Chapter Text
x.
As the anthem plays, everyone rises up as President Shigaraki appears to present them with their crowns. He places one on Izuku’s head, then on Kacchan’s, wearing that same little smile he always had every time Izuku has seen him make speeches on television; like he’s in on some kind of joke the rest of them are not.
Kacchan never lets go of Izuku’s hand for the duration of the coronation, as the ceremony draws to a close and the crowd gives its final ovation as he and Izuku smile and wave.
The stage darkens, and Midnight arrives to whisk them off the stage and up the stairs to the president’s mansion. The night is far from over. An enormous banquet is set up, although he and Kacchan hardly get much of a chance to eat because of all the people coming up to talk to them. There are sponsors to thank, important citizens to greet, fans with whom they are expected to pose for pictures with. Izuku manages to sip a bit of soup or eat a small bite of a roll of bread, but other than that it’s a lost cause. Under the table, Kacchan’s left hand is still locked tightly in Izuku’s right.
Finally, they head back to the penthouse as the late night is stretching into early morning. Izuku doesn’t feel the least bit tired—his eyes seem ratcheted right open.
When they get off the elevator, Izuku turns to Kacchan and opens his mouth to say something, anything, but Toshinori is coming in between them, breaking their hand hold and sending Izuku off with Sir Nighteye, who takes Izuku by the arm and leads him to his room.
“What’s this about?” Izuku asks warily, as the door closes behind them.
“I need to take some new measurements and test some colour swatches for your final interview look tomorrow,” Sir Nighteye explains calmly.
After that’s over with, Izuku jumps in the shower and changes into something comfy, then beelines for his door. Kacchan will meet him up on the roof—he’s certain of it. But when he tries to open the door, he finds that it’s been locked.
Izuku thinks about pounding on the door and demanding to be let out, but instead he just steps back. Nothing that has been done by Toshinori and the stylists has been random. Izuku doesn’t know exactly why they seem so determined to keep him and Kacchan apart, though. Maybe they want to keep the two of them from getting too distracted? They still have to get through tomorrow’s tell-all interview before they get to go home. The cameras aren’t off them yet; the show isn’t over. They were out of the arena, but the Game was still on. They’re in the endgame, but not yet in check.
Frankly, Izuku isn’t too worried. He just needs to have a little patience, and then he will finally get to kiss Kacchan out of the view of the cameras, all alone, when the entire country isn’t watching them.
Just one kiss. Then he’s pretty sure he’ll know what he needs to know.
Izuku’s prep team wakes him up in the early afternoon and gets him ready for his final interview. This is it. Just this one final thing to do, and then he gets to go home. Together with Kacchan. They’re going home.
Down the hall, the sitting room has been transformed. Present Mic is there, looking fully out of place. A small red couch—the same one from last night?—has been placed in the room with some cameras pointed at it from different angles. There’s vases full of white roses surrounding it, filling the air with their aroma so heavily it feels artificial, and reminds Izuku of the perfumed soap he was assaulted by in the shower.
Kacchan is already there, standing off to the side while the film crew finishes up their final preparations. Izuku feels his heart squeeze with delight just at the sight of him. They’ve got him dressed in an outfit that’s reminiscent of his clothes from the Reaping, but a more breezy Capitol version. Simple yet stylish, youthful yet ruggedly handsome. Izuku hurries over to him before anyone can think to intervene and pulls Kacchan aside.
“Kacchan, I’ve hardly gotten to see you! All Might seems bent on keeping us apart.”
“I guess he’s worried about our lips getting chapped.”
He looks a little distracted, but if that comment is anything to go by, it’s because Kacchan is preoccupied with thinking about home as much as Izuku is, and all the wonderful privacy that will entail.
Izuku squeezes Kacchan’s hand and says, “Well, there’s just this last interview to get through, and then we can finally go home. Then he won’t be watching us all the time.”
A flicker of a frown crosses over Kacchan’s face, which causes the smile on Izuku’s face to fade, but before Izuku can comment on it, Present Mic is calling them over to take their places for the interview. Izuku walks over to the couch with Kacchan, hand-in-hand, and they lower themselves down stiffly onto the seat. But Present Mic waves them off with a laugh.
“Oh, don’t be shy, kiddos. Get cosy! It was very sweet last night, after all. C’mon, everyone watching at home will love it.”
“O-oh, sure,” Izuku says, and he scoots in close to Kacchan, who puts his arms around him like he did the night before.
Present Mic gives them a thumbs up, and after a countdown, they’re being broadcast to the whole of Panem, for the final time.
“Gooood afternoon, Panem!” Present Mic says in greeting, “Today, I’m here with our favourite new duo, the star-crossed lovers and new victors of District Twelve, Deku and Dynamight, for an exclusive tell-all interview! Gentleman, thank you so much for joining us.”
Izuku smiles. “We just can’t seem to stay away from you, Mic.”
That gets him a big bark of a laugh from Present Mic, and just like that, the two of them are right back into their banter. “Hey, Deku, what do ya think of the decor? Remind you of anything?” Present Mic asks with a conspiratorial wink.
Izuku chuckles sheepishly. “Roses, yes. You know what, after weeks without a shower, I definitely regret any bad thing I ever thought about the ones here.”
“You certainly spent your fair share of time in the mud!”
That’s one way to describe him burying himself in the ground to wait for death. But Izuku reminds himself to behave. He must be appreciative and gracious. He’s just the spare victor, after all. He was the one who was supposed to die.
“Well, my prep team told me all about the benefits of mud masks,” he says, still chuckling even though it feels wrong on all levels, “I guess I wasn’t using the right kind of mud.”
“I have to say, we have never seen anything quite like it, my boy. But I’d say nothing compares to what came after, with the days you spent in the cave. It was absolutely riveting!”
Izuku smiles thinly. There are some things he won’t joke about no matter how badly the Capitol wants it. “Well, it was pretty riveting for me, too. I certainly wasn’t giving the audience much thought at the time.”
Present Mic’s grin is downright unpleasant. “Oh, I’m sure you weren’t,” he says with a wink. Izuku resists the urge to squirm in discomfort. “Well, Deku, we now know from your time together in the cave that it was love at first sight for you, since age four.”
Okay, this is steadier ground. “Yes. From the moment I laid eyes on him.”
Then Present Mic turns to Kacchan. “But, Dynamight, what a ride for you. I think the real excitement for the audience was watching you fall for Deku. When did you realise that you were in love with Deku, too?”
Izuku feels Kacchan give a little jolt next to him and he glances over; he’s quite curious to know the answer himself.
“Oh, uhm…” Kacchan trails off right away, and rubs at his neck and lets out a soft, shy laugh. It takes everything in Izuku not to start kissing his brains out right then and there.
Present Mic hastily jumps in before Izuku loses his willpower. “I know when it hit me. That night you called out his name in the tree!”
Kacchan nods a little. “Yeah, I guess that was it. I mean, until that point, I just, uh, tried not to think about what my feelings might be, ‘cause it was all just too confusing. And I felt like…it didn’t even make sense for me to even entertain the idea of it, because of where we were,” he says thoughtfully, “But then, with that rule revision…well, it changed everything for me.”
Izuku continues to stare at Kacchan as he explains, finding himself holding his breath. Does Kacchan love him? He didn’t say so, in the arena, back when Izuku said it before they tried to take the nightlock. Maybe he couldn’t bring himself to do so at that moment, and he’s waiting until they can be alone before he does. Which makes it a bit annoying that Present Mic is trying to pull it out of him. Their whole relationship has been put together backwards.
“Why do you think that was?” Present Mic asks.
“Because…” Kacchan begins slowly, staring down at the floor. He licks his lip, takes a breath, then says, “For the first time, there was a chance that I could actually keep him.”
Izuku feels a smile split his face. That has to be the most wonderful thing anyone has ever said about him, and it’s also the perfect, strategic response. There is still a confession there, under the surface, but the actual words of it, Izuku knows, will be for his ears alone. This is just the one that Kacchan has allowed Panem to hear.
Leaning against Kacchan, Izuku breathes in his exotic scent and asks, “And now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?”
Kacchan turns his head towards him and takes Izuku by the chin as he looks at him steadily. “Put you somewhere you can’t get hurt.”
He’s perfect, Izuku thinks, he’s absolutely perfect.
He seeks out Kacchan’s lips, sighing into the kiss. Can this interview hurry up and be over already so they can go home and just keep doing this forever?
But Present Mic isn’t done with them yet. “I can’t say I blame you for being protective, Dynamight, considering Deku’s propensity for getting seriously wounded. Honestly, that goes for the both of you.” He proceeds to rattle off their injuries in such a way that Izuku imagines they must be inserting some footage from the arena behind his words. “How is the new hearing aid holding up, Dynamight? I can only imagine the pain you must have been in when that explosion damaged your ear, for our specialised doctors to deem the eardrum irreparable.”
Hearing aid? What’s that? Izuku peeks over at Kacchan again. He’s sitting on Kacchan’s right, but Kacchan turns his left side towards Present Mic to show the device connected to his ear. There’s some clear tubing going into the ear itself, connected into a black, chrome-like metal contraption with some small orange buttons that’s tucked behind his earlobe, which his hair conceals enough that you’d really have to be looking for it to see. No wonder Izuku had never even noticed it until now.
“It’s taken some gettin’ used to, but it’s not so bad,” Kacchan replies, tapping at the device.
They couldn’t repair the damage to Kacchan’s eardrum? Izuku supposed that wasn’t too far-fetched. They had to amputate limbs all the time, after all. And Izuku supposes his own right hand was proof that some damage couldn’t be completely erased.
“And how’s your hand feeling, Deku?” Present Mic continues, as if reading Izuku’s mind. “Apparently they had to reconstruct many fragments of bones and ligaments and tendons. It must have been a very intensive surgery.”
“It was,” Izuku says, despite the fact he obviously wouldn’t have been conscious, and only knew as much about it as Toshinori had relayed to him.
He wonders if this is the first the audience is learning about it as well, or if they actually filmed or recapped the operation. He wouldn’t be all that surprised if they did. For the first time in ages, Izuku thinks of his mother, his friends, and what they must think, watching this now. It’s strange how remote they all feel to him, like he doesn’t belong to them anymore. It feels like he hardly even belongs to himself. This interview is distressing, and is starting to draw out real anger in him. All he wants to do is escape with Kacchan, into a cave somewhere, and shut out the rest of the world.
He lifts up his right hand so everyone can see the scar that wraps around either side of his palm and nearly connects in the middle, pulling back the sleeve of his jacket a bit to show the similar scar around his wrist.
“I’m just amazed that it’s even capable of moving after all of that,” Izuku murmurs, curling his fingers experimentally.
After a moment, Kacchan reaches over and takes Izuku’s arm, leaning down to closely inspect his hand, turning it this way and that to see the scars from every angle. It’s then Izuku’s notices that Kacchan’s own hands are utterly pristine, pale and soft and glowing in their perfection. It makes the slightly wonky fingers of Izuku’s right hand look absolutely malformed in comparison. Kacchan is very quiet as he stares intensely at Izuku’s hand, running his velveteen fingertips over Izuku’s knobby knuckles.
“Are you alright, Dynamight?” Present Mic says, just as Izuku was about to open his mouth and ask that.
Izuku really wishes Present Mic would just shut up and let Izuku handle this, but he waits patiently to see if Kacchan will respond. Still stroking the scar around Izuku’s palm, Kacchan mumbles, “It’s my fault. Monoma did this to you because you helped me.”
“And I would do it again. In a heartbeat,” Izuku says firmly.
Kacchan brings Izuku’s hand to his lips, kissing over each of his knuckles, then both of the scars. Izuku’s heart flutters in his chest at the gesture, and he would very much like to kiss Kacchan again, but instead the blond chooses to hide away in Izuku’s curls, escaping the cameras, and Present Mic, and his own emotions about this whole ordeal, too, Izuku can imagine.
Oh, sweetheart, Izuku thinks, None of this is your fault. Don’t you see that by now? Don’t you know I would do anything for you?
Present Mic tries to lure Kacchan out of hiding. “Now, now, Dynamight,” he says, horribly patronizing, “It’s alright. No harm done, in the end.”
Shut up, Mic! Izuku shouts in his head, but with Kacchan he is all gentleness, and pretends to play along with the host’s attempts to draw Kacchan out. “It’s okay, Kacchan,” he whispers, rubbing Kacchan’s back. “It’s okay. Take all the time you need. You can come out whenever you’re ready.”
Present Mic decides to continue the interview without Kacchan for now. “I would say that must have been the worst day for you in the arena, right, Deku?”
Izuku shakes his head. He continues to rub Kacchan’s back as he replies, “Not at all. Although, it was kind of unfortunate timing, I guess.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Izuku has re-done the count several times, so he’s certain he’s correct about this. “Well, uh…it was July 15th. My eighteenth birthday.”
Kacchan shoots up straight at that. “Wait, hang on. Are you saying I dropped a fucking nest of tracker jackers on you…on your birthday?”
Uh-oh. So much for not letting Kacchan feel guilty. Izuku waves his hands around, trying to backpedal quickly. “K-Kacchan, it’s okay! You didn’t drop it on me, you were trying to get the Careers!”
“Whatever!” Kacchan snaps, “You stayed up all night sitting under that tree, Deku. We saw it last night in the recap. You were watching over me the whole night, and then I dumped a swarm of deadly wasps on you. On your birthday! You coulda died!”
“But I didn’t!” Izuku cries. This is the most like himself Kacchan has behaved so far for the whole interview, and while Izuku is relieved by that, he also desperately wants to make him feel better. Kacchan was only doing what he needed to do to survive, after all. Izuku would have been happy to die to make that happen. “And you even healed my stings later. And you couldn’t have known it was my birthday. Heck, even I didn’t realise until I was counting the days back while we were in the cave, waiting out the rain. Needed something to occupy my brain. Not like I would have expected you to not go through with the plan just because it was my birthday! It was a really smart strategy!”
“Don’t fucking praise me!” Kacchan bellows, affronted, “What the hell is wrong with you? The hallucinations must have been horrible, you got your leg sliced open, your hand got crushed by a rock—you were literally tortured because of me!”
No, this can’t go on. Kacchan has to stop thinking like this! Not to mention, he looks on the verge of having a panic attack. Izuku takes Kacchan’s face fiercely between his hands, making him look at him. “Kacchan, I would do anything, endure anything, for you. What part of that don’t you get yet? I would take a hundred tracker jacker stings, be cut by a thousand swords, be crushed by a million rocks. Everything I did, I would do all over again, knowing in the end it brought me to you.”
Kacchan is still heaving for breath, and hardly looks convinced. Izuku pets his silken cheeks with his thumbs, and peppers his perfect face with kisses, desperate to comfort, to soothe. After a minute or two, it seems like Kacchan’s breathing is starting to settle back into normalcy.
“You’re fuckin’ crazy,” Kacchan mutters.
Izuku laughs with relief. There’s his Kacchan. And he’s one-hundred percent right. He is crazy. But people do crazy things when they’re in love. “Don’t worry. It’s only for you.”
Kacchan pouts preciously. “That’s not nearly as comforting as you think it is. In fact, it might even be worse.”
Izuku smiles. “Well, you’re stuck with me.”
“Let's lighten things up a bit,” Present Mic cuts in. Izuku’s head jerks back to the host. Oh, right. Interview. He forgot. “Deku, tell us…what was going through your mind, when Dynamight kissed you for the very first time?”
As much as Izuku really wants this interview to end, he’s actually more than happy to talk about this part. He sighs softly at the memory. He’d been so sick with fever back then, but it’s still so sweet and clear in his memory. “Well, honestly, it really came as a shock. Certainly not the circumstances I had expected for my first kiss.”
“Your first ever?”
Ugh. He’s done it now. “Y-yes,” he says, blushing. “Kacchan was my first kiss. And second, and third, and…well, I guess I lost count at some point. Hard to think considering how high of a fever I had.”
“What about you, Dynamight?” Present Mic asks Kacchan, “Was it your first kiss, too?”
“Yeah,” Kacchan says easily, without even a trace of embarrassment.
“Really!?” Present Mic gasps, “A handsome guy like you must’ve been breaking hearts left and right back home. Maybe you just don’t kiss and tell.”
Honestly, Izuku has to admit he’s shocked by this revelation, too. He was Kacchan’s first kiss. They were each other’s first kiss. Could it get any more perfect than that? That possessive pride swells in Izuku’s chest again. He is Kacchan’s. Kacchan is his. It’s not just a statement, but a fact of the universe, like the sky being blue, like water being wet.
Kacchan seems annoyed by Present Mic’s assumption that he’s kissed other people but isn’t sharing, and jabs a thumb firmly at Izuku as he bites back at the host, “I made out with this nerd on live television, and in front of an audience of thousands. What part of that gives you the impression I don’t kiss and tell?”
“Alright, alright!” Present Mic guffaws, holding up his hands. “So, Deku was your first kiss, too. And what was going through your mind at that moment? What made you decide to just throw caution to the wind, and go for it?”
Once again, Izuku would really like to know the answer to this, too.
“Well, mostly I just wanted to shut him up,” Kacchan admits, shrugging a bit. “That seemed like the best way to do it.”
Izuku can’t think of a more Kacchan way to be kissed. Kacchan can shut him up whenever he wants. “Well, it was certainly effective,” Izuku says with a chuckle, “Stunned me silent.”
Kacchan gives him a flat look. “If I’d known that was all it took to get you to knock off your incessant muttering, I woulda twisted ‘round in my desk and kissed you stupid years ago,” he grumbles, “Y’know how many tests I’ve nearly failed because of you rambling away behind me, Deku?”
“It helps me focus!” Izuku cries. Does Kacchan know how many tests Izuku has nearly failed because of how distracting the slope of Kacchan’s shoulders and the nape of his neck was?
“Well, not me!” Kacchan barks back.
“Uh-oh! Trouble in paradise already!” Present Mic laughs. Can Izuku just hit him already? Someone really needed to punch Present Mic. It should have happened decades ago. Maybe Izuku will finally be the one to do it. “But I suppose they say it’s healthy for couples to have a few disagreements now and then. I don’t think we’ll have anything to worry about. You two clearly have a powerful bond.”
Izuku’s mood is just a swinging pendulum at this point, going back and forth between anger for Present Mic and affection for Kacchan. It was starting to get a bit disorienting, and is reminding him, vaguely, of some conversations he had with the doctors in the hospital below the Training Centre. They were so hazy in his mind, he thought they had just been a weird dream. Had they been real?
“We’ve talked a lot today about your steadfast conviction to each other. Which brings us to the grand finale of your time in the arena.” Present Mic turns to Kacchan. “Dynamight, I’ve got to ask. The moment you pulled out those berries. What was going through your mind?”
Izuku feels the room grow heavy with sudden tension. Glancing beyond Present Mic, Izuku catches a glimpse of Toshinori’s face, stern and solemn, and he’s watching Kacchan intensely through narrowed eyes. Izuku turns to look at Kacchan, and slips his hand into his, squeezing it reassuringly.
Kacchan’s throat bobs. Izuku knows whatever he’s about to say is going to be, at most, a partial truth. He can remember the look in Kacchan’s red eyes then; the one that was meant only for Izuku. Whatever motivations Kacchan had for using those berries, they were not for the Capitol to know.
“I just…” Kacchan pauses, his gaze flickering about for a moment. Then his eyes land on Izuku. “Couldn’t bear the thought of being without him.”
“And, Deku? Anything to add?”
Izuku shakes his head, unable to look away from Kacchan. “No. I think Kacchan summed it up perfectly.”
“I think he did, too,” Present Mic says, and when Izuku looks at him finally he sees the host’s expression has relaxed, and for the first time Izuku understands that he has been guiding this interview very tenderly. Making light of things the Capitol will expect him to make light of—discomfort, wounds, and death—while shining a light on Izuku’s feelings for Kacchan, and his for Izuku. Just as the recap of the Games was made into a love story.
And what other story do they have to tell, really? The last two tributes defying the Capitol by refusing to kill each other? Kacchan challenging the Gamemakers? That would be a disaster. Two lovesick teenagers would be a lot easier for the Capitol to portray, much easier for Panem to digest. And Izuku and Kacchan were making that easy to do, considering how clearly nuts they were for one another.
So then why does Toshinori look so relieved? They’ve already let both of them survive, crowned them both, and are letting them proceed on with the rest of their lives. For what reason should this interview mean so much to him?
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, that’s all the time we have,” Present Mic says, pulling Izuku out of his thoughts. “Once again, Deku, Dynamight, it’s been an absolute pleasure watching the two of you, and I wish you all the happiness in the world. Have a safe journey back home, boys!”
Izuku grins. Finally. Finally, it’s all over. They’re done. They’re going home. “Thank you, Present Mic!”
The broadcast wraps and Izuku shakes his head to clear it. It’s honestly been exhausting, being forced to confront all of his feelings—about Kacchan, the Games, and the Capitol. A month ago, he was just a kid, looking forward to summer break. He can go back to being that kid again, in just a day. But then, that’s a ludicrous notion. Nothing in his life will be the same as it was. He’ll be moving out of his apartment, leaving the bakery. He won’t even be going back to school in the fall.
And now, there’s Kacchan—the only person in District 12 who knows what Izuku has been through—to…to what? What’s the best word for it? To…court, maybe? But Kacchan has already been closer to Izuku, physically, emotionally, than anyone, ever. Izuku knows they still need to talk about things, as obvious as it all might seem. Kacchan probably doesn’t need to be convinced of Izuku’s earth-shattering love for him, but…it still feels like they’ve missed a step somewhere.
He stands up from the couch and Midnight pulls him into a hug, followed by Sir Nighteye and his prep team, who are all teary-eyed as they kiss his cheeks and tell him they can’t wait to see him again, how excited they are for the Victory Tour in a few months. Izuku accepts their hugs and kisses, but he keeps looking around them to catch a glimpse of Kacchan. Through the bustle of the television crew packing up the gear and moving about, he spots him over with Toshinori. Kacchan's lips move over a single word, and Toshinori nods, says something back, and gives Kacchan a pat on the arm, then ushers him off to his room.
Izuku considers following him, but then Sir Nighteye is telling him to go back to his room and collect his belongings, and Izuku is so anxious to get out of here and head home that he doesn’t question it.
Izuku doesn’t get a chance to see Kacchan again until they’re getting into the car and riding to the train station. They’re still not alone, and Midnight is sitting in-between them again like she did during the first car ride to the train station in 12. It’s not the place for them to talk, so instead, Izuku’s mind races.
He and Kacchan have never kissed when it wasn’t on camera. They really ought to amend that soon. Once upon a time, Izuku’s fears of being reaped, not to mention his awe, self-doubt, and Kacchan’s bitterness revolving around the death of their fathers, had kept him from being able to work up the courage to approach him. But Izuku is a different person now.
After dinner on the train with Toshinori and Midnight, Kacchan and Izuku sit together on the couch to watch the recap of their tell-all interview. Kacchan doesn’t put his arm around him the way the one on screen did. Similar to the interview, Kacchan still isn’t very talkative, but he’s got that old look on his face, thoughtful and set, and unreadable.
He excuses himself before the interview is over, mumbling something under his breath about wanting to wash up and change. When he returns, his face is clean of makeup and he’s back in the same clothes he wore the day of the Reaping. When he takes his place next to Izuku again, Izuku catches a faint scent of lavender and rosemary—the scent of Auntie Mitsuki’s soap, still clinging to the faded fabric.
Izuku smiles, and leans into Kacchan’s side, sliding his hand into Kacchan’s and interlocking their fingers, giving it a gentle squeeze. Kacchan keeps his gaze steadily forward, watching himself on the screen, golden and glowing. Does he think that version of him is slipping away, that it’s already gone forever, or that it never even existed at all?
Kacchan doesn’t see what Izuku sees. He’ll never stop being the boy on fire. That flame was burning within him all along.
When the train makes a stop for fuel, Izuku asks Kacchan if he’d like to step outside for some fresh air. Kacchan agrees, and nobody else seems to mind, or makes a move to follow them. Good, Izuku thinks.
When they step out into the free air, Izuku has no idea what district they’re in, or if they’re even in any district at all. It’s just a lot of flat ground, thin grass as far as the eye can see. Looking down the tracks in the direction they’ve come, Izuku can see, he thinks, a smudge of the mountain range that walls the Capitol. But it’s far, far away.
Also good. Finally, they’re alone, for the first time since the arena. For the first time ever, really.
They walk along the tracks for a bit in silence as Izuku marvels at how wide and empty the world around them is. Then Izuku reaches for Kacchan’s hand, and Kacchan jerks away. Izuku comes to a stop, and looks at Kacchan with wide, concerned eyes.
“Is everything okay, Kacchan?”
Kacchan’s eyes dart around, as though suspicious of how quiet and empty it is, as though he doesn’t believe they’re truly alone, truly safe.
“Yeah, m’fine,” Kacchan says quietly, not meeting his eyes. “Just been…kinda jumpy, I guess.”
Kacchan takes Izuku’s hand, and Izuku feels a rush of relief. “I know,” Izuku says, because he does know. This all still feels like a dream. It’s hard to believe they’re back in the real world—or that this world is the real world, and the arena was the dream. The nightmare. He doesn’t blame Kacchan for feeling on edge, and it’s certainly not something he should be feeling guilty or ashamed of. “It’s okay. It’s like that for me, too.”
They continue down the tracks, hand in hand, past the end of the train. Izuku looks over to the side of the gravel path the tracks are laid on to see some little pink and white flowers, and they bring a smile to his face. He looks back to Kacchan, and sees the other boy staring intensely down the tracks, off into the distant mountains, and his smile wanes. This seemed like more than the mild disorientation that Izuku was similarly feeling after the arena. There’s an uneasiness in Kacchan’s eyes, a tension in his jaw, like there’s something he wants to say, and he doesn’t know how, or if he even can.
If this is what Izuku thinks it’s about, he decides to help him along. “…Kacchan, what’s going on with you? You’ve been so quiet.”
“They didn’t like my stunt with the berries.”
Izuku blinks. Okay, not what he’d been expecting. “What? What are you talking about?”
“It was too rebellious,” Kacchan says tightly, “Toshinori has been coaching me through the last few days so I didn’t fuck up and make everything worse.”
Izuku thinks over the last few days, and the ‘behaviour’ that Toshinori had supposedly ‘coached’. Kacchan running across the stage and kissing the daylights out of him? Putting his arm around Izuku during the interview? Even his distress at Izuku’s hand?
It’s starting to feel like Izuku is walking off a cliff, so he brings them to a sudden stop that has Kacchan stumbling a bit on the gravel.
“Coaching you,” Izuku says slowly, “But not me.”
Kacchan shrugs. “He said he wouldn’t have to. That you would be able to get it right.”
What? Kacchan is making it sound like everything Izuku did and said and felt and experienced are all distilled down into being strategically manufactured instead of genuine, but that’s not the case at all.
“I didn’t know there was anything to get right,” Izuku manages to say.
Kacchan frowns a little. “Well…it’s fine. It all worked out in the end. You played your part just fine. It was me that he was worried about. The berries were my idea, so…I was the one who had to make it seem convincing.”
Now it feels not so much like Izuku is falling off a cliff, but like he’s already landed, and hard.
Alarm bells start to go off in Izuku’s brain, as he forces himself to ask the question that perhaps the prior version of him would never have been brave enough to ask. “Make what seem convincing?”
Kacchan blinks at him, brows jumping up, looking genuinely puzzled by the question. Then his brow furrow with confusion. “The whole thing was your idea to begin with. You said it yourself,” he says, seeming impatient about the fact he even has to explain, “So, Toshinori was just helping me through the last few days, so that—“
“So you’re telling me all of this…even when we were in the arena…that was all just a strategy you and All Might came up with?” As the words come up, Izuku can’t help but briefly appreciate Toshinori’s craftiness, but it’s quickly buried under an immense wave of depression as everything starts falling into place too fast, all at once, and he feels powerless to stop it.
“Yeah,” Kacchan says, but then he shakes his head a bit and continues, quickly, “I mean, well, no. I couldn’t exactly talk to him in the arena.”
Even if it was all a fiction, Izuku thinks it will be a little bit easier for him to take, if it originated from Kacchan. “But you still knew what he wanted you to do, didn’t you?”
Kacchan drops his gaze from Izuku, his mouth pressed into a thin, firm line, and says nothing.
Izuku drops Kacchan’s hand. “It was all for the Games,” he murmurs. Not a question, but a statement. Challenging Kacchan to refute him, to deny him. “How you acted.”
Kacchan’s head snaps back up. “I mean, yeah?” he says, exasperated and confused, as though this must have been so obvious. “Well, not all of it, but—“ A tiny, pinprick speck of hope, and then, “Y’know, all the love shit. The star-crossed lovers thing?”
Izuku staggers backward as though he’s been struck by the words. Kacchan can’t act. Toshinori had said so himself. And Izuku had convinced himself of that fact, too. While Izuku doesn’t doubt that Kacchan had truly been concerned for his safety in the arena, now he can no longer trust in the rest of it. Toshinori didn’t know Kacchan the way Izuku does. There is nothing that Kacchan cannot do.
And yet, he still clings to that speck of hope. “It…was an act?”
“Well, yeah. Obviously,” Kacchan says, driving in the knife, blunt and cruel. And what’s even more cruel is the fact he still seems so confused. “Deku, it was your fucking idea. What gives?”
Yes, the ‘fiction’ originated with Izuku. The act of the star-crossed lovers was his idea. But how could Kacchan still not see, not know, that the act had been born out of real feelings?
“…You really don’t get it, do you?” Izuku whispers.
“I didn’t know there was anything to get.”
Izuku is such an amazing fool.
A fool for falling for an act of his own making, a fool for thinking he could ever make Kacchan understand the depth of his feelings, and for letting himself believe that someone like Kacchan could ever return those feelings back for someone as unremarkable as him.
And he’s a fool for even crying about it. “You said…not all of it was an act,” Izuku says slowly, “How much?” And he’s a fool for even asking such a thing. What is real, what Kacchan says to be kind—there would be no way to tell anymore. So instead, he says, “I guess the real question is, how much is going to be left when we get home?”
It takes a long time before Kacchan can formulate a response. “I don’t know. The closer we get to Twelve, the more confused I get.”
It’s on the tip of Izuku’s tongue to ask if this confusion Kacchan feels is all about Izuku, or if it’s about Kirishima. Or both of them. But there’s no way to ask that question without sounding like a complete asshole, and Kacchan doesn’t clarify.
So instead, trying to sound indifferent and failing completely, Izuku says, “Well, let me know when you figure it out.”
Izuku walks back to the train by himself and goes to his room, lying down on the bed, and although sadness presses in all around him, his eyes are strangely dry. Deep inside, there’s almost a completely blank feeling. His mother was always telling him to man up. Well, won’t she be happy—perhaps the Games have wounded that part of him in a way the doctors couldn’t fix, and now he can’t let grief flow out that way anymore. The lone tear that had rolled down his cheek as he stood on the tracks is all the release his body is giving him for having his heart ripped out.
He finds himself dreading meeting his mother. The way they parted, the thing Izuku said and did in the arena—bringing up her first love that never came to be, and kissing not only a boy, not only a boy from the Seam, but a boy from the Seam who was the byproduct of the man she loved loving someone else. A triple whammy. Not that she’ll have anything to worry about. Because none of it was real.
Izuku understands that there were things that both he and Kacchan had to do and say in the arena in order to survive, even if it meant burying people on the outside. People like Kirishima, who were safe from the more immediate threat of death, but not from, perhaps, a broken heart. If there really is something between Kacchan and Kirishima, then Kacchan has a lot of work to do, smoothing over all the things he said and did with Izuku.
Then his pathetic brain spends a while daydreaming about all those things that were said and done, until Izuku falls asleep.
At first, he dreams that he’s back in school. Standing in the locker room in front of a locker that displays his name on a piece of tape in blurry ink. And he’s a wrestler. It’s not something that’s ever meant much to him. Wrestling takes time away from everything else he’d rather be doing with his day, for one thing, and for another, not something he even chose for himself. He is a wrestler because his mother said so, a command more than a benediction. Every Midoriya has been a wrestler. And in this world that is so restrictive of opportunity, of victory, it was important to her, Izuku supposes.
Izuku has no taste for elimination competitions, but he would be lying if he claimed to be unmoved by the buzz and chatter of the growing crowd, which he can hear now on the other side of the locker room door. It builds in volume and excitement, and whether they are for or against him, their energy fills him. He is not anxious for the day to be over, to win or to lose. He is simply eager to perform, to be something. But not for the crowd. Not even for himself.
Only for him.
As much as Izuku doesn’t care about wrestling one way or the other, there will be no time for it or anything else as soon as school is finished for him. Right now he’s only able to work at the bakery part-time, but once Izuku graduates, the responsibility will fall on him like a hammer. The hours of his life will be filled by bread-making; it would have been regardless of whether or not his father died when Izuku was young, but without him here, it means Izuku will have zero time to even consider cultivating other hobbies, as he focuses on ensuring he and his mother make their quotas each month.
“Maybe I’ll get lucky and get reaped for the Games,” Izuku mutters to himself.
And then he blinks. He never said that. Did he?
He doesn’t get a chance to consider it, because then the coach enters and gestures for Izuku to follow.
It is the best time of year. Spring is full on, and the Reaping is ages away, barely to be thought about. Izuku’s eyes sweep the gym until…yes, there. There he is.
Before he knows it, Izuku’s name is announced, and the championship match begins. The first round goes exactly as he pictured. Togata is taller than him, and he goes for a head lock. Izuku attempts a suplex, grappling forward to capture Togata in a bear hug. They are locked together, holding their stances—at a mutual impasse.
“Shoot me and he goes down with me!”
What?
Izuku uses his centre of gravity to get the leverage he needs and finally throws Togata—no, not Togata, not anymore—
Monoma didn’t expect this move, and now there is anger, as well as surprise, on his flushed face. In the second round, he lunges for Izuku almost quicker than the count, overpowering him—and for a second they are struggling evenly, but then Izuku’s feet slip out from under him, and Monoma wins the point.
Before the third round, they are at each other for an eternity. The noise of the crowd has receded into near-silence. All Izuku can hear now is Monoma breathing heavily, angrily. He wants this, more than anything, and he is off-put by the fact he has to beat a pathetic whelp like Izuku to get it. It’s not just that he’s underestimated Izuku. He’s underestimated the game—how painful it can be to win, as well as to lose.
But Izuku understands. It’s all knotted together. Maybe they came from completely different upbringings, but now they are both here in this mutual experience. And Izuku doesn’t care, not really, about winning. To win would be every bit as painful as to lose—maybe even more so.
Monoma lunges at him again, but he’s used up so much of his strength that he doesn’t quite get a good grip. Izuku plants his feet and envelops him in a hug. The incredible thing about wrestling is the strange intimacy of the struggle.
Izuku is strong, a wall against him. He looks off to the left, towards the bleachers. Kacchan is still there. He hasn’t wandered out, bored of the spectacle. He is the only one in the stands now, watching Izuku with wide eyes. Panting, the wound on his forehead bleeding through the bandages again, second-last arrow readied on his bow, string pulled taut.
“Shoot me and he goes down with me!”
Izuku blinks, and the stands are full of students again. The cheer of the crowd fills his ears. His eyes sweep the faces, until—there. There he is. But he’s softened his stance, just a little, and his body twists as Monoma gets the head lock. Izuku is pinned to the mat, his nose flat against it as he can hear and feel his hot breath all around him.
Togata wins.
It’s fine, Izuku thinks. He’ll get the silver medal and he has two years left, anyway, to wrestle in school. He’s not exactly passionate about it, but he’s good at it, and, in this world that is so restrictive, so narrow of opportunity, and of happiness, that’s something to grasp. It’s in losing that he sees the true value of the thing.
The weight of Togata leaves his back, and Izuku rolls over onto his back, but then he’s sinking into the mat, and darkness swallows him, and suddenly he’s alone in the dark, cold hospital. Hardly anybody bothers to talk to him, and when they do, they ask him strange questions.
“Do you find yourself experiencing uncontrollable moods? Depression? Anger?”
“What? No, I—“
“What is your earliest memory of your mother? Is that memory angry, sad, happy, or neutral?”
“I don’t—I don’t know.”
“What is your earliest memory of your father? Is that memory—“
“I don’t know!”
The questions are relentless, neverending, trying to get Izuku to confess to some kind of deep-seeded anger against someone, anyone.
“What is the nature of your resentment?”
“…I don’t understand the question.”
“Is your resentment for your parents? Your mentor? Your district partner? Towards the Capitol?”
Spare victor, Izuku reminds himself, you must be gracious and appreciative.
“I’m alive,” Izuku replies, in a cool voice. “For which I am nothing but grateful.”
“Medications are available to you for anxiety, depression, and suicidal ideation. Further treatments are available to counter paranoia, schizophrenia, sexual pathology and sociopathy.”
“Wh-what? I don’t—I-I’m fine. I’m fine. I’ll be fine once I’m home.”
He is never believed nor listened to.
Shadows hang over his bed, and a voice asks him, over and over again:
What are the Hunger Games?
“They are life and death,” Izuku answers the voice, “Hunger and thirst. Fear and fight. Weakness. Dependence. Cowardice. Love and hate. The instinct to survive. They’re everything.”
What are the Hunger Games?
“There is no one answer,” Izuku replies, “Because there is more than one way to play the Game.”
What are the Hunger Games?
Izuku frowns angrily, and doesn’t answer. Will they ever be satisfied? They don’t care what he has to say anyway. But the voice is so insistent, so annoying, and he has a feeling that he will not be allowed to move, he will not be able to leave this place, unless he answers. So finally Izuku cracks, and he lets out a sour laugh.
“They are a time for repentance and a time for thanks,” he recites, wryly.
The shadows spread out, and then he’s no longer in a dark hospital, but walking through tangled darkness, approaching a fire in the woods. Then he hears the snuffling and hoarse calls of the wolf mutts. One of them jumps out from the trees and lands on four feet, then rises onto two. A creature with ash blond fur and red eyes, with claws for his weapons, not a bow and arrow. He tears into Izuku with them, ripping open the flesh high up on his left thigh, crushing his right hand under his massive paw. And then he cracks open Izuku’s chest and eats his heart whole.
Then the creature is gone, and Kacchan is kneeling over him, his mouth stained blood-red. He caresses Izuku’s cheek with a gentleness he can no longer trust.
Trust me, Kacchan whispers to him.
I can’t, Izuku tries to say, but his mouth doesn’t move.
Izuku blinks and then there is a hand closing around his neck. Another shoves cold berries into his mouth and then colder lips clamp down on his own and force him to swallow them. Izuku chokes for breath, and darkness settles around him…
And then he wakes up, his body frozen in place. For a moment, it feels as though he’s missing all his limbs. Slowly, his blood starts to flow again, with a painful kind of tingle, and then his breath bursts out of him, ragged and frantic.
His heart, somehow still inside of him, not devoured, is racing.
Izuku digs the heels of his palms into his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. It was just a nightmare, he reminds himself. He can’t start thinking this way. He has to keep things in perspective. Before the reaping, he and Kacchan were nearly strangers, thrown together in a situation impossible to imagine. Kacchan saved his life, and he didn’t have to, but he did. That had to count for something.
And even if that meant Kacchan wasn’t in love with him, what is true today may not be true next month, next year. Five, ten, fifteen years from now, Izuku might fall in love with someone else (unlikely) or Kacchan might feel differently about him (even more unlikely). The only thing Izuku can do right now is concentrate on what’s coming next. Take this one hour, one day at a time. There will be Capitol cameras when they get back home. He’s still in the endgame, now in check, but there’s still a few moves before this game is finished.
Going back to sleep is impossible, so Izuku sneaks out of his room around dawn and gets some hot chocolate, taking it back to his room and slurping it slowly. It helps him feel a tiny bit better, but his mind seems to fear sleep now, so his attempts to nap are fitful, and he keeps snapping awake before any dreams can come.
By the time they’re crossing the fence of District 12, Izuku is still tired and depressed, unable to scrounge up any excitement or happiness at the thought of home as the familiar green trees close in around him. He really wishes that he hadn’t pried, that he had just waited to speak with Kacchan until after they got home, after whatever celebrations that await them on their return, because Izuku truly doubts his ability to pull off any kind of act. He’d laugh at the irony of it all, if he wasn’t soaked in such sadness.
When Izuku comes out to the dining car and sees Kacchan standing by the door and watching the station come into view in the window, it’s only a sense of defeat that comes to Izuku. He comes up to Kacchan’s side and Kacchan looks at him, the light of home on his face. Izuku offers him a small nod. Kacchan looks eager, concerned, and exasperated all at once. He is confused; that part isn’t a lie, or an act. Izuku wasn’t a part of Kacchan’s old life, not for many years, not in any way that mattered. And now Kacchan doesn’t know what to do with Izuku, where to put him and Izuku’s love for him, the kisses that Kacchan was not entirely indifferent to, and the things they lived through together that nobody else will ever be able to understand.
It’s odd, the difference perspective brings. They’re back to being strangers now, but before, they were allies, playing two different games. Izuku was so preoccupied with making sure the Capitol didn’t make his moves for him, that he didn’t notice, or maybe he didn’t even care, that he had still allowed himself to become a piece in someone else’s game.
There were multiple games being played at once, not just by Izuku, or Kacchan, or even the Gamemakers—rescinding their offer to allow two victors, only for Kacchan to outsmart them one last time—but Toshinori as well. Izuku doesn’t know if he predicted just how successful the strategy of the star-crossed lovers would be. Izuku provided the groundwork, a decision to lay down his own chance at winning for the possibility of ensuring Kacchan’s victory. But Toshinori had a more subtle plan, teasing a love story out of the alliance from the beginning, before Izuku ever made his intention of self-sacrifice known. And so, when he and Kacchan met again in the arena, all they had to do was pretend to fall in love, right there in front of everyone’s eyes.
The complication is, Izuku really did fall in love with Kacchan. And he was honestly more than a little in love with him to start out with. And Izuku really did believe that Kacchan had fallen for him, too. Maybe it’s all pretty minor in the big picture of things. They are alive, and soon they will be safely back home in District 12. They saved each other, and they’ve been through something together that has intrinsically connected them for life. They will never truly go back to being strangers, and maybe Izuku should just try and take some comfort in that, at least.
The gray, battered train station is so small compared to its Capitol equivalent. Izuku can see a crowd of people outside the windows—not just their families; it might be nearly the entire district. And there’s also people from the Capitol; faint sunlight catches on the lenses of their many cameras.
Izuku reaches out his hand, and glances at Kacchan, who looks down at the offered hand and then up at Izuku, unsure and apologetic. And upon seeing that expression, there it is again: that foolish little speck of hope, a tiny little spark in his chest, fluttering faintly, ready to reignite at any moment. His heart is broken into little pieces, but not irreparable. He will glue it back together, over and over, and let Kacchan throw it to the ground, crush it under his heel, shatter it apart again and again, so long as that spark remains.
“One more time?” Izuku asks, “For the audience?”
Everything looks different—he looks different, hobbled and thinner. His emotions have undergone some kind of inverse operation, where happiness can only be viewed with suspicion, while sadness and anger feel natural. Izuku’s only recourse is to encourage the numbness. To push down the darker emotions, and try and smother that flickering little spark in his chest.
But then Kacchan takes Izuku’s hand and grips it tightly, just the way he did before, and the warmth of his palm causes something to glow through his gray despondency, threatening to turn that tiny spark right back into a roaring flame.
END OF BOOK FIVE
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