Chapter Text
Something was different.
Definitely, something was different.
Izuku knew it three days after the night on the cliff. At first, he tried to convince himself that it was his imagination, a result of accumulated fatigue or the post-war paranoia that still made him analyze every millimeter of his surroundings. But reality was implacable, cold, and constant: Katsuki was avoiding him.
It wasn't the loud type of avoidance from the past, the kind that came accompanied by a scoff, an insult, or a piercing glare warning you not to come near. This was much worse. It was a silent and perfectly calculated distance.
The first clear sign occurred in the dining hall during Tuesday’s breakfast. Normally, when Izuku sat at the common table with his bowl of rice, Katsuki wouldn't take long to show up, and even if they didn't exchange words, he would drop into the chair opposite or a couple of seats away, marking his territory with his harsh presence alone. That day, as soon as Izuku took his spot, Katsuki, who was coming out of the kitchen counter with his plate, paused for a millisecond. His red eyes scanned the table and, without a single gesture of annoyance, turned around and sat at the opposite end, next to Kirishima and with his back to him.
Izuku was left with his chopsticks halfway, feeling a sudden tightness in his throat. The rice tasted like ash.
Then came the classes. Since the beginning of the term, Katsuki had developed the unconscious habit of keeping his head slightly tilted so that his left ear, the one that could still hear, was oriented backward, as if he needed to constantly register the drag of Izuku's pencil or the imperceptible murmur of his notes.
That week, Katsuki's posture changed completely. He sat rigid, his back completely against the backrest and his head tilted toward the window to his right. Izuku spent hours staring at the blonde's neck, waiting for him to turn around out of pure annoyance upon feeling his gaze, as he always did. Katsuki never turned. It was as if Izuku had become invisible.
But what ended up completely baffling Izuku, and what truly set off his alarms, was Katsuki's reaction every time Izuku was near his friends.
Since the night of the collapse, Izuku had been trying to fulfill his promise not to isolate himself. He spent more time on the couches in the common room, chatting with the girls or helping Uraraka distract herself from her own ghosts. However, every time Ochako sat next to him or touched his arm to ask for a note, the atmosphere around Katsuki changed instantly.
The blonde would grow tense in an almost unbearable way. Izuku watched him covertly: if Katsuki was reading at the counter, he stopped turning the pages; if he was talking to someone, his voice became sharper and his answers more monosyllabic. There was a physical and evident discomfort in him, a silent rejection that forced him to tense his shoulders and leave the place within a few minutes, leaving them alone with a abruptness that didn't fit his new maturity.
Izuku was left watching him walk away, his heart heavy. He knew Katsuki wasn't a fan of crowds, but this felt personal. It felt as if seeing them together in the same space caused him a discomfort so genuine that he couldn't stand to stay and watch.
The only thing that remained intact in the way he behaved with Izuku was what happened during the afternoon rehabilitation therapy session.
The infirmary gym was quiet, occupied only by mats, stretchers, and parallel kinesiology bars. Izuku's muscles were still stiff from chronic spasms, so his routine was limited to slow flexibility exercises under the supervision of therapists.
Katsuki was a few meters away, in his own section of the room. He was still strictly forbidden from using his Quirk, since the explosions would generate internal pressure that his newly reconstructed ribs and heart couldn't withstand, so his therapy consisted of grueling joint mobility and controlled cardiovascular strength exercises.
At one point, after a bad twist on the mat, Izuku's left leg gave out and his knee hit the floor with a dull thud. Chronic pain shot up his spine in a blink, making him let out a gasp of pain.
Katsuki didn't take even a second to react. Before Izuku could even rub the area or any doctor could approach, the blonde's silhouette was already in front of him, having crossed the space of the room with feline speed. He knelt without hesitation, gripping Izuku's ankle with a firm, rough yet strangely careful hold, evaluating the joint with that analytical expression Izuku knew so well.
For a moment, Izuku felt the world spin normally again under the warmth of Katsuki's hands.
"Don't force the tendon if the muscle is cold, Deku," Katsuki let out. His voice was low and precise.
"Kacchan, I'm fine, it was just a—"
"I didn't ask you," he interrupted. "If you break it now, the damn doctors' work will have been for nothing. Sit tight for five minutes."
Katsuki released his leg without roughness, stood up, and, without offering a single look into his eyes, turned around.
He walked back to his stretching mat at the feet of his therapist and resumed his practice as if he had just moved an obstacle out of the way, completely ignoring Izuku's existence from that moment on.
Izuku remained sitting on the concrete floor, rubbing his knee, feeling that the cold of the embers dying out inside him was nothing compared to the freezing vacuum of that interaction.
Izuku didn't understand. After the night on the cliff, when he confessed to the class that he was running out of a Quirk, everyone had rallied to hold him up. Even Katsuki had stayed by his side that night. Izuku had thought that, finally, they were building something sustainable between them. He had felt that the constant pulse of Katsuki by his side was the certainty that would keep him from falling into darkness.
And now, without any explanation, Katsuki was still taking care of his body, but he grew uncomfortable seeing him with his friends and had decided to withdraw his company completely, leaving him alone.
Izuku passed a hand over his face, letting his fingers bury themselves in his unruly curls as frustration burned behind his eyes.
Why? he asked himself, feeling a suffocating weight crushing his chest in the solitude of his room. Why now, Kacchan?
It hurt. It hurt in a dull, persistent way that none of his physical scars could replicate. He had believed, with a naivety that now seemed pathetic, that they had finally crossed the line. He remembered the torrential rain, the mud sticking to his frayed vigilante suit, and Katsuki's words breaking in the air as he apologized, bowing his head before him for the first time in his life. He remembered the hospital corridors, the shared sound of their heart monitors, and the way their silences had stopped being hostile and become protective.
He had thought that, after having seen the abyss of death so closely, after Katsuki's heart had stopped and his own had emptied of power, they had finally earned the right to be together. That at last, against all odds, they could be friends.
But it wasn't just about a silly label. Izuku clenched his fists, hiding his face between his knees as he curled up on his bed. Oh, no, the truth was much more raw and selfish: he needed them to be friends. It wasn't a whim, nor a vague childhood desire; it was a necessity. He needed Katsuki to be near. He needed the warmth of his presence not to lose his mind.
And if Izuku was honest with himself, he knew that beneath the admiration and the bond of heroism, hidden in the darkest and most sheltered corner of his soul, existed a feeling he had only dared to name out loud a single time. He remembered perfectly the bitter taste of those words in his mouth, whispered through tears to his mother in the gloom of the hospital, when he flatly refused to leave Katsuki's bedside.
Izuku had never allowed himself to dream of being something more. Never. He knew who Katsuki was, he knew his pride, and he would never have been so bold as to claim a space that didn't belong to him in the explosive boy's life. That was why he kept those selfish feelings under strict control, buried behind a polite smile and his usual shyness, constantly monitoring his own reactions, his glances, and his words to make sure nothing slipped out by accident. He contented himself with the crumbs of a shared normalcy; he contented himself with being his friend, as long as he could have Katsuki near him.
Katsuki was his axis. He had been when they were kids, he had been in the middle of the mud of the war, and he still was now. Seeing the blonde put up distance, tense up and grow uncomfortable over the simple fact of sharing the same space in the common room, or only offer him a few cold words when strictly necessary, made him feel lonelier than he would ever admit out loud.
If after the apologies and having bled together at the end of the world, Kacchan still found a reason to pull away from him... then Izuku didn't know what else he had left to do.
This was going to be the end of them, and he could do nothing about it.
***
Two and a half weeks later, things remained the same, but that day Izuku found himself particularly annoyed.
The announcement from UA's administration had left no room for discussion: mandatory psychological assistance twice a week for all of Class 2-A, with immediate priority given to those who had spearheaded the most critical battlefronts during the war.
Izuku had tried to appeal the decision to Principal Nezu, clumsily arguing that his free time was scarce due to grueling physical rehabilitation sessions and that he felt "perfectly fine."
The principal's silent, compassionate look had been answer enough. He had no escape.
That was why, on this Thursday afternoon, Izuku found himself sitting in a worn leather armchair in one of the campus's provisional offices. The space didn't have the cold look of a hospital, but the scent of chamomile tea and the subtle tick-tock of a wall clock made Izuku feel terribly exposed and anxious.
In front of him, Dr. Shiranui (a middle-aged woman with kind but sharp eyes, whose passive empathy Quirk allowed her to perceive fluctuations of tension in the air without invading the patient's mind) jotted something down on a tablet before looking steadily at him.
"You don't have to be on the defensive, Midoriya-kun," she began in a soft voice, interlacing her hands over her knees. "This is a safe space open exclusively for you. I know you'd rather be in the gym or helping your classmates in the kitchen, but it's just as important to take care of your mind."
Izuku forced a smile, feeling his fingers unconsciously dig into the fabric of his pants.
"It's just... I think there are people in the class who need it much more than I do. Uraraka-san, for example, or Todoroki-kun. Even Kacchan went through very severe surgeries. I'm just... processing the end of the war just like everyone else, that's all. I'm fine."
Dr. Shiranui nodded slowly, without rebutting his argument immediately. She knew by heart the file of the boy sitting across from her: the hero who had offered himself as a human sacrifice to save society.
"It's noble that you continue to worry about your friends' well-being, but this hour is exclusively yours," she pointed out calmly. "You talk about your classmates, about Bakugo-kun's surgeries, about the Quirk fading... but you haven't told me a single word about yourself. How do you sleep, Izuku?"
The use of his first name caught him a bit off guard. Izuku averted his gaze toward the window, watching how the afternoon sun was beginning to tint the UA gardens orange.
"I sleep... normally. Sometimes I wake up early."
"Do you wake up early, or can you not fall back asleep?" she asked, without anesthesia but with a warmth that prevented Izuku from feeling attacked.
Izuku swallowed hard. The wall keeping his emotions under control registered its first fracture.
"It's just... the silence," he confessed in a whisper, looking at his own bandaged hands. "When One For All was there, even in the worst moments, there was an echo. The voices of the past users, the hum of the energy... I was never truly alone in my head. Now that the embers are completely dying out, the silence inside me is... deafening. And when I leave my room trying to look for something to remind me that I'm still here…"
Izuku stopped dead. He had been on the verge of saying, "I look for Kacchan." He had been about to confess that the only way his brain managed to calm the panic of the void was by listening to the blonde's loud pulse or rough breathing in the common spaces. But he caught himself in time, clenching his jaw as the memory of Katsuki's cold distance throughout the week gave him a new sting in his chest.
"What happens when you leave your room?" the therapist insisted, taking note of his sudden change in posture.
"Nothing. Just... that things outside have changed too," Izuku replied, his voice flat and heavy with that melancholy he tried to hide from the world. "My friends are trying to move forward. Everyone is building their own spaces, finding ways to heal... and I feel like I'm being left behind."
Dr. Shiranui observed him in silence for a few seconds, sliding her pen across the tablet with a slow movement.
"You talk about your friends in general, Midoriya-kun," she noted, narrowing her eyes gently. "But a moment ago, when you mentioned the people who went through severe situations, you named Bakugo-kun using a nickname. Can you tell me more about your relationship with him?"
Izuku tensed in the leather seat, feeling a sudden wave of heat rise up his neck. He tried to interlace his fingers naturally, but the tremor in his hands gave him away.
"Kacchan... well, he has always been a constant in my life," he tried to justify, forcing a casual voice that sounded terribly rehearsed. "He's the oldest friend I have. It's normal for me to worry about his recovery. He was on the brink of death in the war, I... I saw his heart stop. It's logical that I'm keeping an eye on him."
"Worrying about a classmate's health is logical," Dr. Shiranui countered, leaning forward a bit, dismantling his defense with a single look. "Tell me, has anything changed between Bakugo-kun and you since you returned to the dorms?"
The question hit Izuku right in the center of his fortress. The memory of the entire week came rushing back all at once.
He felt his throat close up, but the accumulated weight was so much that the words ended up overflowing, rushed and heavy with a sadness that no longer fit in his chest.
"He... he is shutting me out. He doesn't talk to me; he avoids me. He doesn't even want to look at me more than necessary," Izuku confessed, and his voice cracked a millimeter, losing all the control he worked so hard to maintain. "...I thought we were finally good. I thought we could finally be friends. I need us to be friends, doctor. I need him to be close. But now, out of nowhere, he has pulled away completely. I can tell he still cares about how my recovery is going, because his instinct is like that, but then he turns around and treats me like I'm invisible. Like I'm in his way."
Izuku gritted his teeth, swallowing the rest of the sentence. He had been on the verge of confessing the true root of his ordeal: that seeing Katsuki act with that hostile discomfort made him feel like he was about to lose the only thing that gave him hope. That the pain of that rejection was so much it threatened to break the lock on that selfish love he kept secret, the one only his mother knew about. He was terrified that if Katsuki pushed him out just a little further, he would end up confessing everything by accident, destroying the little they had left.
"And why do you think he pulls away?" the therapist asked in a soft voice.
"Because life goes on," Izuku replied, shifting his gaze to his own knees, his eyes blurred by a helpless frustration. "Everyone is finding their own answers. I guess Kacchan is finally spending his time on the things that actually matter to him, on the people he... he wants to have close. And I just have to accept that my space in his life has shrunk again."
Dr. Shiranui wrote down something else, perceiving the immense wall of misunderstandings and repressed emotions the boy had built to protect himself from his own heart.
"I hear you talk a lot about not wanting to bother others," the doctor said. "About not taking up too much space. But when you talk about Bakugo-kun… it doesn't sound like it hurts to lose attention. It sounds like it hurts to stop being expected."
Izuku frowned.
"I don't understand."
She laid the tablet on her lap.
"You say you accept that people move on. But when you talk about him, you don't talk like someone who misses a friend. You talk like someone who is convinced that if he stops looking at you, you disappear."
Izuku opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
"You don't have to answer me anything."
Izuku took a deep breath. She smiled faintly.
"Just think about this." She waited for him to look up. "If Bakugo-kun stops being the point from which you measure where you are… how would you know where to find yourself?"
Izuku didn't answer.
He felt something shifting inside him at being analyzed like that, opened up and exposed, as if he were on a surgical table and they were scrutinizing his inner self. It felt like arriving at a place and discovering that someone had moved all the furniture a few centimeters.
"Assuming other people's motives without asking is usually a silent way of deciding for them, Midoriya-kun… and often a way to protect ourselves from hearing an answer we don't want. Or that deep down we feel we don't deserve," she said, as the clock marked the end of the session.
Izuku lowered his gaze.
The doctor closed the tablet where she had been writing eagerly earlier.
"I don't think you're hurting because Bakugo-kun pulled away," she said calmly. "I think you're hurting because you already decided for him why he pulled away."
Izuku opened his eyes slightly, still in silence, and she continued before he could answer, standing up.
"Your need to have him close is not a problem." She paused for an instant. "What worries me is how much effort you're putting into convincing yourself that you shouldn't have it."
Izuku felt something uncomfortable move inside his chest.
She took the doorknob.
"Think about this until the next time we see each other."
She looked at him one last time and said:
"What part of yourself are you trying to protect when you call everything you desire 'selfish'?"
Izuku remained seated, still and silent, as the doctor gave him one last look.
"We're going to leave it here for today so you can rest, but remember: you don't have to heal in secret, and you certainly don't have to earn the right for people to stay by your side." She offered him a warm smile before continuing. "We shouldn't assume or suppose the reasons why others behave a certain way with us; we all have our own reasons for doing the things we do, so the only one who can tell you exactly why his attitude toward you changed is Bakugo-kun."
With that said, the doctor stepped away from the doorframe so Izuku could exit and conclude the session.
Izuku stood up, his legs still a bit shaky, but feeling that he was leaving that room with more questions than when he had entered.
But for the first time in weeks, Izuku was ready to find answers.
***
Two days later, the bell announcing the end of the theoretical classes resonated through the hallways of UA. Immediately, the classroom filled with the sound of backpacks opening and chairs dragging. Izuku began to pack away his notebooks slowly, taking care not to strain his stiff fingers.
Right in front of him, Kacchan had already stood up. He didn't even wait for Kirishima; he swung his backpack over his shoulder with a swift movement, determined to be the first one out the door. His haste to leave before Izuku could even offer a simple greeting caused a familiar, painful knot in Izuku's stomach.
"Hey, listen, Bakugo! Don't run off so fast, my boy!" Present Mic’s voice cut through the air from the teacher's desk, stopping Kacchan just a step away from the threshold.
Kacchan let out a heavy sigh, turning halfway. His face didn't show his old explosive fury, but rather an expression of deep exhaustion and contained annoyance.
"What is it, Present Mic? I already turned in the phonetics essay."
The English teacher adjusted his sunglasses, dropping his exaggerated energy for a moment to adopt a more serious tone.
"It's not about the essay, Bakugo. It's about your support plan for adapting to your hearing loss," he explained, pointing with his pen to a medical report on the desk. "The medical board and Principal Nezu suggested that you implement the use of basic support signs for tactical training. It's a standard safety protocol for heroes with auditory impairments."
Kacchan gripped the strap of his backpack, his shoulders tensing immediately.
"I can read everyone else's lips perfectly fine if they stand in front of me. I don't need that."
"In the middle of a collapse or with combat smoke, you're not going to be able to read anyone's lips, boy," Present Mic cut him off firmly. "It's not optional. I need you to master the technical rescue glossary and direction commands by Friday. And since the support staff is overwhelmed..." Mic shifted his gaze toward the back of the room, where Izuku had remained static. "Midoriya, you have the basic support certification and you know UA's accessibility manuals, right?"
Izuku blinked, caught off guard by suddenly becoming the center of attention.
"Ah! Yes, sir. I studied the inclusive communication manuals and I practice the rescue sign codes for medical emergencies."
"Perfect!" Mic clapped his hands, completely satisfied. "Midoriya, you're in charge of supervising his practice and making sure he memorizes the variations before Friday. Bakugo, your tutoring starts today. You are dismissed!"
The teacher quickly gathered his things and left the classroom, leaving them in a dense, heavy silence.
Izuku remained standing by his desk, his heart pounding hard against his ribs. But this time, the anxiety wasn't entirely bad. Beneath the nervousness, he felt a small, inevitable spark of relief, almost of joy. We're going to have time to talk, he thought with a flash of hope. UA was forcing them to lock themselves in a room. Kacchan would no longer be able to use his deaf ear to ignore him, nor would he be able to turn away in the middle of therapy. He would have to listen to him. They would have to communicate.
Slowly, Kacchan turned completely toward him. His discomfort was almost palpable in the air. He looked like a cornered animal that didn't want to cause harm, but desperately wanted to find an emergency exit.
"Kacchan…" Izuku began, modulating his voice to sound as soft as possible, trying not to break the fragile truce. "If you want, we can go to the library, or to the third-floor common room, there's hardly anyone there at this hour—"
"No," he interrupted. His tone was harsh, dry, but he didn't yell. He simply sounded definitive, as if speaking took a tremendous effort. "In the common room, the other extras spend the whole time interrupting. We'll do it in my room. It's quieter."
He averted his gaze for a second toward the window, scratching the back of his neck with that rigidity he got whenever he felt exposed, before looking back at him.
"Bring your damn support notes, Deku. I don't have all afternoon."
He didn't wait for a reply. He turned around and walked out into the hallway with his usual heavy stride, but without the haste from a moment ago.
The dorm hallway felt unusually long as Izuku walked a couple of steps behind Katsuki. Neither of them uttered a word during the walk; the only sound filling the space was the rhythmic echo of their sneakers against the floor. When Katsuki opened the door to his room, Izuku entered carefully, holding his worn notebooks tightly against his chest.
Katsuki's room reflected his current mindset: immaculate, ordered in an almost military fashion, but devoid of his old energy. There was no music playing in the background, nor the usual pre-war chaos. Only a heavy silence that set his nerves on edge.
"Sit on the floor," Katsuki ordered in his dry tone, tossing his backpack aside. He dropped down with his legs crossed in front of the low wooden table, resting his back against the base of his bed. "Get out those garbage notes and let's finish this quickly."
Izuku nodded and settled across from him. The distance between their knees barely exceeded fifty centimeters. At this proximity, Izuku could notice the subtle lines of fatigue around Katsuki's red eyes and the slight tremor in his shoulders, a result of the effort to maintain a rigid posture that wouldn't hurt his newly reconstructed chest.
"Right…" Izuku began, clearing his throat and opening the notebook to the technical section. "Present Mic said we should review the rescue glossary and direction commands. UA's tactical sign language is a simplified adaptation. You don't need to spell everything out, Kacchan. It's about key concepts. For example, to indicate <<Imminent danger from the rear>>..."
Izuku raised his hands, positioning his fingers precisely to trace the movement in the air. His hands, covered in thick scars and whitish lines that narrated the history of One For All, moved with a practiced fluidity.
Katsuki didn't move. He didn't interrupt or look away. He merely locked his red eyes onto Izuku's fingers, following every transition with a fixed focus that bordered on painful.
"Now you, Kacchan. Try it," Izuku asked softly, lowering his hands.
Katsuki raised his arms reluctantly. His movements were clumsy, marked by a lack of habit and the accumulated tension from the surgeries on his wrists and arms. He made the sign, but left the position half-done, clearly uncomfortable with the lack of flexibility.
"It's not exactly like that," Izuku corrected. Driven by old instinct, by that need to help him and make things easier for him, Izuku broke the distance and reached out his hands to wrap around Katsuki's. "The angle of the wrist needs to be further to the right, because otherwise, from afar, it gets confused with the sign for <<Retreat>>. Look, put your thumb here and—"
The second Izuku's bandaged palms made contact with Katsuki's warm skin, the blonde tensed up.
Katsuki yanked his hands away, abruptly cutting off the physical contact. He avoided looking him in the eye, locking his gaze onto the corner of the low table.
"I can do it by myself, Deku," Katsuki snapped. His voice wasn't a shout, but a flat, freezing whisper, steeped in a subtle contempt that seeped deep into the room. "I don't need you touching me. Move on to the next damn sign if you're going to do this."
Izuku froze, his hands suspended in midair. Feeling rejected like that, when he was only trying to support him in something so vital to his career as a hero, ignited a spark of annoyed indignation that Izuku rarely showed.
"Why are you like this?" Izuku asked, lowering his hands slowly, but with his fists clenched over his knees. His voice was low, hurt. "I'm only trying to help you with the task you were assigned, Kacchan. You don't have to treat me like I'm a nuisance or something unpleasant you can't even touch."
Katsuki exhaled a sharp breath, crossing his arms without looking up.
"I told you to move on to the next sign. You didn't come here to whine about how I talk."
"It's not just how you talk!" Izuku's voice rose a millimeter, heavy with a sad indignation. "You've been treating me with contempt for an entire week. You turn your good ear away so you don't have to listen to me in class, you change tables if I sit nearby, and today in the common room you turned around as if my mere presence ruined your day. If dealing with me bothers you so much, if I really disgust you or get in your way now that the war is over, why are you the one who makes sure I'm okay the most? Why are you taking care of me while pushing me away?!"
Katsuki ground his teeth, keeping his jaw tight. Frustration and contrariety flashed in his red eyes, but he refused to yell. The room sank into a suffocating tension, broken only by the sound of their ragged breathing.
"I don't despise you, Izuku," Katsuki muttered, his voice so bitter and strained that pronouncing the words seemed to take a physical effort. "Stop making up stupid things in your damn head."
"Then look at me!" Izuku pleaded, and at that point, the annoyance gave way completely to vulnerability.
A first tear, heavy and silent, escaped down his cheek, followed by a small sob that he tried to choke back by swallowing hard. Izuku covered his mouth with the back of his hand, his green eyes completely blurred, fixed on the blonde.
Hearing the subtle sob and seeing the tears run down the freckled face, Katsuki seemed to completely disarm. All the rigid posture, the defensive distance of the past week crumbled in a second. His red eyes widened, losing any trace of coldness, replaced by a pang of pure distress. Seeing Izuku cry because of him again, after swearing to himself that it would never happen again, broke his heart.
Katsuki dropped his shoulders, resting his hands on the table as he leaned slightly forward, his face darkened by a sadness and frustration he could no longer camouflage.
"Damn it... don't cry," Katsuki pleaded, and his voice sounded entirely stripped of pride, low, almost begging. "I don't despise you. I'm avoiding you because... because I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do now when I'm around you."
Izuku wiped his eyes clumsily, sniffling, looking at him without understanding.
"What do you mean?"
Katsuki averted his gaze to the corner of the room again, clenching his fists with a helplessness that tore at his throat. The truth spilled from his mouth, steeped in deep melancholy.
"I'm talking about the night on the cliff," Katsuki confessed in a barely audible whisper. "I was up there before the extras arrived. I saw Uraraka crying and I heard part of what you said to each other, how you called her your heroine. I saw you hug... and I assumed you had confessed to each other. That she's your girlfriend now."
Izuku sat frozen, his handkerchief halfway up, his eyes wide open.
"Kacchan…" Izuku's voice dropped to a barely audible whisper, his heart turning over violently inside his chest. "You... you think Uraraka-san and I...?"
"I don't think it, I saw it," Katsuki muttered, looking down at the floor, his jaw clenched and a vulnerability in his eyes that he tried to hide. "It's what I should have expected, right? She's been there since day one. Now you have to occupy your time with her, and it's my turn to take a step back. I'm not going to be the damn extra who gets in the way of your happiness after all the shit we went through. That's why I pulled away," Katsuki said, still looking elsewhere. "I saw that and I thought… that's it."
Izuku frowned.
Katsuki let out a dry laugh.
"Don't look at me like that. It was obvious."
He squeezed his hands.
"She was there. She was always there. I thought… after all this… it was your turn to start looking forward."
Silence.
When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.
"And I didn't know where to put myself."
Izuku stopped breathing for a moment.
Katsuki swallowed hard.
"I tried to give you space. I tried to get used to it."
His jaw tightened.
"But then I'd see you walk into a room and I'd still look for you just the same." He looked up. "And it made me mad at myself."
He didn't add anything more.
The silence that followed Katsuki's words was heavy, but it was no longer a hostile silence; it was filled with a shared sadness and the raw honesty of their respective loneliness.
Izuku felt his heart sink in his chest. The fear of his feelings slipping out vanished upon seeing Katsuki's distress over a silly misunderstanding. A mixture of relief and sorrow flooded his chest.
"Kacchan... you're an idiot," Izuku said in a whisper, his voice still thick from crying, but with infinite gentleness.
Katsuki looked back at him, his eyes narrowed, hurt but without anger.
"Don't start, Izuku."
"Uraraka-san didn't confess to me on the cliff, Kacchan," Izuku explained, moving a bit closer on his knees, seeking to lock his green eyes with the blonde's. "She was crying because she felt guilty about everything that happened in the war, about the civilians, about Toga... We were sharing our pain as survivors. As friends who needed to let it out. That was all. There is no relationship. She isn't my girlfriend, and she isn't going to be."
Katsuki stared at him, his breath hitched. His red eyes scanned every feature of Izuku's face, processing the information as if he found it hard to believe that the weight suffocating him for days was just a misunderstanding.
"You're... you're not together?" Katsuki asked, his voice sounding so small and vulnerable that it made Izuku's soul ache.
"No, Kacchan. We're not," Izuku looked down at his bandaged hands for a second before looking back at him.
The silence in the room grew heavy, but the urgency to make himself understood overcame any shyness. Izuku raised his hands, which were still trembling slightly from crying, and instead of speaking, he let his fingers move. His hands traced the signs in the air with deliberate slowness, forcing Katsuki to follow every movement with wide eyes.
<<And even if that were the case, you don't get to decide those things for me,» his hands signed firmly, cutting through the air. «I don't want you to pull away. I'm never going to want you to pull away, Kacchan>>
Izuku lowered his arms for a second, catching his breath, but raised his hands again to form the next sign, looking him straight in the eyes. His face reflected a sincere, helpless confusion.
<<I don't know how the idea even crossed your mind that I would want you to move away from me>> His fingers intertwined and separated fluidly, translating the weight of his thoughts. <<I know our relationship has been through a lot, we've been many things, but I like what we are now.>>
For the final phrase, Izuku drew a hand toward his own chest before pointing at Katsuki.
<<I like that you're there. I like the fact that, when I raise my head, the first thing I do is see you looking back at me.>>
The moment he finished tracing the last sign, Izuku froze. Seeing the almost painful fixity with which Katsuki had analyzed the movement of his fingers, the meaning of what he had just gestured hit him like a bucket of cold water. He became horribly nervous, realizing how compromising and personal that had sounded in the silence of the room.
He shifted in his spot, feeling the heat crawl up his neck until it painted his cheeks a deep red. He lowered his hands in a rush, hiding them against his knees while clarifying in a hurried voice:
"F-friends, I mean— I like that we've become friends again," he rushed to say, completely breaking the sign language in a desperate attempt to rebuild the barrier behind which he hid his feelings.
Katsuki blinked slowly. The breath trapped in his chest seemed to release all at once, deflating the rigidity of his shoulders in an almost comical way. He stared at him, analyzing the green-haired boy's violent blush and the clumsy way he tried to hide his face between his shoulders.
Hearing the word "friends," something in his pride seemed to snap back into place, giving him a secure ground to stand on without having to admit how much being left out had affected him.
He let out a huff, turning his gaze to the table.
"You're a damn troublesome nerd, Deku," he muttered, running a hand through his blonde hair, messing up the strands in annoyance. "If the extras are whining out there, clear things up from the start. I don't have time to be guessing your stupid soap operas."
"But you were the one who wouldn't let me speak all week!" Izuku shot back, snapping his head up. The indignation returned to his face, accompanied by a small, weak, relieved laugh as he wiped away the traces of his last tears with his handkerchief.
"Tsk. I was busy with the damn therapy, don't make things up," Katsuki grunted, crossing his arms, though he made no move to stir or regain the physical distance he had defended so much.
The atmosphere in the room changed completely, returning to that familiar normalcy of a truce where defenses were down. The tension was still there, camouflaged, floating in the gloom of the room: Izuku strictly monitoring his words to keep safe the friendship he so desperately needed, and Katsuki trying to absorb the confusion of his own emotions without fully understanding why the green-haired boy's closeness relieved him so much. But the abyss had closed a little. They were back in the same space, ready to resume the signs, united once more.
***
The months of the second year flew by with the speed of a gust of wind, leaving behind the suffocating heat of summer to make way for the UA Cultural Festival.
The atmosphere of the Cultural Festival felt like a hard-earned reward after months of pure, invisible effort. The path toward spring had brought not only a change of season, but a completely different landscape in the recovery of both of them, in body as well as mind.
On the physical front, the kinesiology gym had witnessed slow but steady progress. Katsuki had finally received medical clearance to begin reactivating his Quirk, albeit under a strict safety protocol: he was only allowed to generate controlled detonations with his left arm. His right side, the one most affected by skin grafts and reconstructive surgeries on his torso, remained under strict restriction. Even so, seeing the blond start sparking on the stretching bars again, even if only halfway, had returned a piece of that indomitable energy to the classroom that the war had stolen from them.
Izuku, for his part, found himself in a much more melancholic position. Physically, his chronic spasms had decreased thanks to exhausting mobility routines, but he had made the conscious decision not to use One For All at all. He knew the power was fading irreversibly and that every green flash he summoned accelerated the end of the bond. Not using his Quirk was the only strategy he had left to make the embers last as long as possible, stretching out the time he had left as an active hero.
In therapy with Dr. Shiranui, things had also matured. After that afternoon when Izuku began attending her office, the weekly sessions stopped feeling like a suffocating obligation and turned into a true haven. The therapist’s warmth had helped him navigate the grief of losing his power without falling into a void. Izuku still kept his feelings for Katsuki under an unbreakable lock, but he had learned to let go of the guilt of wanting him close. The psychologist had taught him that his need for support wasn't selfish, and that realization allowed him to accept his rebuilt friendship with the blond as a safe space, without the constant fear that his silences would ruin the truce.
Katsuki, though he would never admit it out loud, had also shown subtle changes after his own mandatory sessions. While he still didn't fully understand the source of that possessive and frustrated annoyance that had dominated him weeks prior, therapy had helped him channel his frustration in a much less destructive way. Far from running away from Izuku or the common spaces, Katsuki had begun actively looking for him, allowing himself to hang around with a closeness the class had never seen from them, in fact, they hadn't been seen like this since they were kids. He maintained his usual gruffness, of course, but now it came with a subtle maturity and care toward the green-haired boy that allowed them to share training sessions and relaxing afternoons completely naturally.
With all that healing baggage in tow, Class 2-A threw themselves completely into the festival. The classroom was transformed into a high-end cuisine and pastry themed café-restaurant, an ambitious project that, of course, ended up led by the most relentless cooking duo in the dorms: Sato and Kacchan.
The day of the festival, the classroom was enveloped in delicious aromas, the laughter of visitors, and the constant clinking of silverware.
"If the plating isn't perfect, it doesn't leave the kitchen, you spark bastard!" Katsuki roared from the temporary prep station, wearing a black apron over his uniform. "I told you the berry sauce goes in a subtle drizzle, not like you fucking killed a villain on the plate!"
"Understood, boss, understood!" Kaminari was sweating bullets as he arranged the desserts under the strict, sharp gaze of Kacchan, who, despite his harsh language, coordinated the orders with a surgical precision that kept their improvised restaurant running flawlessly.
Izuku, who was in charge of logistics and welcoming people at the classroom entrance alongside Uraraka, watched the scene with a wide smile and a light heart. Things had found a beautiful balance. There were no more walls of ice. Although Kacchan remained reserved, his posture in the classroom had completely relaxed; his healthy ear sought out the sound of Izuku's murmuring once again, and every now and then, they communicated with quick signs over their classmates' heads to coordinate inventory without anyone else noticing.
As Izuku watched Katsuki coordinate and carefully cook the orders with only one functional arm, he couldn't help but think that Kacchan was truly amazing.
"Midoriya-kun, look who’s here," Ochako whispered to him, giving him a gentle nudge and pointing toward the hallway.
Izuku tore his eyes away from the kitchen and looked toward the entrance. Walking through the crowd, with his usual tired expression and his hands hidden in his coat pockets, came Aizawa-sensei. By his side, holding tightly onto his hand with a mix of shyness and curiosity, walked Eri.
The little girl wore a simple light-blue dress filled with white flowers, and her small horn glowed under the festival lights. Even though the place was packed with people and the noise of conversations was loud, Eri walked with total confidence because she wouldn't let go of the Eraser Hero’s grip. In fact, every time a group of visitors passed too close, laughing loudly, the little girl would take a small step to the side, subtly hiding behind her guardian's leg.
Aizawa, keeping his tired eyes fixed ahead, adjusted his long stride to the girl’s short steps. With an almost subconscious movement, he shifted his hand to wrap Eri's fingers more securely, giving her a gentle squeeze to remind her he was there.
"I told you Bakugo’s class was going to be chaos, Eri," Aizawa commented in his usual monotonous tone, though modulating his volume so only she could hear him. "If the noise bothers you, we can go see Hatsume's support exhibition. There are fewer people there, though things tend to explode more often."
Eri lifted her little head, immediately shaking it energetically. The two pigtails in which Aizawa, with a lot of patience and quite a bit of clumsiness with hair ties, had styled her hair that morning shook from side to side.
"No, daddy. It smells like apples," the little girl said in a whisper, pointing her free little hand toward the signs Mina had drawn at the entrance. "You said Bakugo-san was going to cook today. I want to try it."
Aizawa let out a long sigh, the kind that made it clear he had lost the battle against the girl’s wishes long before leaving the teachers' dorms.
"Fine. But if you get a stomachache because of that problem child's spices, don't ask me to carry you all the way back," he grumbled in a feigned manner, though the subtle adjustment of his capture scarf to make sure Eri was well-protected from the hallway wind betrayed his absolute paternal devotion.
"Aizawa-sensei! Eri-chan!" Izuku rushed over to greet them, closing the distance and immediately crouching down to the little girl’s eye level with a massive smile. "I'm so glad you came. You look so pretty today, Eri-chan. Those pigtails look great on you!"
Eri blushed a little, shyly touching one of her pigtails, and glanced sideways at her guardian.
"Daddy took a long time," the girl confessed with total innocence. "He broke three hair ties, Deku-san."
Izuku burst into a clear laugh, and Aizawa-sensei simply averted his gaze, clearing his throat uncomfortably while a faint pink tint appeared on his tired cheeks.
"Midoriya, stop wasting time and get her a table in the corner where the noise won't overwhelm her," the teacher ordered, recovering his strict facade. "The medical board gave me a safety report that I need to review with Nezu in ten minutes. I'm leaving her in your care. Make sure Bakugo doesn't use his Quirk near her plate; I don't want the kid's food tasting like gunpowder."
Aizawa knelt down for a moment, matching Eri’s height. He gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and gave her a soft pat on the back.
"Stay with Midoriya. I'll be back for you in a little while, okay?" His voice, usually freezing in the classroom, took on that low, protective warmth he reserved only for her.
"Yeap, Daddy. Go carefully," Eri nodded, slowly letting go of his hand but keeping her smile.
Aizawa stood up, gave Izuku a warning look that clearly meant "guard her with your life," and turned around to lose himself in the crowd with his slow, vigilant pace.
Izuku tenderly took over, extending his bandaged hand for Eri to hold.
"Come on, Eri-chan. Let's go to the corner table. Kacchan and Sato made something special for today."
Eri walked by his side, her eyes wide open, as Izuku guided her toward the quietest area of the room. Almost by instinct, Katsuki looked up from the counter upon sensing movement in that area. When he saw the girl, his military-cook expression softened by a millimeter, though he immediately tried to hide it by crossing his arms with his usual casualness.
"Well, the runt finally comes out of her hiding spot," Kacchan let out, walking toward the table with a plate in his left hand, taking care not to strain the right side of his torso. He set it down in front of her with a gruff but careful movement. It was a perfect slice of apple pie, decorated with an impeccable powdered sugar design. "Eat up, brat. Sato and I spent hours perfecting the damn dough so it wouldn't be sickeningly sweet."
Eri looked at the plate and then raised her eyes to Katsuki. During his weeks in the hospital, she had been well aware of how grave both of them had been, feeling guilty for not being able to help the explosive boy the way she had helped Izuku. Seeing the blond right there, standing tall, strong, and cooking for her, seemed to move her in a very pure way.
With her small hands, Eri picked up the silverware, took a bite, and her eyes went wide, lighting up completely.
"It's... very delicious, Kacchan-san," she said in a timid whisper, using the nickname she had heard Izuku say unconsciously so many times.
Katsuki froze completely. He blinked once, twice, his cheeks turning a very faint crimson out of sheer surprise. Beside him, Izuku had to bite his lower lip to suppress a gasp of absolute tenderness at the blond’s completely disarmed face.
Before Katsuki could even process the nickname, Eri set her fork aside and raised her small hands. With a slightly clumsy and slow movement, she shaped her fingers to make the signs Izuku had taught her during his weekend visits: the sign for <<Thank you>>, followed by the one for <<Delicious>>
Katsuki looked at the girl's hands, losing any trace of rigidity.
A small, almost imperceptible, and strangely sweet smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He raised his own right hand and, with a fluid and practiced gesture, replied in the same silent language: <<You're welcome>>. Then, he extended his fingers and gave the girl's bangs a gentle, affectionate tug.
"You better finish all of it, little brat," he said in his usual gruff tone, but with a warmth in his eyes that betrayed just how much he had appreciated the gesture. "If you leave anything behind, I'm feeding it to the police dogs."
Eri let out a clear little giggle, nodding her head, and went back to eating enthusiastically.
Katsuki turned around to head back to the kitchen, but before he did, his red eyes traveled straight to where Izuku was standing. Their gazes locked in the middle of the bustling room. Izuku felt like his chest was bursting; seeing Katsuki interact with Eri like that, letting himself be called by that nickname, with a gentleness so rare for him, was almost more than his guarded heart could take.
Katsuki held his gaze for a full second. He turned around and went back to barking orders in the kitchen, leaving Izuku at the entrance, smiling amidst the crowd.
***
The afternoon progressed, tinting the UA sky with shades of orange and violet. After momentarily saying goodbye to Katsuki in the café, Izuku took Eri by the hand, and they dedicated themselves to exploring the festival. It was a couple of hours of pure magic and distraction that both of them desperately needed. Izuku took her to see Class 1-A’s flashy play, where Eri laughed excitedly while pointing at the bright costumes. Then they stopped by Class 2-B's game booths, where Izuku used his best manual aim to win her a huge stuffed black cat, which the girl hugged tightly against her chest. He would have to apologize to Aizawa-sensei later, because thanks to that, Eri hadn't stopped saying she wanted a cat as a pet. They ate candy apples as they walked through the crowd, sharing clean laughs that managed to chase away, if only for a while, the ghosts of the past.
Late in the afternoon, just as they had agreed, Izuku met Aizawa near the main building doors to return the little girl. Eri was already dragging her feet from exhaustion, but she wouldn't let go of her stuffed animal or her massive smile
"She behaved like an angel, Aizawa-sensei," Izuku said, bending down to say goodbye to the girl with a soft high-five. "See you this weekend, Eri-chan."
"Thank you, Deku-san. I had a lot of fun," she murmured, rubbing an eye before clinging back onto her guardian's hand.
Aizawa looked at the little girl and then shifted his tired eyes to Izuku. He stayed silent for a moment, analyzing the green-haired boy's posture, that premature maturity he now carried on his shoulders and the bandages wrapping his hands. In his usual direct tone, yet laced with a genuine paternal concern, the teacher broke the silence.
"Midoriya," he called, making the boy pause. "The second year is practically over. Third year is approaching, and with it, final decisions regarding licenses and agency recruitment. I know what your medical situation is like. What have you thought about your future? Have you considered your options, given... the imminent loss of your Quirk?"
The question fell like a cold slab on Izuku's chest. The air seemed to freeze around him.
"I... I've been reviewing tactics manuals and support analysis, sensei," Izuku replied, forcing a polite smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I know I won't be able to be on the front lines of combat for long, but I want to keep being useful. Perhaps through strategy or teaching."
Aizawa stared at him, catching the subtle fracture in his voice, but he didn't press further. He just gave his shoulder a firm pat.
"You are an excellent strategist, Midoriya. Your mind is your best weapon, with or without a Quirk. Think it over well and let me know; I'll be around to talk about whatever you decide. Let's go, Eri."
Izuku watched them walk away, feeling a deep melancholy settle into his stomach. Reality had caught up to him all at once in the middle of the party.
Since he was in charge of the logistics and organization of his class's event, Izuku returned to the classroom to help his peers finish cleaning up. By the time he finished organizing the last documents and inventories, the festival had already closed its doors to the public, and everyone else had left to enjoy what remained of the festivities. The room was dark, plunged into a silent twilight, illuminated only by the colored streetlights outside. Izuku sat at his usual desk, exhausted, watching the sun sink completely behind the campus buildings. It was past six in the evening. He stayed there, still, reflecting in the mental silence that scared him so much, feeling the weight of his dying embers.
Suddenly, the soft screech of the sliding door broke the silence. Izuku didn't have to turn around; his body immediately recognized the silhouette cutting through the light from the hallway.
Katsuki walked into the classroom. He was no longer wearing the cooking apron, just his slightly disheveled UA uniform. He walked at a unhurried pace, dragging a chair to sit right at the desk in front of him, coming face-to-face with Izuku in the middle of the gloom.
"I had a feeling you were falling behind with the damn cleaning, nerd," Katsuki let out, his tone strangely low, fitting for the silence of the classroom.
Izuku raised his head and offered him a smile. It was a soft, small smile, but Katsuki knew him too well. There was something broken in the corners of his lips, a shadow of sadness that the darkness couldn't hide from the blond's red eyes.
Katsuki narrowed his eyes, resting his arms on the back of the chair.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked bluntly, without beating around the bush. "And don't give me that bullshit about being tired. I know you."
Izuku let out a long sigh, averting his gaze toward the window, where the campus lights flickered in the distance. The conversation with Aizawa was still stinging in his chest.
"It's just... the melancholy of the end of the year, I guess," Izuku confessed, with a sad, fleeting smile. "I feel so lucky to be here, Kacchan. To see everyone smiling, to see Eri eating pie, to see how we became... us again. But at the same time, when I think about the third year, about the future... I can't help but feel a little out of place. As if I'm watching everyone's lives move forward at full speed from a window, knowing that I'm going to get stranded at the station. It's a strange happiness. I'm happy for everyone, truly, but it hurts to know that my time with you guys is running out."
Katsuki listened without interrupting. A wave of frustration and conflicting emotions crossed his red eyes, but not anger. He knew Izuku was dealing with the greatest grief of his life so far, and that his words didn't come from cowardice, but from a heart full of resignation. There wasn't much Katsuki could say to help the green-haired boy, so he remained silent until a memory came to mind.
"By the way," Katsuki said suddenly, breaking the thread of sadness with a firm tone. "I wanted to show you something."
Izuku blinked, turning his gaze back to him.
Katsuki extended his right hand over the low desk surface, the hand of his injured arm, the side the doctors kept under strict surveillance. Izuku's eyes widened in surprise, ready to protest and tell him not to do anything reckless, but the words got stuck in his throat.
Katsuki concentrated his energy. With a visible strain in his jaw, his fingers began to release small, golden sparks. They weren't the loud, destructive explosions from before; they were tiny, brilliant lights, steady and warm, bursting like miniature fireflies over the wood.
The golden glow suddenly illuminated both boys' faces in the middle of the dark classroom. The flickering light bathed Katsuki's features, outlining his red eyes with a beautiful and unfamiliar softness. And then, while holding the effort with his affected arm, Katsuki looked at the sparks and then raised his eyes to Izuku, letting a small, smirk-like, and incredibly gentle smile form on his face. It was a smile free of pride or competition, one that conveyed an absolute, silent understanding.
Seeing that expression on the blond's face took Izuku's breath away completely. The air caught in his lungs, and his heart gave such a violent thud that he felt a physical tingling in the tips of his fingers. The barrier protecting his feelings faltered before the absolute beauty of that gesture. It was a smile dedicated solely to him, disarmed and warm. The outside world seemed to switch off completely.
Right at that exact moment, a loud boom echoed outside. The night sky beyond the window lit up with the fireworks that officially closed out the cultural festival, painting the clouds in brilliant colors. But Izuku didn't turn to look at the window. He didn't care about the sky. His green eyes remained completely fixed, trapped by longing and fascination, on the beautiful mini-explosions Katsuki was making and on the warmth of that smile illuminating the blond’s face in a way so beautiful it hurt.
The light of the sparks flickered between them, reflecting a silent promise. No signs were needed, nor words, nor confessions to break the truce. In the reflection of that controlled fire, in Katsuki's calm gaze, Izuku understood what Kacchan was trying to tell him without speaking: “Even if your embers go out, mine will keep shining for the both of us. You won't be left in the dark.”
Izuku slowly caught his breath, feeling an immense warmth flood his chest, a pang of longing so sweet and deep that the fear of the third year seemed to vanish completely while the sparks and Katsuki's smile kept dancing between them in the empty classroom.