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It was one of those nights where Kirishima threw a big party and everyone showed up. One of those nights where he put on an apron, turned the grill on, while Jirou or Kaminari fumbled with the music. Katsuki would always stand near Kirishima on the nights he showed up, chatting quietly. But, this night was a little different from the norm. The music plays a sappy love song that pierces his ears, that threatens to stab him.
For a moment, Katsuki wonder if the music would leave their bodies in a dumpster.
Katsuki walks until he can walk no more, the air silent except for the sound of cars upon the highway above him. Underneath the bridge, a man sits. He carves a face into the pie, one that Katsuki almost swears he recognizes. The man smiles, he smiles and his words are nearly the wind.
“My lovers face,” he whispers and then he is gone.
Katsuki stands there and thinks back, thinks back to every single moment he had with Izuku. He remembers the last phone call he had with the man, remembers trying to explain, trying to apologize about everything he had put the boy through. He remembers Izuku’s words perfectly.
“Explaining in an admission of failure,” the boy had said softly, the line went dead. Katsuki’s hands had felt dead as he had placed the phone down.
Katsuki remembers being in class, the room seemingly dead except for Aiwaza’s voice, all the kids adrift in the numbness that is early morning classes. His voice drones on and Katsuki could not help but remember middle school, remember Izuku Midoriya as Aiwaza recounts the first heroes. He knows that if Izuku was here, he would know all the details, he would be writing furiously. But Izuku is not here, he is not a hero. He is quirkless, and he could very well be dead by now. It is Katsuki’s third year and not the first time he had thought back to the boy. Katsuki recalls when they were younger, when they said that they would be the number one hero, that they would fight alongside each other. It was the first time he realized that their names would not go down together, in no history book or magazine. They would never be together in a way that mattered.
There was one time, at a party, red eyes caught with green-- but they were unfamiliar. Katsuki had decided they were close enough, he found out as he was dragging the boy into the room with him that it was, in fact, Izuku. It didn’t make him pause as he touched him, it made him pause as Izuku seemed to shrink into himself for a moment, all muscle and skin and blood and-- shyness? Nervousness? Or maybe he just didn’t want to disturb the air, either way, Katsuki paused. He’s speaking before he can think not too, words falling from inexperienced lips.
“You could drown in your eyes,” Katsuki breathed, then kissed him. Katsuki wants to ruin him in the only way that matters, not physically or emotionally but he wants to see the bruises afterwards, wants Izuku to remember this night for years to come and turn into a stuttering mess. It was then that Katsuki decided he wouldn’t mind dying if it was for him or by his hand.
He once told Katsuki that he forgave him, it left Katsuki wondering what he has been forgiven for. The childhood he had gifted Izuku or how his scars are still healing, how he wants to take him apart or have him take him apart-- in the end, he guessed it didn’t matter. No one ever saw them together when they walked, but he always felt jumpy seeing their reflection, he always feels eyes on him. He wonders how soon it will be until Izuku’s face and name are plastered next to him on the TV, until everyone knows him. Except, he will only be known as Katsuki’s lover and he did not want that to happen. Izuku is worth more than that, a hero in a right that the rest of them do not quite understand. Izuku’s actual scars catch Katsuki’s eyes more than he would like to admit, he wonders if he gave himself them in highschool or beforehand. He doesn’t think he saw them before this all started, however.
He told Katsuki, with tears in his eyes, that he was no good. That he was a villain, but that did not stop him. He grabbed for him, groped and kissed and took from him. He knew he could take it and Izuku always begged for more, even when winter came. The hours after the encounters, Katsuki would stay up awake and Izuku would ramble. He eventually ran out of stories and Katsuki lost sleep. The first time he saw Izuku with a gun, when he was on-duty and was supposed to stop a villain. Izuku shot him a smirk and seemed to disappear into thin air. Katsuki let out a breath, his thoughts revolving around Izuku and everything he was.
“But damn if there isn’t anything sexier than a slender boy with a handgun, a fast car, a bottle of pills.” his thoughts echo what he cannot dare to speak.
The days go past, faster and faster but Katsuki does not try to push Izuku away. Closer and closer and closer he pulls him. When he sees him with a mouth full of blood, guilt builds up and threatens to boil over so he talks, and he apologizes. His words are not jagged, but everything else is.
“Sorry about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine.” he whispers when Izuku cannot hear. Izuku does not want to hear it or see it, he is who he is, and Katsuki is who he is. Long after Izuku leaves, he stares at the cracks in the wall of the apartment, wears Izuku’s jacket, and wonders why he could not get him to kill him.
Or maybe he was killed, in the only way that mattered. This numbness certainly cannot be him, this empty feeling-- maybe this is what he deserves.