved his fingers through his hair, tugging hard like he could rip the frustration out at the roots. His chest was still heaving, every part of him rigid. “...Tch. Whatever. It’s—fuck, it’s nothing. We—we just got paired up for this stupid poetry project at school. That’s it.”

Masaru tilted his head, quiet. “And?”

“And what?” Katsuki snapped. His eyes finally lifted, red around the edges, hard but trembling. “And nothing! We had to write poems about each other. We worked on it. We hung out. End of story.”

But the way his throat tightened on the words betrayed him.

Masaru leaned in just a fraction, voice low. “But it wasn’t the end of the story, was it?”

Katsuki’s jaw flexed, shoulders curling forward. For a moment, he didn’t speak, just stared hard at the table like it might split open under the force of his glare. His hands were shaking where they rested against his knees.

Finally, he muttered, hoarse, “...We got closer.”

Masaru felt his chest ache at how broken that admission sounded, how careful, like Katsuki had torn it out from somewhere deep and bloody.

“Closer how?”

Katsuki laughed again, bitter, shaking his head. “Like you even care.”

“I do,” Masaru said simply.

Katsuki’s face twisted, anger and grief and shame all tangling together. He leaned back in his chair, scrubbing his hand over his mouth. “…Closer like—we started talking again. For real. Like… like how we used to.”

The words came out shaky, dragged from his throat against his will. “And it—it messed me up. Because he’s still… he’s still him. And I’m still—” Katsuki cut himself off.

He clenched his fists harder if that was even possible, frustration growing more visible, until he went slack. Then he finally looked up at his dad.

"And, y-y'know, I'm still......Me."

His voice cracked on the last syllable. He leaned back in his chair, but his shoulders were drawn tight, fists trembling faintly where they rested against his knees. His eyes locked on the table.

Masaru didn’t speak. He didn’t move.

Five minutes passed—or maybe it was more, maybe less, but it felt like forever. The heater hummed, the pipes rattled faintly in the walls, and outside a car rolled by. Each sound filled the silence like static.

Katsuki stayed hunched, his throat working hard around words that wouldn’t come. His eyes were glassy, but he refused to let them fall. Every second dragged heavier than the last until the silence itself became unbearable.

Masaru pushed his chair back slowly, careful not to scrape too loud. He stood, walked the short distance around the table, and crouched beside Katsuki. Close enough to see the way Katsuki’s jaw clenched and unclenched, the way his nails dug half-moons into his palms.

“Katsuki,” Masaru said quietly.

Katsuki flinched, like even hearing his name out loud was too much. “What are yo—” His voice cracked, rough and ragged.

But before he could finish, Masaru reached out. His arms folded around him, awkwardly but gentle, pulling him into his chest.

Katsuki went stiff immediately—every muscle locking, back straight as steel, fists still clenched tight. He wasn’t used to this. Not from Mitsuki. Not from him. Not from anyone. Affection in his house had always been measured in lectures and expectations, not warmth.

Masaru held on anyway.

The seconds crawled by—ten, maybe more—while Katsuki stayed frozen, breath uneven, refusing to give in. His lips pressed together hard enough to sting, his throat burning with the effort of swallowing it all down.

And then it broke.

A ragged sob ripped out of him without warning, tearing through the thin wall he’d built. His fists unclenched just enough to grab onto Masaru’s shirt, twisting the fabric between trembling fingers. His forehead dropped against his father’s shoulder, heat dampening the cotton. Another sob followed, louder, messier, like once the first slipped out, the rest couldn’t be contained.

God he felt fucking pathetic, but he couldnt help it.

Masaru’s chest tightened, his own throat closing. He pressed his palm to the back of Katsuki’s soft locks, holding him closer, rocking him just slightly, “It’s okay,” he whispered, voice breaking, “it’s okay,” he said even quieter.

Katsuki shook his head, muffled against him, but the sobs kept coming in broken, stuttered gasps. His shoulders heaved, every sound ripped raw from somewhere too deep to hide anymore.

Masaru’s own eyes blurred. He bit his lip, trying to steady himself, but the tears slipped free anyway. Silent at first, sliding down his cheeks as he clutched his son tighter. His voice wavered when he finally found it.

“I’m so… so sorry.”

Katsuki stilled for half a heartbeat, then let out another choked sob against his shoulder. His hands curled tighter into Masaru’s shirt like he was afraid to let go.

Masaru’s voice cracked again, the words tumbling out like they’d been buried too long. “I’m sorry for not standing up for you when you needed me. I should’ve—God, I should’ve been there. I should’ve told her to stop. I should’ve told you…” His breath hitched, breaking. “I should’ve told you it wasn’t your fault.”

Katsuki clung harder, shoulders trembling, and Masaru’s tears came faster.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, over and over, like a prayer, like maybe it could undo the years. His arms tightened around Katsuki's rigid frame. “I’m sorry for not letting you love who you wanted. I’m sorry for making you feel like you had to hide. You didn’t deserve that. You never did.”

Katsuki’s sobs came harder at that, torn open and raw, his whole body shuddering against his father. His breath hitched between broken cries, muffled against the shoulder that refused to let him go.

Masaru pressed his cheek against Katsuki’s hair, tears catching in the strands. His voice was low, cracked, but steady in its vow. “You deserve to love who you love, Katsuki. Always. And I should’ve told you that a long time ago.”

For the first time in years, Katsuki let himself fall apart—loud and unguarded—in his father’s arms.

After a while, the storm inside Katsuki eventually began to slow, not gone, but quieter. His ragged sobs softened into broken breaths, then into uneven shudders, until all that was left were the occasional sniffles. His face was buried in Masaru’s shoulder, damp with salt and heat, but he stayed there, clutching tight, as though letting go would send him tumbling back into the fire.

Masaru didn’t rush him. He just held on, his own tears trailing slow and silent, thumb brushing unconsciously against the back of Katsuki’s hair in a rhythm meant to soothe. He waited until the tremors dulled. Until Katsuki’s breathing steadied, fragile but steady enough to speak.

Then, in the hush, Katsuki’s voice came, muffled and frayed, almost like he was afraid to let the words exist.

“I-I told him.”

Masaru blinked, leaning back slightly, enough to see his son’s face. His own eyes were red and a little puffy, wet at the corners, but his gaze was steady. “Told who?” His voice was soft, careful.

Katsuki’s throat bobbed. He kept his eyes down, lashes still wet, jaw tight like he was forcing the words through barbed wire. “I-I told him I love him.” His voice cracked on love, sharp and raw, and another tear slipped down, hot against his cheek. “A-and I ruined it. Like I always fucking do.”

The last part broke on his tongue, fragile and furious all at once.

Masaru’s chest tightened, but he stayed quiet, giving the silence room for Katsuki to keep going.

Another tear slid free as Katsuki ducked his head, breaking their eye contact. His hand came up, gripping the back of his own neck, fingers digging into the skin hard enough to leave marks. “I told him I loved him,” he repeated, weaker this time, more to himself than anyone else. His voice shuddered with shame. “And I ran away. Like a fucking coward.”

The confession cracked open the quiet like a fault line, and Katsuki sat there, trembling, face half-hidden behind his arm, as if ashamed to even be seen in this moment of truth.

Masaru’s breath hitched, but he didn’t hesitate this time. His hands came up, steady, and he gripped Katsuki’s shoulders firmly, making his son look at him even if only through tear-swollen eyes.

“You’re not a coward, Katsuki,” Masaru said, voice low but solid. His own eyes still burned, but the words came with certainty. “You’re a child. You’ve been carrying things no kid should’ve had to carry, and you’ve been trying to shoulder it all alone. That’s not cowardice. That’s weight. Too much weight.”

Katsuki shook his head, jaw tight, but Masaru pressed on, his grip unwavering.

“You told him you loved him. That’s not running away—that’s courage, son. That’s more courage than most adults ever find.” His thumb rubbed absently against Katsuki’s shoulder, grounding. “Izuku was a great kid. He always was. And I know he means a lot to you—he always did. You just need to talk to him.”

Katsuki let out a sharp, bitter laugh, though his voice cracked halfway through. He scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Easier said than done.”

Masaru’s lips twitched in a sad smile, his hands squeezing lightly. “Yeah. Most things worth it are.”

Katsuki exhaled hard through his nose, dragging his hand down his face until it clutched at his neck again. He wouldn’t look up, but his voice was quieter, almost like he was admitting it only to himself. “Don’t even know what the fuck I’d say.”

Masaru leaned closer, his tone softer now. “Start with the truth.”

Katsuki’s chest clenched, his eyes glassing over again, and he muttered, almost strangled, “Yeah, like that wouldn’t scare him off.”

Masaru shook his head gently. “If he’s the same Izuku I remember, it won’t. That boy looked at you like you hung the damn stars. I don’t think that kind of love goes away easy.”

They sat in silence for a while, Katsuki deep in thought. Then Katsuki sniffled, dragging the heel of his hand across his cheek until it came away damp. His voice was rough, still torn around the edges, but he managed, “Tch… if you make Ma wait any longer, she might leave you.”

Masaru huffed, the faintest chuckle breaking through the heaviness in his chest. “You’re probably right.” His smile was weary but real, lingering at the corners of his mouth. “She’s not the patient type.”

That earned him a half-snort from Katsuki, quiet, but it was there.

The silence that followed was lighter than before. Not gone—not healed—but gentler, like the storm had finally started to pass. Masaru stayed crouched a moment longer, his hands slipping from Katsuki’s shoulders to rest on his knees instead.

“You know…” Masaru said softly, “you can... talk to me more. Doesn’t have to be about anything big. Just… call. I’d like that.”

Katsuki’s throat worked as he nodded once, stiff but sincere. “…Yeah. I’ll… try.”

Masaru gave his knee a small squeeze before standing, his joints popping as he straightened. He went to the entryway, pulling on his coat and sliding his boots back on. Katsuki sat at the table, hunched forward, rubbing absently at the back of his neck. His eyes were still red, his face blotchy, but there was a rawness to him now that wasn’t anger—it was something softer, something fragile.

Masaru paused with one boot half-laced, glancing back at him. His voice was low, steady, carrying the weight of something he needed Katsuki to hear.

“Never give up on what you love, Katsuki.”

Katsuki’s head snapped up, eyes meeting his father’s. Masaru’s gaze was warm, unwavering, the faintest sheen still clinging to his lashes.

“Not ever,” Masaru added. “Not him.”

For a moment, Katsuki just stared at him, chest tight, his throat caught around a response that wouldn’t come. A single breath left him, shaky but quiet, before he looked down at the table again, his fingers clenching loosely against the wood.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. Barely audible, but there.

Masaru gave one small nod, as if to say he’d heard him, then bent to finish lacing his boots.

When the door clicked shut behind Masaru, the silence pressed in hard. Katsuki sat there for a long time, hunched forward with his elbows digging into his knees, staring at the table like it might give him an answer. His chest still burned from everything Masaru had said, the words bouncing around his skull with no place to settle.

You’re not a coward. You’re a child.

Never give up on what you love.

He blew out a breath, rough and shaky, then pushed himself up. His hands moved without thinking—collecting empty cups, straightening chairs, stacking dishes. The motion kept him from exploding. He wiped down the counter even though it was already clean, shoved things into their places until there was nothing left to fuss over.

But the house didn’t feel lighter. It felt emptier.

The clock ticked on, slow and cruel. Five-thirty. Five-forty. By six, he was pacing again, dragging his hands through his hair until it stuck up even worse than usual. He hated this. The stillness. The ache under his ribs that had a name he didn’t want to say out loud.

He missed him.

The thought cracked through like lightning.

Katsuki swore under his breath, grabbing his jacket from the couch. He shoved his arms through the sleeves, snatched his phone off the table, then his keys. The clatter was too loud in the quiet house, but he didn’t care.

He hesitated only once at the doorway, his hand tight on the knob. A deep breath in. Out. He pulled the apartment door opened, then locked it behind him. 

He didn’t know exactly what he was going to say when he saw Izuku. But he knew he couldn’t stay here, choking on the silence, missing him until it hollowed him out. 

Once he stepped out of the elevator, and into the cold winter air, he felt goosebumps.

The car door slammed shut behind him. He turned the key in the ignition and drove.

The drive was torture. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were white, veins standing out like wires. Every stoplight felt like a countdown clock, every red glow forcing him to sit with the weight crushing his chest. His mind wouldn’t shut up—running circles around what he’d say, how Izuku might look at him, what the hell he’d do if Izuku slammed the door in his face.

By the time he turned onto the familiar street, Katsuki’s stomach was twisted into knots. The Midoriya house sat quietly under the pale wash of Christmas lights from a few neighbors’ yards, its windows dark. He eased into the driveway and killed the engine, but his body didn’t move.

Instead, he dropped his forehead against the steering wheel with a dull thunk. Then again. And again. “Get your shit together,” he muttered, each word muffled against the leather. “Don’t be a fucking coward now.”

The silence of the car pressed in, his own breath fogging the windshield. Finally, with a shaky inhale, he shoved the door open and stepped out into the cold. His boots crunched against the frosted driveway as he walked up to the door, his heartbeat pounding in his throat.

He raised his fist and knocked. Harder than he meant to. The sound echoed, sharp against the quiet street.

Nothing.

His jaw clenched. He knocked again, louder this time, impatience and panic bleeding into the motion. Come on, nerd, it’s fucking Christmas, where the hell are you—

Still nothing.

The cold bit harder through his jacket, frustration building like a storm under his skin. He growled, grabbing the doorknob without even thinking—

It turned easily.

Unlocked.

“Of fucking course,” he hissed under his breath, teeth gritted. Typical Izuku. Always so trusting, too careless. Katsuki shoved the door open and stepped into the quiet house, pulse thundering in his ears.

The warmth hit him instantly, faint and stale from the heater running. The place smelled faintly like leftovers and laundry detergent, familiar in a way that made his chest ache.

“Izuku?”

Katsuki shut the front door behind him, the quiet of the Midoriya house pressing in. He kicked his boots off with a grunt, shoving them to the side like always. His fingers lingered on the laces longer than they should’ve—stalling, maybe. He muttered under his breath, “Damn nerd, leaving the door unlocked…” but his voice didn’t carry far in the empty house.

He stood there for a moment in the entryway, fists flexing, before restlessness pushed him forward.

The kitchen first. The sink was empty, counter clean, but a single glass sat drying on a dish towel. Katsuki frowned, tugged open the fridge out of habit, then slammed it shut again when nothing caught his eye.

The living room was next—blankets folded on the couch, notebook lying shut on the coffee table with a pen balanced across it. Too neat. Izuku wasn’t the type to leave things neat. Katsuki lingered, staring at the notebook, before shoving his hands in his pockets and moving on.

The bathroom. He rapped his knuckles against the door before pushing it open. Dark. Towels hung perfectly straight. The mirror was spotless, no steam clinging to the glass. He turned away with a sharp exhale, the hairs prickling on the back of his neck.

The house was too quiet.

He padded back into the hall, his chest tight, until his steps slowed. That’s when he saw it—the thin sliver of yellow light spilling out from under Izuku’s bedroom door. His breath caught.

He stopped directly in front of it, staring at the glow like it was holding him hostage. His hand lifted, knuckles brushing the wood. He knocked once.

“…Izuku?”

Nothing.

He knocked again, softer. “C’mon, nerd. It’s me.”

Silence.

His jaw clenched. He let his forehead rest against the door, a heavy sigh slipping out of him.

“I… I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice uneven. “I’m sorry I sprung all that shit on you the other night.” His throat tightened, words shaky as they tumbled out. “I-I hurt you a-and bullied you beacuse I was… I was scared. Scared to love, and scared to love you. Then we got paired up and all that crap I buried just—” He broke off with a rough laugh, bitter in the quiet. “It all came crashing back. That's why I was so frustrated getting paried up because I knew the feelings never fully went away.

His palm pressed flat against the door, grounding himself.

“I love you, Izuku,” he whispered, the words cutting him open. “I don’t deserve to say it. And you don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know.”

The silence stretched on, heavy and suffocating. Katsuki stayed there, forehead pressed to the wood, waiting for a sound—any sound—that didn’t come.

His forehead stayed against the door, he swallowed hard, forcing the words past the knot in his throat.

“You… you make my life less boring, y’know that?” His laugh came out low, rough. “Everything’s so fucking… grey, all the time. But then you’re there, and suddenly it’s not.”

He pressed his palm harder to the wood, fingers curling like he could hold onto the memory of it.

“Like—like when we went camping,” he muttered, voice unsteady. “I-I honestly thought it wouldnt be that much fun, y'know, camping in fucking feezing ass weather? But then…” He huffed, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. “…you wouldn’t shut up. You made everything a joke. And I was actually laughing, out there in the cold like an idiot. You did that.”

His throat burned. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Or that snowball fight, remember? You fucking nailed me in the face, you damn nerd. And then you laughed so hard you couldn’t even run when I chased you down. My clothes were soaked, my fingers were numb, but…” His voice cracked, softening. “…I hadn’t felt that alive in years.”

The silence swallowed him again, but Katsuki kept talking, words spilling like they’d been waiting forever.

“You make shit fun. You make me want to stick around, even when everything else feels… impossible.” His jaw clenched, "Fuck I sound like a corny bastard..." he muttered. but his voice dropped to almost a whisper. “You’re the best part of my life, Izuku. Always have been. A-And im sorry I pushed you away..."

The only reply was the low hum of the light buzzing inside the room. Katsuki’s chest ached under the weight of it, but still he stayed there, forehead pressed to the door, unwilling to move.

He stayed there for a long while, forehead pressed to the door, breathing slow and shallow. The light beneath it flickered faintly, casting a thin glow across the hallway. His chest tightened with every second of silence.

“Say something, nerd,” he muttered finally, voice low, edged with frustration. He pressed a hand to the door, but it wasn’t gentle this time—it was firm.

Silence.

Katsuki let out a sharp exhale, fingers flexing on the doorknob. His patience snapped, the ache in his chest twisting into something hotter, sharper. Without thinking, he twisted the knob.

It turned easily.

He didn’t push the door all the way open—just enough to peek inside. His eyes scanned the room quickly, heart hammering in his chest.

Empty.

The bed was neatly made. His books and pens were stacked on the desk. The small glow of the lamp cast soft light across the room, and a chill settled in his stomach.

Katsuki froze in the doorway, every instinct screaming at him that something was wrong. He could feel it, heavy and wrong.

“…Izuku?” His voice cracked as he stepped fully into the room, hand tightening on the doorframe. No reply. Just silence.

Panic prickled at the back of his neck. Something wasn’t right.

Katsuki’s chest went tight, every nerve on fire. He turned a slow circle in Izuku’s room—neatly made bed, books stacked, lamp buzzing faintly—but not a single sign of life. It was too clean. Too… untouched. Like he hadn’t been here in days.

His throat dried out. “...The fuck?” he muttered under his breath, the sound trembling even though he tried to steady it.

That was when the front door opened.

Katsuki whipped around, shoulders tense, “Izu—” he blurted, peeking out into the hallway.

But it wasn’t.

It was Inko.

She stood frozen halfway inside the apartment, keys dangling loosely from her fingers, her grocery bag sliding against her wrist. “Katsuki?..” she said, hesitant and surprised, like she wasn’t sure whether to believe her own eyes.

Katsuki’s stomach lurched. His hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket, shoulders rigid. “...Hey, Auntie,” he said roughly, voice coming out hoarse.

Her eyes darted past him to the faint glow of Izuku’s bedroom lamp, then back to Katsuki. “What are you doing here so late?”

He swallowed hard. “Checking on him.” His words sounded flimsy, broken.

Something flickered across her face—relief, confusion, maybe both. She stepped in further, setting her bag on the counter. “Where is he?” she asked softly.

The question hit Katsuki like a brick. His eyes widened, and his chest seized. “...W-where is he? What do you mean—he’s—he’s not with you?”

Her brow furrowed. “I thought he was spending Christmas with you?”

Katsuki blinked at her, the color draining from his face. “W-what—n-no?” He stuttered, voice tripping over itself. “Did he not tell—”

“Zuku’s not with you?” Inko’s voice rose slightly, panic slicing through her tone.

The house suddenly felt too small, the walls closing in. Katsuki’s hands shook in his hoodie pocket, his throat dry. “When’s the last time you saw him…” he whispered, barely getting the words out.

Inko blinked rapidly, her hands twisting together. “H-he messaged me last night saying he was staying over at your place,” she said, her voice wavering. “But the last time I saw him in person, h-he went outside for a walk.” She shook her head, eyes darting toward Izuku’s room like she might find him there if she looked hard enough. “I… I thought it was strange he wouldn’t come back for clothes, but—”

Katsuki staggered back a step, heart pounding so hard it made his ribs ache. His mind scrambled, connecting pieces that didn’t make sense. “No—no, that—fuck—he’s not here. He’s not—”

Inko pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, eyes wide with fear. “Katsuki… where is he?”

Katsuki’s chest heaved, every thought clawing at the back of his skull.

Missing.

That word was too big, and if he said it out loud, it’d become real. He couldn’t let it. Not yet.

He dragged a hand down his face, forcing air into his lungs. “H-hey—hey, Auntie,” he said quickly, stepping closer. His voice cracked, but he pushed through it. “Don’t… don’t freak out, alright? He’s probably just—” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “—at one of his friends’ places. Maybe he crashed there and forgot to text.”

Inko looked at him like he’d just spoken in another language. Her knees wobbled before she lowered herself slowly onto the couch, hands clenched tight in her lap. The grocery bag sat forgotten on the floor, the handles collapsed in on themselves.

“Izuku would never…” she whispered, her voice fragile, trailing off into a choked silence.

Katsuki crouched down in front of her, his palms braced on his knees, his voice urgent and low. “Hey. Listen to me. He’s fine. He’s probably just with Uraraka, or I dunno—You know how he is—he forgets shit when he gets caught up.”

She shook her head slowly, eyes glistening. “No. No, he—he was already upset about me working on christmas...”

Katsuki’s heart twisted, but he forced a steady look onto his face, even if the storm inside was tearing him apart. “Then I’ll find him. Alright? I’ll track his ass down. Don’t… don’t panic yet.”

He stood abruptly, pulling his phone out. His thumbs hovered over the screen, trembling. He didn’t even have Ochaco’s number, and she was the one most likely to know where Izuku had gone.

His jaw tightened. Mina.

He scrolled through his contacts, opening her chat with shaky fingers.

Oi need ochaco’s number rn. emergency.

His knee bounced violently as he waited, staring at the screen.

Behind him, Inko sank further into the couch, one hand covering her mouth as tears slipped free. Katsuki’s eyes flicked over his shoulder at her, chest aching, before snapping back down to the phone.

Come on, Pinky. Answer.

Katsuki’s thumbs drummed against his phone as he shot off the text to Mina. His knee bounced, his jaw tight, eyes locked on the screen.

Kats! Youve been ignoring my texts! What’s the rush, boom-boy? Planning a Christmas carol for your little Izuuuu~? followed by three obnoxious laughing emojis.

Katsuki’s grip tightened on the phone until his knuckles popped.

Shut the fuck up. Just give me her number.

There was a pause. Then:

 …Whoa. Okay. Okay, chill. What’s going on? Why do you need Ochaco’s number so bad?

Katsuki’s chest burned, his breath harsh. He stared at the words, his thumb hovering—then closed their chat without replying. 

Instead, he yanked up Ochaco’s chat—the one Mina had forwarded—and hammered out a message.

Is Izuku with u.

The typing bubble appeared, then vanished. Seconds stretched out like hours until finally her reply buzzed through:

Bakugou? Why are you messaging me?

His teeth ground together, sparks of panic igniting into anger. His fingers flew.

Listen, I know he prolly told u about what happened just fucking tell me. Just tell me if he’s with you.

Another pause. Then the message came through:

No he isn’t. Bakugou, why are you asking?

The words hit him like a punch to the chest. “Shit,” he hissed, shoving the phone back into his pocket and dragging a shaky hand down his face.

When he turned, Inko was still on the couch, clutching a tissue she hadn’t even realized she grabbed, eyes red and frantic. Katsuki’s throat clenched.

“Auntie—” His voice cracked. He cleared it, harsher this time. “I’m gonna go look around, okay? Just—fuck—just call me if anything happens.” His hand scrubbed down his face again, leaving it buried over his mouth for a beat before dropping to his side. “He—he’s okay. I promise.”

The promise tasted like a lie, but it was all he had to give her.

Katsuki slammed the door behind him so hard the frame rattled, his boots pounding against the steps as he stalked down to his car. His breath came in short bursts, the winter air biting at his lungs, but it didn’t cool the fire tearing through his chest.

He yanked the driver’s side door open, slid in, and jammed the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life, headlights spilling weak light across the dark street. But his hands stayed gripping the wheel, white-knuckled. He couldn’t drive yet. Not when his head was spinning like this.

With a growl, he dug his phone out of his pocket and thumbed to Izuku’s contact. His stomach twisted. He hadn’t thought he’d ever use this number again, but right now, he needed to hear his voice. Needed proof he was okay.

He pressed call.

Ring…

Ring…

“Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice message system. Please leave a message after th—”

Katsuki slammed his thumb against End. The car was silent again except for his harsh breathing. His pulse pounded against his ears.

He hit call again.

Ring…

Ring…

“Your call has b—”

He hung up, jaw locked so tight it hurt. His thumb smashed redial again. And again. And again.

Ten times.

Ten useless calls.

Ten times to voicemail.

Finally, he snapped and didn’t hang up when the beep came. His voice cracked, pouring out faster than his brain could keep up.

“F-fuck, Izuku—if this is some sick fucking joke you’re playing—it’s—fuck, Izuku! Auntie’s worried sick, please answer.”

He hung up, his chest heaving. The silence after was unbearable, so he called again. This time his voice broke into something desperate.

“Izuku—I know you’re upset and mad at me, but please—if you won’t talk to me, at least let other people know you’re okay. It’s been over twelve hours since anyone’s seen you. Just—just send a text, dammit.”

He hung up, dragging both hands down his face, trembling. His eyes burned, his throat too tight.

One more call. He didn’t even wait for the beep before he was yelling.

“Fuck, Izuku! Answer your fucking phone!!!”

The voicemail cut him off, but Katsuki just sat there, phone slipping from his hand into his lap. The weight of it crushed him, and for the first time all night, he realized his hands were shaking so bad he could barely close them into fists.

The hours bled together in a blur of headlights and empty streets.

8 p.m.

Katsuki had driven through every block he could think of. Back and forth, circling the same stretches of road until he swore he could trace every cracked sidewalk by memory. He had his window rolled down despite the freezing air, eyes flicking left and right at every shadow. Every figure in the distance made his stomach lurch—only to dissolve into some stranger, some random pedestrian. Never Izuku.

9 p.m.

His chest felt like a vice. He checked every bus stop, every park bench, every goddamn corner he remembered them hanging around as kids. He’d slow down when he passed them, headlights sweeping across empty swings and sidewalks, but there was nothing. Nothing but silence.

By 10, he couldn’t sit in the car anymore. His leg wouldn’t stop bouncing, his fists hammering against the wheel until his knuckles burned. The engine’s idle hum mocked him. He slammed it into park and threw himself out into the cold, boots pounding against the pavement.

Then he ran.

Everywhere.

Through alleys that smelled like piss and rust. Past storefronts with graffiti-scrawled shutters. His breath came in ragged gasps, white clouds exploding in front of his face. He shoved his way down paths, his phone flashlight swinging wildly as he checked behind dumpsters, through gaps in fences, anywhere a person could be.

Nothing.

“Fuck!” he roared into the night, voice breaking on the word. His throat burned, his lungs screamed, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

Midnight.

He was still running. His phone was a useless brick in his pocket—no new messages, no calls, no signs of life. He checked it anyway, over and over, as though maybe he’d just missed something. Nothing but silence.

His chest hurt, but it wasn’t just exhaustion. It was that crawling, gnawing panic twisting deeper and deeper, until every thought was the same one on repeat: Where are you, Izuku?

1 a.m.

His legs were lead. He stumbled into another alley, checked it, found nothing, and forced himself out again. He thought he caught glimpses sometimes—curly hair, a green hoodie, the familiar slope of a shoulder disappearing around a corner—but every time he sprinted after it, it was gone. Just a shadow. Just his own desperation.

By 2 a.m., his body gave out.

He staggered toward the dim glow of an old gas station, its windows long since boarded, its pumps rusted and stripped. He collapsed onto the curb out front, his knees buckling, his body folding.

The concrete was freezing against him, but he didn’t care. He dragged his hands down his face, breath ragged, eyes burning.

“Where the fuck are you…” he muttered into his palms. His voice cracked. His chest heaved with shallow breaths. He was shaking, not from cold but from the weight of it all—the hours of running, of not knowing, of thinking he might never know.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring down at the ground. His mind scrambled through every possibility. Maybe he went to a Half 'n halfs house. Maybe he’s hiding somewhere. Maybe—

But the hours had stripped those lies bare. If Izuku was safe, someone would know. He would’ve texted. He would’ve called.

Katsuki squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think, trying to remember anywhere—anywhere—Izuku might’ve gone. Every place they used to haunt as kids. Every shortcut. Every corner of the city they knew. But his mind was a static mess, his thoughts looping back to the same desperate question.

Where the fuck would he be?

And then—

A sound.

So faint, he almost thought he’d imagined it.

A broken sob, ragged and pained, cutting through the empty night air.

Katsuki’s head shot up, every nerve in his body on fire.

The sound came again. Shaky, wounded. Close.

His chest lurched.

“Izuku—?” he rasped under his breath, eyes wide, body already surging forward as adrenaline burned through the exhaustion.

Chapter Text

Uhhh this needs to be 10 words long..

"Kacchan I love you!!!"

"SHUT UP SHITTY NERD."

*then they start aggressively making out for the next hour.* 

'THIS IS NOT CANNON TO THE STORY BAHAHA