Chapter Text
Five Months, Four Days, Twelve Hours Since Deku Left for America
Eijiro likes to consider himself a mostly calm presence. At least since he'd gotten his hero license and sat through every long-winded lecture from All Might about reassuring other people with a smile. When he was younger, there were too many doubts in his mind to make himself a safe presence, someone to turn to when everything else seemed dire. He was scared, and it was hard to be scared and courageous—hard to move past the thought that someone else might do it better.
Now, at twenty-five years old, Kirishima Eijiro can safely say that people do turn to him, they trust him to take care of things. Whether it be strangers, friends, or even a villain he’s just cuffed asking him if he would just scratch an itch real quick?
And is he the best person to go to? No, probably not. His friends are a lot brighter than him, less worried, and even stronger, sometimes. There’s usually someone else who could handle Eijiro’s responsibilities with a grace that he lacks.
But it’s safe to say that no one is harder than he is, no one is sturdy enough to deal with this.
If he’s good for anything—it’s keeping Bakugo cool, or, at least, from hitting anyone else with an explosion powerful enough to burst a few eardrums.
Not that he ever thought that Bakugo would need him for anything.
It's a bit strange to wake up to Bakugo's deadly morning rage, even four weeks—a month already?—into it, but at least he's not wallowing all alone, Eijiro thinks, as he narrowly avoids getting hit in the face by a chopstick Bakugo just tried to impale him with.
All Might never said that the people he was helping would try to burst one of his lungs, to be fair.
"Woah," he says, putting on an easy smile. This is where Eijiro comes in especially handy, with his experience, training, and years of dealing with Bakugo Katsuki. Luckily, he is a licensed hero, and even luckier, his quirk is made for Bakugo's incredible aim. Eijiro is barely bothered, at this point. "Did my kitchen do something to you, man?"
"It's fuckin’ ridiculous," Bakugo answers, mumbling under his breath. His brows are furrowed, muscles already tense. "What kinda idiot keeps knives right next to the sink? They’re gonna rust. And your cheap knives are already dull.”
At this point in their friendship, after years of watching Bakugo rant with cautious concern in his eyes, Eijiro mostly tunes him out. "Coffee?" he asks, sneaking beside Bakugo to grab a mug.
It’s because they’re friends and because Eijirou is good at this, if nothing else, that Bakugo doesn’t immediately punch him in the face. Or ruin another phone by throwing it across a room. Or destroy Eijirou’s kitchen.
Instead, he pivots, and doesn't answer him, but mumbles another shitty idiot under his breath, and continues to mindlessly--viciously?--chop some unrecognizable vegetable on the cutting board in front of him.
And Eijirou already knows that he's not making them breakfast because for the past three and a half weeks Bakugo has relentlessly and meticulously meal-prepped every morsel of food the two of them have put in their mouths at least three nights before the day of consumption.
Seriously, last week Eijirou had to pretend he had extra paperwork just so he could sneak out after work to get ramen with Mina.
If anyone asked him, Eijirou might tell them that Bakugo just needs someone to take care of. Someone to tend to, besides himself. That he needs something to focus on, and work isn’t working, at the moment.
He wouldn’t tell them that he’s worried, though. That Bakugo is getting worse, instead of better, and that he’s reached the point where if sixteen-year-old Eijiro were here, he would notice no difference in his current best friend from the angry, detonate-at-any-given-moment teenager he'd been at that age.
Eijiro is a good friend, and he’s not going to air Bakugo’s issues out to anyone who’s merely curious. Not even when Mina comes over, riling Bakugo up—not that it’s hard—before they go hide in Eijiro’s room. He just feigns indifference when she asks, muttering something about the other man being grumpy.
Eijiro is a good friend. This is why he's not even slightly irritated at the man being here, in his apartment, when both of them know that Bakugo has his own house, with his own kitchen, and own rotting vegetables to mutilate.
He likes being there for his friends, after all, and Bakugo doesn't take help lightly. Eijiro could get Hanta to strap him to a chair and demand that he start talking, but Bakugo would probably just blow up a building before he even considered it. Eijiro might survive that—might—but it’s unlikely that anyone else would.
His best friend has been looking rough, lately, though. It's not even the anger or the constant irritation that anyone with eyes could see on Bakugo's face. After spending three years in a dorm with him, Eijiro is actually pretty used to that.
It's something about his breathing, something about the dulled edge to his anger, even if it has increased. And Bakugo loves his space, he loves escaping from all of them, flipping everyone off as he walks away.
But he's been in Eijiro's apartment for the past four weeks, he's been desperate to be with someone.
And, not that he'll say it out loud, especially not to Bakugo, but Eijiro knows exactly why.
They all do, really. But no one wants to be murdered on the spot for merely mentioning it—for bringing him up.
Eijiro tried once, three months ago, to broach the subject. He'd asked lightly, after his friend had already finished one beer, on a day where he seemed almost pleasant. Bakugo got up from the bar they were at and didn’t speak to him for a week, ignoring all efforts to reach out afterward with an efficiency that only Bakugo has.
He’s changed since sixteen, sure, but not that much.
All of it to say, it’s the reason Eijiro already knows why Bakugo is so upset this morning before he's had to deal with any of the shitty student interns or useless sidekicks at work. Because Eijiro has learned to be vigilant when Bakugo is constantly around, and he spent fifteen minutes laying in bed, on his phone, listening to his friend bang around in his kitchen before he got up.
They've both seen the news.
Still, Eijiro waits until he's taken his first sip of coffee before he asks. He already knows that they both need it.
He pauses before he speaks, wondering how far he should go today—does he want more wasted produce or an explosion to the face? Or nothing at all, at best—worst?
"Did something happen?" Eijiro asks, eventually, once he’s decided that Bakugo is docile enough. He says it mindlessly, the same way he might make small talk with the receptionist at his doctor's office.
But Bakugo was third in their class, unfortunately, and he's never been an idiot.
"Quit smiling," is all he says, scoffing as he swipes the pile of mush on his cutting board into the trash. "It's not even six in the morning.”
It is noon in America, though.
"Just wondering," Eijiro shrugs, still smiling. He knows that Bakugo doesn't really mind (he doesn’t) and that his friend appreciates the support, and the effort, even if he won’t admit it. (Eijiro doesn’t really know that either).
"Thanks for breakfast."
Bakugo just huffs, walking around the counter, over to the couch so that he can grab his gym bag.
Really, Kirishima doesn't mind not having a living room. He doesn’t mind that he can’t sit on the couch to watch TV without being kicked in the face, or that he can’t leave his shoes in the middle of the room without being called a goddamn slob.
In fact, he kind of likes this--in another universe, he and Bakugo would've been good roommates. In another universe where Bakugo didn't seem like he was deteriorating every day that passed.
"Already heading out?" He asks, checking the time, brows furrowing. Bakugo usually doesn't leave for another hour, at least, and they'll eat breakfast together before either one of them dares to enter the real world.
It’s the only time of day Eijiro can really prod at the man without it turning into a fight. And he likes eating with his best friend.
"What are ya,” He scoffs. "The old hag? Don't time me."
"Did you even get any sleep, man? Really, I can cover a patrol if you--"
"Shut the fuck up, Kirishima."
Eijiro closes his mouth. Bakugo doesn't need him to push today--not today, certainly, and not like this.
Bakugo's face is pale, eyes furious and somehow faded, he keeps clenching his fists as he stuffs things into his bag, rushing so that Eijiro can't observe him any more than he already has. He hates feeling like an animal in a habitat.
And he doesn’t want to be reminded of any headlines. He’s probably going to yell at a reporter again today, and then complain when it’s his name all over the news instead of Midoriya’s, even if that’s the better outcome for everyone. And Bakugo will complain again when he has to deal with another passive-aggressive email from his publicist.
Eijiro is sure he'll hear about that if nothing else, but it does nothing to ease the concern pitting in his eyes, the thought that he should just do something. Isn't that what being a friend is about?
It's only once Bakugo's at the door, socks bunched at his ankles, jacket thrown on haphazardly that Eijiro speaks again, mouth bitter from his coffee. "You could call him, you know?"
Bakugo looks back, but the red in his eyes is cool, if that’s possible, and he's not even angry when he says: "I don't need Deku."
If he's lying, Eijiro won't say anything. He's always been a good friend.
Twenty days, Four Hours Since The Final Battle
Midnight's funeral is unusually sunny.
It happens on a Wednesday, less than three weeks since Tomura Shigaraki was killed and the remaining members of the Paranormal Liberation Front were apprehended. Far later than it should've ever happened--but wars don't typically adhere to the schedules of others.
It should be raining.
This is all Izuku can think of as he attends her wake, standing with his classmates and shaking like he's cold.
And he remembers that first day, almost two years ago now when All Might had changed the weather with a single Detroit Smash. It was sunny that morning too, before anything had changed, and then it rained because life isn't stagnant, it doesn't wait for anyone to regulate, or get comfortable.
Izuku Midoriya doesn't feel uncomfortable, exactly. He just feels stuck.
It's strange, how he hadn't thought about any of it in the hospital, in that one room where no one could interrupt his unusually calm mind, his fulfilled heart.
He's standing somewhere in the middle of the crowd, with friends and family at the front, and a group of grateful civilians at the front. It doesn't remind him of Nighteye's funeral--the first person he felt he should have saved--but that might be because his head was so much clearer that day. Though Izuku can't remember if it was raining or not. He just remembers standing by All Might and Fat Gum, glad that Eri was safe, at least.
You're a murderer, someone whispers, voice raspy and broken.
Izuku doesn't think it should be sunny for a funeral. In movies and comics, it's always raining, on days like this. Because grief deserves some outside factors, people deserve to hide their tears because they're already wet. The sky should mourn their loss too.
You're a murderer, Izuku thinks. And he probably shouldn't be standing here, but he loved Midnight just like everyone else, and he would never allow himself to miss this ceremony dedicated to her--even if it hurt, even if he really doesn't belong.
There are a lot of things he hasn't earned, but they've happened anyway. There are a lot of people who deserve so much more, and will never get it.
It's all retribution in a way, and just because Izuku is having a hard time grasping it--being locked in by his teachers and friends and mom--doesn't mean it matters less, that he matters any more. It's strange that being a hero seems to change with every breath Izuku takes, from being to someone who saves others, to being someone who never lets anyone else down.
Will his heroism end in death too?
Probably. That would be a good way to die.
Uraraka is standing on his left, Iida on his right, Todoroki somewhere further behind. All of them had grim smiles on their faces this morning, dressed to the nines, but they smiled at him nonetheless. He kind of wants to hold Uraraka's hand because he can hear her sniffling, but he doesn't. He doesn't want to let his clammy palms ruin any part of her skin and also doesn't want to float away.
Kacchan is somewhere, Izuku thinks, but he hasn't seen him in at least a day, now. He's probably not crying. Maybe he finally wore a tie, though.
There will be many more funerals to come. Izuku is planning to go to all of them, even if he's not quite sure that he deserves to. It'll be sunny for those, too.
Midnight was more than a hero, Izuku thinks, just briefly.
Eight Hours, Thirty-Six Minutes Until Second Year Begins
The first time Katsuki finds him, it's at Ground Beta.
Two weeks since they've both been released from the hospital--Katsuki with a heart monitor, Izuku with a new haircut--and returned to UA.
Some of their other classmates had already settled in. After three weeks of volunteers cleaning up the remains of the U.A. grounds that had been obliterated by Shigaraki, and plenty of sweat put in from Cementoss, the dorms had been rebuilt within a week of the final battle. A week after that, students were allowed back on campus.
Of course, that didn't mean that everything was cleared immediately. It took another two weeks for the heroes to officially declare Japan under control and for stronghold efforts to return the escaped prisoners to their confinement. The shelters were still strong, as the rebuilding of surrounding cities would take much longer, but every person that had depended on the protection that U.A. was pitching in to create a new home; somewhere they could all be safe.
Not that Katsuki cared much about that, honestly. People could start burrowing underground like moles and he probably wouldn’t notice. He'd only listened when Deku was mumbling, or when Mitsuki held his face in front of the TV, telling him that he needed to pay some goddamn attention.
But at least he could leave that stuffy hospital room. Katsuki cared about that.
As soon as that doctor had cleared him--droning on and on about how Katsuki shouldn't exert himself, and that he needed to continue his fucking rest for at least another month while they made sure that his useless heart was working properly—Katsuki was jumping out of bed, ignoring his mom yelling at him to slow down, pushing past the guards stationed outside his room so he could escape that place as soon as possible.
Katsuki did have to sit through a long car ride with Mitsuki who yelled at him the whole time, and Masaru who kept reading the stipulations on his annoying hospital discharge papers like he was a robot. He’d prepared for that though—with the help of some headphones he’d bought from the hospital gift shop when no one was looking. All he had to do was flash his I just saved your asses frown and the cashier had basically licked at his heels.
Almost dying has its perks, at least.
And two weeks later, he was beginning to regret leaving that hospital room.
The school had changed in those few weeks. It had been changing for a long time, right under their noses. Literally—because the new security systems had been implemented before Katsuki even knew what One For All was or that All Might was just a liar in disguise.
And once again, albeit with even more trauma than the first time, all of it had shifted while he was looking someplace else. Every inch of building, foundation and greenery had been restored. Katsuki didn't even dare to think about how many days that it probably took, or how many sleepless nights all of the volunteers had to endure.
He fucking hated feeling grateful.
Katsuki thought back to when school started, and it was easy to see how the air had shifted, the greatness that had once lingered being placed with a sort of desperation, helplessness that Katsuki had promised he’d never feel.
Everybody was safe, sure, but no government officials or declarations of peace could shake the memories of millions of people, all scared out of their minds, or erase the lives that had been lost, living in those memories.
People wouldn't forget that they needed to be saved, nonetheless by some kids who had no business being in charge. Even though the biggest threat to Japan had been eradicated, it wasn't as simple as everything just going back to normal.
Katsuki didn't pay much attention—or any at all—when Aizawa or the tiny rat were talking, but he knew that things needed to be revived. And not just the buildings, either, but the hearts, the faith of everyone who had lost faith in the heroes, the empty places where All Might, Hawks, and Endeavor used to reside.
And Katsuki would sure as hell take all three of their spots, and surpass them, too, if anyone asked.
But no one had asked him, and things were changing so drastically every day that Katsuki hadn't even found the time to tell any of the extras that.
Six weeks after All For One was defeated, things were still strange and out of order, and classes were supposed to start back up in the morning.
Katsuki would be lying if he said that it wasn’t weird. And he’d never been a liar.
They'd be second years, evidently, even though it hadn't been all that long since Katsuki had just gotten accepted to U.A. like he always knew he would, hologram of All Might smiling at him like a dork, making him feel like he could accomplish much more than just number one.
Not that he would ever tell All Might that. The old man was just like Deku, and he'd probably cry if Katsuki even mentioned it. And then hack up some blood and try to hug Katsuki again.
He got in bed early that night like he always did, but it didn't really matter anymore. No matter how tired he was, how fucking early he tried, Katsuki hadn't slept easily since he'd left the hospital--and the medication that always made him so blissfully drowsy. The same medicine he refused to keep taking at the dorms, for the very same reason.
He wasn’t going to start depending on narcotics now—especially not when he’d already fallen so far behind.
If he did manage to fall asleep at all, he would wake back up within an hour, heart racing from nightmares that he could seldom remember. And it wasn't as if Katsuki hadn't had the nightmares before, after the shit he'd been through, after growing up with a mom like Mitsuki--but these were different.
A trauma response, something responded in his head. Probably something one of the shrinks the teachers had brought to the hospital told him. Not that he’s really listening to those idiots... much. Not like Katsuki’s stellar hearing was his fault.
So the night before he becomes an upperclassman, Katsuki doesn’t bother to lay in his bed for seven hours like usual, he doesn’t try to make himself some tea or do some stupid meditation that never worked.
He decides to leave. To leave his newly refurbished room with all its surface-level shine. To leave the new 2-A building that meant nothing to any one of them. And, for once, Katsuki isn’t even worried about punishment—hell if Aizawa wants to put him on house arrest again, Katsuki will take it as a vacation. He’ll be the best even if he misses the first week of school. He’s already promised that much.
And anyway, doesn’t he deserve some grace? Hasn’t he at least earned that?
It's during this walk, on his newfound rebel strolling, that Katsuki stumbles upon him, eyes trailing to Izuku before he can stop them.
Somehow, that idiot always finds his way to Katsuki, even if he isn’t trying. Or maybe it’s the other way around, Katsuki thinks. Maybe I've gone mental.
This thought isn’t going to go away any time soon, and Katsuki proves it because just as fast as his eyes catch on Deku, sitting there against the building, he’s walking over with double the pace of his usual stride. Three months ago, Katsuki would've walked away…
Now, he can’t find it in him to leave Deku alone. To not remember the nights when Katsuki lay in his bed and missed the idiot like a fucking itch. Now, he walks with purpose.
Not that he was going to admit that, either.
"Oi, why aren’t you in bed?" Katsuki asks, as soon as he’s close enough for Izuku to notice. He can see his breath in the air.
The boy's legs are straight out on the concrete, shorts riding up against his thighs. Deku still has some bandages wrapped around his wounds, the same as everyone else. But considerably smaller bandages than he was wearing the first time Katsuki had seen him in the hospital. He's wearing one of his old All Might shirts, worn at the edges. His mom probably packed it for him.
If it wasn’t for his hair, Katsuki would've thought he looked exactly like the little kid who had always waited for him outside in the mornings, clumsy and perpetually bruised.
Nostalgia is a stupid emotion, Katsuki thinks, sitting down next to Izuku and the dumb shocked look on the boy's face.
Not that Katsuki feels anything other than glimpses of discontent and greatness. Of fucking course not.
"Kacchan," he says, whispering even though no one else is around. "What are you doing here?"
"Could ask you the same thing, nerd," Katsuki frowns at him. "What happened to your shoes?"
"Oh..." Izuku looks down at his feet, wiggling his toes despite himself. At least he’s wearing socks, the goddamned fiend. "I think I, um, sort of forgot them? Maybe?"
Katsuki blinks at him. His jaw is tense. “You forgot them."
Izuku smiles sheepishly, scratching at his neck. "I… might be a little tired."
Katsuki's eyes narrow. He couldn’t care less about Deku’s sneakers. "Are ya going to answer my question, Izuku?"
"Are you going to answer mine, Kacchan ?" Deku smiles, nose twitching, and it looks like a warning sign to Katsuki.
He answers anyway because he's a glorious fucking person. "I'm takin’ a goddamn night stroll. That good enough for you?"
"I thought you weren't supposed to do anything physical for a couple more weeks. Isn't that what the doctor told you? Not to exert yourself?"
"Walking isn’t exertion, idiot. I can fly."
"Endeavor says it's not really flying,” Deku points out because he’s a fucking know-it-all. “Just 'not falling.'"
"Bastard doesn't know what the hell he's talkin’ about," Katsuki grunts, bending his leg and leaning against the wall. Izuku is looking up at the sky, a tiny grin on his face. Katsuki kicks his socked foot.
It's not like it’s the first time he’s left a bruise on the other boy.
Izuku startles, looking over. "What?"
"Your turn."
"Oh. Right," Izuku breathes in again, looking back up. "I don't know. I just can't sleep."
"That doesn't mean you sneak and go stargazing like you’ve got some death wish. D’ya know how many people are after your ass now?”
Izuku’s brow raises, which Katsuki can only see because he’s staring at him. But Deku hasn’t flinched away from his eyes since he climbed into Katsuki’s hospital bed. He's an idiot not to be threatened by Katsuki.
…So, just Izuku then. God, Katsuki should’ve gotten rid of him when he had the chance.
Izuku hums. "You're the one who's on strict bed rest orders."
"Shut up," Katsuki tells him, shaking his head. "Why can't you sleep?"
Izuku sighs. "I don't know."
But Katsuki thinks that he does know.
That Izuku wouldn't admit any of it, even if he did.
It's not like he hasn't noticed the way Deku's been acting since they got out of their hospital ward. It's not like he hasn't seen the way the other boy has been drifting off during their morning meets, the way his eyes glaze over at breakfast and he stares down at his scarred hands with no emotion on his face. The way he forgets his shitty emotional support shoes.
Katsuki got used to him, during those three weeks. He got used to the way the nerd's voice buckled every time he spoke, the way he stared out the window like he was trying to make sense of things. And Deku would whisper things to Katsuki, periodically.
Who is Izuku whispering things to now?
Katsuki has been paying attention. They’ve been stuck inside for a whole week with nothing else to do, so yeah, he’s been watching the other boy.
He's seen Izuku looking in the mirror after he showers, has watched his fingers graze over the blunt cut of his hair, the new marks on his face. He's watched Deku's smile go from a thousand watt, to a flicker, to fucking shattered in the span of thirty seconds.
And Katsuki knows that he's not getting enough sleep because he's always awake in the morning when Katsuki gets up. He's messing around in the common room or muttering to himself at the table. And Deku doesn't go to bed at night until everyone else already has. Like he wants to make sure that they're all tucked in and safe in their beds before he falls apart.
Katsuki knows because he's right there next to him. Because he's known Deku since he was four years old and holding onto Katsuki's hand even when it started to spark.
He's been there since Deku was a kid, and despite all of the things that he's learned how to do, all of the strides he’s made with and without a quirk, Deku never learned how to take care of himself. How to admit that anything wasn't okay—how to feel okay if something wasn’t.
He's not whispering to anyone. He's thinking all by himself, leaving everything trapped in that air filled head of his. Just like Katsuki has told him not to do, just like Katsuki always knew that he would.
Because it’s a part of who Deku is, the stone-headed masochist. It’s the idiotic selfishness and shrinking that makes him a hero—that makes him Deku. Katsuki wishes he could feel some envy, could yearn to become the type of person that Deku is.
But Katsuki can already see Izuku running himself into the ground. He sees the boy going full force into everything, no consideration for his bones, for whatever will step in his way.
He’s not fucking envious of that.
Katsuki is already tired tonight, his arm hurts, and he's never known what to say to Izuku. How to get him to think.
So he doesn't say anything. He just nods. Izuku has been having nightmares just like Katsuki has, and that's fine.
Everything is going to be fine, for a while. As long as they're both breathing, it's fine.
Or maybe it's not. Even Katsuki's too tired to make sense of anything. He's good in the quiet, but he's never been good with Izuku.
Someone else will talk to him, Katsuki thinks. A friend.
"Hey," Deku says when no one has said anything for just a second too long.
Katsuki grunts.
"I'm sorry that I missed your birthday."
Katsuki's brows furrow and he looks over to Izuku with a fierceness on his face, ready to yell at the boy, but there's no green to direct it at, no smile to yell away, so it all fades.
That’s been happening a lot lately.
Katsuki swallows, scoffing. "You should be," he tells him. "You're the only one who didn't get any of my All Might cake."
Izuku looks over, his brows confused. "All Might? R-Really?"
"Yup. Golden Age."
The nerd's fucking lip wobbles. "Really?" he repeats, so sadly.
Katsuki snorts, shoving Deku’s face away. "No, idiot. Who was gonna make it when everyone was busy worrying about your wimpy ass?”
Deku has the nerve to look relieved, cheek twitching. "Sato probably would've, if you—if you asked him."
"If I ever ask Sugar Rush for anything you need to kill me because some villain probably tampered with my head. I'll make my own damn All Might cake,” his voice is rough, so he adds, “and Im not sharing with you.”
Izuku laughs, pushing Katsuki's hand away. "I don't think your doctor would be happy to hear that."
"What’re you tryna say, dumb nerd?"
"That it’s a lot of sugar… and it would probably take a while."
"I bet I could do it in an hour."
Izuku smiles. "I know you could. Kacchan can do anything,” he says so simply that it echoes. "I want cake now," he whispers, tilting his head back up to the sky.
"I'll make you a cake," Katsuki blurts out before he can really think about it. But it must sound like enough of a threat because Izuku doesn't answer. He only nods, kind of like he doubts that Katsuki could keep any promise he makes. That he could do anything just for the hell of it.
Deku probably thinks that Katsuki would poison the thing, just for fun.
It makes Katsuki want to yell at him, but he refrains. He's supposed to keep his heart calm, according to his pompous doctor. What about a medical degree means that the guy knows Katsuki’s body better than he does?
"I was thinking about him today," he tells Deku instead because it's the only thing he can think of. And it’s his turn to break the air.
"All Might?" Katsuki nods. "Why?"
“I won’t be able to surpass him anymore.”
Izuku hums, fingers tapping at his leg. “Oh… yeah. I forgot about that.”
Katsuki scoffs. “‘Course you did.”
Izuku only smiles. “Kacchan can still be number one, though. You promised.”
“Tch. Yeah, I did. And you’re gonna stand back and watch me do it,” Katsuki says, another promise he’ll probably break. “…isn’t the same.”
“Yeah,” Izuku looks up. His face is a mirror of the sky, stars thrown across his cheek in some disarrayed pattern. “All Might already thinks you’re better than he ever was anyway.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes. “That’s because he’s like you, idiot. He’s still insecure after being the best for decades. Fuckin’ Symbol of Peace, and whatever.”
Izuku looks at Katsuki abruptly, with wide eyes. His mouth opens, then shuts, and after a moment, Izuku fucking giggles—all light and airy.
“Huh,” he whispers, under his breath, almost like he’s startled.
Katsuki stares. It shouldn’t be strange that the nerd is laughing, it shouldn’t be strange that Katsuki just made him laugh.
But it is. Whether that’s because of post-traumatic stress or a shithole of history, Katsuki doesn’t know.
“He—“ Izuku shakes his head, grinning. “He does have confidence issues. I mean, I guess I already knew that but… That’s really crazy.”
Katsuki bares his teeth, despite himself. “Right? Society basically went to hell after he retired and dumb old man still thinks he hasn’t done enough.”
“Do you think U.A. sent him to the mandated therapy sessions?” Izuku leans in, voice amused.
“No, but they fucking should. Idiots.”
“I think all heroes should probably go to therapy,” Deku tells him, just because. He probably makes out with his therapist's shoes after every session, the sentimental idiot. “You know, with all of the bad things they see every day.”
Katsuki nods regardless. “Should be a job perk, or what-the-fuck ever. Tack it on to the insurance. All the best heroes have dumb insecurities anyway,” Katsuki looks at Izuku pointedly, but he’s already looked away.
It’s a bit cold outside, but Katsuki doesn’t really mind. He should, he usually would.
They sit in silence for a minute, just listening to the wind, and looking out at the half-destroyed skyline. It’s strange.
But then Izuku clears his throat. “Do you?”
“Do I what, nerd?”
“Have dumb insecurities?”
When Katsuki looks over, green eyes are already staring at him. And Izuku looks so goddamn sincere, so curious and innocent that Katsuki wants to blow his stupid face off.
But he refrains, just clenching his fist instead. Even though it’s cold, he can feel the sweat gathering on his good hand, just waiting.
Katsuki looks away and snorts. “Of course not, loser. I defy every damn definition of hero.” He shakes his head, meeting Izuku’s eyes so that maybe he won’t hear the lie. The truth. “Always have.”
Izuku merely smiles, nodding to himself and looking down at his lap all pleased. “Yeah,” he breathes. “I guess you have.”
Izuku is watching Kacchan play with his pen when Aizawa walks in.
He's been watching for at least three minutes, almost warming, feeling light like he hasn't in weeks in this familiar position, right behind Kacchan where he can stare all he wants without being berated by the other boy.
It was the only chance he ever got, really. At least since they both got accepted into U.A. and Kacchan still didn't want anything to do with Izuku, even though he'd proven that he wasn't some weak kid like Kacchan always thought.
Kacchan tries to turn the pen, again, switching it between fingers so he can hold it properly, but each time one finger moves, the other falls still, and the pen hits the desk.
It echoes in the room, each time, but that might be because not all of class 2-A has arrived yet. There are no bodies for the sound to bounce off of. Sometimes it falls on the floor, and sometimes Kacchan accidentally grabs it with his other hand, before he even realizes what's happened.
Still, Izuku doesn't frown at this, even when Kacchan does. Even when Kacchan's back gets tense, his jaw clenches, and Izuku can just barely hear him muttering under his breath.
Izuku only stares. If Kacchan bothered to remember that he was there, and turned around, Izuku would probably smile at him. It's a reflex, at this point, and even with the weight lingering in Izuku's body, Kacchan has always managed to impress him.
His hands have always been mesmerizing, even to seven-year-old Izuku who was impressed by the very idea of a quirk, and even though Kacchan can't move his hands the same way he did back then, Izuku still finds this... comforting.
Though, he's almost certain that Kacchan isn't supposed to be working on multi-step movements yet. He went with Kacchan to at least three physical therapy appointments, and Izuku is absolutely sure that Kacchan's doctor told him not to wear out the reattached muscles in his hands, not to agitate the burned-out nerves. He can barely hold the pen still, anyway. Izuku doubts that the other boy is going to stop trying, but he at least wishes that Kacchan would focus on his actual physical therapy exercises instead of working himself up over something so minuscule.
Then again, Kacchan has never been satisfied with anything other than perfection. Izuku wonders if he gets it more from his mom, or his dad, with how meticulous they both are.
Also, Izuku hasn't slept in three days. That might be why he's so focused on Kacchan's hands, the way he's moving them, and the way he flinches every time the pen falls.
Not that Izuku really knows--his thoughts have been straying anyway, at least in the past two weeks. He can barely focus on his own internal monologue, never mind the actions of every one of his classmates. Something must've changed a couple days ago when this started. Izuku runs through the things he's been doing--studying his new textbooks, going to meetings every morning so that Aizawa can give them an update on the status of U.A., sitting around with his class, eating dinner and tasting nothing--but nothing seems out of the ordinary. Nothing big enough to change his mental capacity, at least. Unless he got hit in the head again and forgot about it.
Something else must've changed when he got back from the hospital, he thinks, when he left that safe ground and traded it in for some dorm he'd never even seen before. Even if it does look the same as the old one.
But--no, he doesn't have time to think about any of that. It's pointless anyway, because no matter how much he thinks, how much he runs over every point of the past six months, Izuku finds no new answer.
He's not sure what happened.
Still, his eyes only drift from Kacchan's hands when Aizawa walks in the room, prosthetic newly fit and steps only slightly off. It's no surprise that his teacher has already recovered from his reopened wounds, even if he looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. He usually looks like that.
Izuku only met with him once in the hospital, Kacchan lying in bed, and he wasn't surprised at the quick recovery of his teacher then, either. Aizawa is as strong as Izuku has always wished to be, even if he tries to feign exhaustion at every turn. Izuku has witnessed his teacher not even break a sweat while fighting for hours on end.
He seems comfortable with them, today, at least, not like he's trying to hide anything, not like he's concerned with how slowly everything seems to be going.
In fact, Izuku is pretty sure he saw Aizawa smile at them the other day when all of them were together for the first time in almost a month and he wasn't able to pick out a single voice in the cacophony of chatter. It made Izuku want to smile back at him.
He didn’t, though.
Eventually, Izuku has been staring at Kacchan so long that his other classmates have arrived, too, and he wonders if he accidentally ignored them when they greeted him, like his friends always do, and if they think that he's--
Izuku really needs to take a nap. He's almost gotten used to the constant anxiety and blank mind that comes with his lack of sleep, but he has class now. Notes to take and things to pay attention to. He can't just ignore everything around him forever. How's he supposed to improve like that? Maybe he'll go see Recovery Girl during lunch and ask if he can use a cot for a little while, she probably wouldn’t mind.
"Everyone sit," Aizawa drones out, and everything goes quiet. Even Kacchan drops his pen, sitting up in his chair.
It's kind of nice, listening to everything stop, for once. And as amusing as ever. Even if they've all grown in the past year, they're the same.
Izuku thinks, not for the first time, that he's glad they get to keep Mr. Aizawa for another year. He's a great teacher, and it's a relief to not have to explain their new shortcomings to someone new. His teacher has always cared, besides, and at least they all know one thing for certain.
Izuku follows everyone else, sitting up and blinking slowly at the front of the classroom.
"Welcome to your first day of second year. Congrats, or whatever. We're getting right back to training, so don't expect an easy day. As usual, you'll have classes throughout the morning and then hero training after lunch. Any questions?"
At least some things never change, Izuku thinks, even if most things do.
Katsuki finds him again, like he always does, and it's early morning this time.
His neck usually aches when it’s this early. If he falls asleep by nine, he's awake before the sun rises, trying to get at least an hour of silence, and a jog in, before he has to deal with all of the extras.
This time though, like the last, Katsuki hasn't slept at all. He was doing well, for a couple of nights. But after taking vicious notes in class all day and then busting his ass to get his quirk under control during their hero courses, it wasn't exactly hard to fall asleep.
His hands weren’t cooperating, no matter how many insults he made sure to verbally assault them with. Even Katsuki's good, un-damaged hand was giving him trouble. His body acted like it had some free will over him, like Katsuki wasn’t the one who clawed his way here, gritting through the pain even when his arms and shoulders wanted to give in.
It didn’t matter though. It was hard even when he tried to set off an explosion the size of his palm. No amount of hateful thoughts had changed that. And it didn’t help that everyone seemed to be looking at him, looking for some reminder of success—because no one in the building could just mind their own business.
After all of that, days of the useless re-training and shitty backsliding, Aizawa telling him to sit there where he could keep an eye on Katsuki, and Kirishima giving him weird looks, when he got to his dorm Katsuki almost forgot to brush his teeth before he collapsed into bed. His teeth could rot, for all he cared, as long as he could push through losing ninety percent of his hand functionality.
And the next three days all went the same. He'd ignore everything but class during the day, barely listening to the updates all of their teachers were trying to give--just mindlessly helping with demolition (which he could’ve done so much faster three months ago) and escorting far too appreciative civilians back to self houses and apartment complexes that were being rebuilt.
All of them were working as hard as possible, even after saving everyone. Katsuki didn’t mind that, but he did mind feeling like it was a burden. All of it should’ve been so easy for him.
Tonight should've been the same, with the exhaustion and aching limbs, long hours be damned, but Katsuki found that he could barely close his eyes, never mind turn his brain off. He'd never been prone to overthinking--in fact, he was used to underthinking, to sharing all of his thoughts, good or bad, and being done with it--but something had changed. And not just the rebuilt muscle walls of his heart.
Now, at four in the morning, he needs to get up. Katsuki wants something to drink, he wants someone to hit, and he just wants everything to go back to normal, for once.
He's tired of all of the change, all right? He's tired of having to adjust to something new every goddamn month.
At least on the nights when he can't manage to stay asleep, he can just blame it on nightmares. Hell, maybe he would’ve preferred some wanderlust dream to this, waking up in a sweat and having to make sure that he was still alive instead of not having to wake up at all. It's ridiculous, being sabotaged by your own head.
And it's probably unfortunate for Deku that he's the only one in the common room, unfortunate for him that he always seems to show up when Katsuki is already on the edge of his composure.
When Katsuki walks down the hall, Izuku is on the couch, something playing on the TV--definitely a re-run of something--criss-crossed and looking like he's half delirious.
And what else can Katsuki do except go over to the nerd, pull on his hair, and whisper with his rough I-havent-slept-in-over-twenty-four-hours voice, "Oi, dumbass."
To his credit, Deku at least flinches when Katsuki speaks. And then his eyes drift back, big-ass forehead revealed, and Katsuki is met with a dull version of Deku-green. But as soon as Deku's eyes are on him, he settles once again, and because it's not as dark as it was four nights ago, Katsuki can actually see a little smile that reaches the corners of Deku's mouth.
He pulls on his hair a little harder. As retribution.
"That hurts, Kacchan."
"Good, dumb nerd."
But Katsuki lets go of his tangled hair and uses that same hand to pinch at the fat of Izuku’s cheeks. Not hard, but enough to feel satisfied when Deku blinks away.
Honestly, Katsuki’s just surprised that no minor version of One-For-All is used to smash him away. The nerd looks tired enough to mistake this for an attack, which it obviously is.
Katsuki scowls, letting go. "Did the hand freak turn you into a vampire or something?"
Izuku's eyebrows furrow, and he hangs his neck against the couch back so he can look at Katsuki. "W-What?"
"Have you slept at all in the past four weeks?" Katsuki rephrases, unamused.
"Um... yes?"
"You sure? Because you're turning into a jittery version of Eyebags."
"…You mean Shinso? Hmm, I guess he does look pretty tired all of the time, but I don’t think it has anything to do with how much sleep he gets. It's just--”
"Getting dumber too."
Izuku smiles, just a bit. "That's mean, Kacchan."
"Tch."
Izuku looks back towards the TV. He's watching some old special analyzing quirks. Katsuki's already seen it though, so he's only quiet for a minute.
Yeah, they both know fucking well that Izuku is ignoring the question, and that even if he did answer, he would probably be lying, or downplaying.
Not that any of that matters to Katsuki. If he's got a question, someone is going to answer it. Even if shitty Izuku thinks he can fool Katsuki with half-answers and deflection.
"Can't sleep again?" He huffs when he's finally decided that Izuku has zoned out enough to accidentally admit the truth. Or something close to it. Which he better do or Katsuki is going to punch him in his stupid, nerdy face. The boy knows better than to feign innocence around Katsuki, trying to keep them both from a fight.
If there’s anything that Katsuki is, it’s impatient. It’s why he's so damn good at everything—he can’t stand to be waiting around for improvement.
"You're awake, too, you know. Why are you up?"
"This is when I normally get up, Deku."
"No. Kacchan gets up at five thirty."
"How could I forget that you’re a hyper little stalker?” Katsuki scoffs, he leans over the edge of the couch so that Izuku can see his raised brows. "How would you even know that? I haven’t seen you get up before eight since we were brats and you pissed all over my sheets and cried about it like a baby.”
"That was one time, Kacchan,” Izuku says, absentmindedly rubbing at his eyes. “And I actually was a baby. We were only four. Besides, you broke into my room every morning when we were training with Blackwhip--"
"Oh, when I was helping your ass? Forgot about that, too.”
“Yes, Kacchan is very helpful. I’m really lucky to have him,” and then Izuku tilts his face up, a cheeky little grin staring Katsuki straight in the face.
Stupid nerd . Let it be known that for all of Izuku's sweetness, he's observed Katsuki for far too long to not know that this is going to irritate him.
Which just means that he's being a little shit on purpose. Katsuki should've hidden a bug in his pocket. See how well Izuku likes messing with him when All Might's watching from behind a screen.
“Repeat that to anyone and I’ll kick your ass. Again. Especially Pikachu—If I hear that type of bullshit from any one of the idiots I’m hiding your body someplace they’ll never find, in pieces so tiny they won’t even know it’s you.”
“It’s true though,” Izuku mumbles, not even slightly phased at the threat. “You always help me when I need it.”
Katsuki shakes his head. That's a lie if he's ever heard one. “Shitty Deku. If I wasn’t watching your wimpy ass all of the time you would’ve died months ago. You’re shit at asking for help. Or letting anyone help.”
“I learned from the best.”
Katsuki points a finger at Deku. “I don’t need anyone’s help. That’s the difference between you and me.”
“If you say so,” Izuku murmurs and looks at the TV again.
Katsuki pinches the back of his neck, scowling. No, he’s not irritated, fuck you. Katsuki can do things for other, very important reasons.
Izuku jumps and looks back at him, brows furrowed. “Ouch, Kacchan, what’d you do that for?”
“Go back to your room, Deku, and try to get some fucking sleep. There’s three hours before classes start.”
“I’m not very tired, though. It’ll be fine, I’ll have some tea later.”
Katsuki pinches him again. “Your eyes are almost as red as mine, and caffeine makes your ass jittery on a good day. I don’t wanna hear any more muttering behind me all day just because you’re an annoying idiot who can’t take care of himself.“
“I can take care of myself,” Deku says, so irritatingly sure. “I probably won’t wake up to my alarm if I go to bed now.”
"Then you'll miss class. Like it matters to me. Go to bed at a normal time."
"I'll go to sleep when I'm tired, okay?" Izuku says like he's consoling Katsuki. "But I'm not. Besides, I--I want to finish this movie so I can give it back to Iida. He let me borrow the disc. It's a documentary, actually, Kacchan. You might like it, I think. It's about quirk mutations and why some mutations seem to affect a person's personality. I mean, it's not anything we haven't read in our textbooks, but there are some interesting technical applications that villains use. I should probably take notes, actually. Could be useful. I left my notebook upstairs though, and there are only twenty minutes left. Maybe I could keep it for another day? But I told Iida I watched it earlier, so--"
"Why are you always so fucking useless?" Katsuki asks, finally pushing off of the couch and stomping over to where Izuku is sitting. Instead of yelling at him some more, or making the nerd flinch hard enough to get him back to his room, Katsuki picks up the remote sitting next to Deku and turns the TV off without even blinking.
"Kacchan! I already--"
Izuku yelps when Katsuki pulls him up by his hair, scowling at the greasy feeling underneath his palms. Stupid nerd.
"You need sleep, dumbass. You're crazy enough without it."
"Let go, Kacchan. I'm not crazy, and I'm not tired, either."
"Uh-huh," Katsuki is absolutely not listening. Instead, he’s pulling Izuku along, ignoring the grumbling coming from the other door. He manages to hit the right button on the elevator before Izuku finally squirms from his grasp.
"Kacchan, really?"
"D'ya hear something? Coulda sworn an idiot was buzzing by. Annoying as fuck."
"Really," Izuku repeats, much more monotone now. The brat might even look a little irritated if Katsuki was looking. Which he’s not, to be clear, because he does not care.
It's a little bit interesting, though, Katsuki concedes (fuck off, okay?), how Deku seems to be squirming even more with each floor that passes. And it's even more interesting that Katsuki has noticed this, considering that there are only three floors they have to pass.
But Deku's little frown grows, and the idea of him sleeping seems to get smaller. He doesn't say anything though, because he's always been a hypocrite. Katsuki would have to drag an explanation out of the nerds rotting corpse if he really wanted to know.
Still, Izuku follows Katsuki's stomping down the hall without saying a thing. He doesn't even have to drag the twerp this time.
"You're not listening to me," is all Izuku says once Katsuki opens his door, which is, un-shockingly, not locked. Figures.
"Not my thing," Katsuki says, giving him a sardonic little smirk. Then he motions his hand towards the door. "After you, nerd."
"I want to finish my movie."
"I want to go on my morning run without having to look at your ugly mug. Boo-fucking-hoo."
"This isn't very nice."
"I don't care."
"I'm not going to sleep."
"Your eyebags are telling me something different, that’s for sure.”
"You're making a big deal out of nothing. I know you're not getting a lot of sleep, either. It's normal. There's a lot going on."
Deku is scowling now, like a fucking deku. And Katsuki hates that he's right, but he is, as usual. Still, he's not going to admit that--he's also not going to tell Deku that he’s exhausted, or that he’s seen the documentary and remembers liking the ending.
"Can't remember when I fucking asked. Go to bed, loser."
"I'm not tired."
"Ya know what you are, though? A liar. Goodnight."
It takes one to know one, after all.
And Katsuki turns to go because he knows that they could stand here for at least an hour and a half just yelling at each other before either one of them gained some sense, and even though that would be so fucking enjoyable, he's got shit to do. And nerds to tuck in.
But before he can take a step down the hall, Deku says, "You don't look any better than I do, Kacchan," in a voice that's the closest thing to anger Katsuki's heard from him in months.
For some reason, it reminds him of a year ago, when a much smaller voice told him something not even remotely close.
Thats why I want to beat you! Because you're amazing!
Well, fucking look at him now. Isn’t he just thriving?
"So, what?" He turns, glaring at the other boy. It does nothing because he doesn't mean it. It's kind of a curse, that Izuku hasn’t been afraid of him since then. Since before, even.
It’s so much easier to lie to someone who doesn’t want the truth, Katsuki thinks. And Katsuki could probably get him to talk if Deku was still scared. He could do something then.
"Now, who can’t take care of who?” Izuku asks brows furrowed. “Why are you pushing at me when you should be worried about yourself?”
Katsuki's lip twitches. He tilts his head at Izuku, almost amused. "I'll worry about myself when you do, Deku."
And then Katsuki spins on his heel. He doesn't need to see the look on Deku's face to know that it's perfect. Even if Izuku isn’t afraid of him anymore, Katsuki always knows what to say to push his buttons. That’s just what rivals do.
"Night," Katsuki calls as he walks away, just because he knows that it'll piss the other boy off even more.