Chapter Text
The grass feels nice, Izuku thinks, as he spreads out like a starfish in the school's backyard. No, not a starfish. If Izuku was a starfish, he would be a very dead and very dry starfish by now.
Speaking of dryness, his hands feel itchy. Dry season? Dry season. Dry season is also nice, though. The grass won't feel this nice if it's damp. But Izuku likes rain, too, likes the way droplets of water fall on his face.
Clouds are nice. White and fluffy. Like a cotton candy. He likes cotton candy. He likes candy. He likes sweets in general. Sweets are also nice.
The blue sky is nice. Blue and white is a nice combination. Maybe that's it. The sky is blue because the clouds are white. Or is it the other way around?
Birds are nice. Izuku likes their chirps. Such loud chirping sounds coming from such small frame. He wonders if they can chirp louder.
He absently wishes they would chirp louder.
Why does he feel tickling...? Oh yeah, the grass. The grass feels nice.
What else is nice?
"Deku."
Ah, Kacchan's voice. Kacchan voice is really nice. Kacchan's voice has always been nice.
"Why thank you. Your voice is annoying."
Oh, did Izuku say that out loud?
"No shit." A snort. And a face appears, with striking red orbs staring straight into his own green eyes.
Red. Red is nice. Red is Izuku's favorite color.
"Kacchan."
"You skipped lunch." Because he doesn't feel like eating today. He already had some days that he didn't feel like eating before. His throat feels tights. Everything's hard to swallow. Today is just one of those days.
"I forgot."
"No, you didn't." There's something in Kacchan's eyes. Izuku can't tell what it is. "You skipped breakfast too."
So Kacchan noticed. Izuku's not so surprised. - Kacchan always knows. It's Kacchan. Now Izuku feels bad for lying to him.
Thud. A box of orange flavored milk is dropped on Izuku's stomach.
"At least drink this." Ah, Kacchan is worried about him. Izuku feels even worse. He hates making people worried. He especially hates making his mom and Kaccha worried. He-
"Stop it." Kacchan suddenly drops on his knees, and rough fingers find themselves around Izuku's wrist with care and softness that Izuku knows Kacchan has but rarely shows.
"Huh?"
"You're gonna hurt yourself." Now that Kacchan has said it, Izuku stares at the slightly red and white lines on the back of his hand. No wonder he feels itchy. He's been making it worse.
Anyway, those lines look very fascinating. Why do they look so fascinating? Red and white is a nice combination too, Izuku thinks.
"You're hopeless." A sigh. And then pain. His stomach hurts. Something just dropped on his stomach again. Something heavy. And warm. And hairy. And-
"Of course it's hairy, nerd. I'm not bald."
"Your head is heavy, Kacchan."
"Don't be a wimp, Deku. You lifted Shitty Hair and Dunce Face, each on one hand last Wednesday." Yeah he remembers. He doesn't understand why they still gushed about it today. It's not a big deal.
Izuku buries his left hand into Kacchan's hair. He pokes at the tip, twirls each curl, rubs them between his fingers. Poke. Twirl. Rub. Repeat. This feels nice. Honest to god nice. Kacchan's hair is soft. So soft despite its spiky appearance. Izuku likes the texture.
Clouds drifting. Birds chirping. Warm breaths and dry air mingling. Hearts beating. As time ticks their lives away.
A comfortable silence.
"What are you thinking?" Izuku can hardly hear Kacchan's question over the buzzing in his ears.
"...Nothing. I think."
"Hm."
One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. And counting.
"...Then what are you hearing?"
"...Something like flies."
"Flies?"
"Static. I don't know. Everything's so loud yet so quiet. Like background noises."
"Hm."
"I know it sounds stupid."
"...Have you talked to the idiots?"
"Don't call our friends idiots, Kacchan."
"Don't change the subject, then."
"I haven't. I don't think I can explain properly to them anyway. How can I, when even I myself don't know why I'm like this."
"It's a bad day, Deku, not rocket science. Simple as that."
"I don't want to make them worried."
"They're gonna be worried anyway. Because they care about you."
"But I-"
"And yeah, maybe they won't fully understand. Maybe you won't be able to tell them. But they're not gonna push. They just want to be there. For you. With you." Kacchan grabs his right hand, his scarred and dry and nail bitten right hand, presses a thumb into his palm. And something warm and fond blooms in Izuku's heart.
"Are you one of them too, Kacchan?"
"I don't fucking know what the fuck you're talking about."
Has Izuku said that Kacchan's hair feels good? And he likes having his fingers played with too. He likes both. Both at the same time are nice.
"Are your hands hurt?" Kacchan abruptly asks.
"No? What's wrong?"
"They're cold." Izuku suddenly awares how Kacchan has been slowly heating up his hand and starts stroking each of his knuckles in circular motion, tender and careful. And that precious feeling inside him increases tenfold.
"I have seven ghosts with me twenty four seven. Don't judge me."
"Seven and a half."
"All Might is not even half dead."
"Yeah yeah." Izuku smiles, lightly and privately. And as he focuses on the feeling of his hand in Kacchan's warm one, Izuku can't help but think...
Kacchan's hands are nice.
And Kacchan smiles, too. Breathtakingly soft and fond and beautiful.
"Tell me something I don't know, nerd."
And tell Kacchan he does. About color theory and flowers and that new psychology book. About everything and nothing at all.
Kacchan's hand never leaves his.