Chapter Text
He calls him Deku.
He is made of cherry wood and the intricacies his father willed with his hands. Katsuki received him as a gift on his twelfth birthday, wrapped up in silk and a red ribbon. Spring has long settled in, so the brightness of the trees reflects the doll’s hair and eyes.
“You’ve always wanted a friend,” The old woodworker tells his son, a glimmer of shame in his tone. Katsuki is too young to notice, or too enamoured by the life-sized marionette to care.
“Thank you, father.” It’s the first smile Katsuki gives in years.
They live in a modest house that sits atop a mountain, away from the town and any other sensible form of civilization. He’s grown tired of it. The entirety of his life spent in this small green strip of high land and clear sky. His father reasons it’s because the water is cleaner here, the air more crisp.
The town is too noisy, you would just hate it, he says as he leaves every week to sell his wares.
Katsuki knows it’s because of his sickness. The one he’s had ever since he could remember. Though he doesn’t say anything but just watches his father go, eyes glued to his retreating back.
This time around, though, he isn’t left alone.
He holds Deku by the firm hand and takes him to the place where he spends his days most.
There is a hidden alcove of trees at the far end of their garden, a sort of middleground to the woods that lie beyond. Katsuki discovered it once when the ball he was playing with traveled too far off; a small hideaway. And he’s been treating this quaint sanctuary as an escape from the real world ever since.
The small space is dry and cozy. Its edges are lined with the beginnings of spring irises, his mother’s favorite flowers, and the trees that cage it are solid and thriving. He takes a seat on the ground, not caring about how his pale blue silk shirt is sullied by the earth, and breathes out in relief as the sheer comfort of just being there envelops him.
Here, amongst all the shrubbery and dirt on his knees, he is healthy. Here, he doesn’t have to look at his father’s apologetic face as he explains why he can’t go down and play with the other children. Here, he is just Katsuki. Not the Scarlet boy, or the one who’s been dealt with losing cards. Here, everything is possible.
“Here, you can be real,” He tells Deku, the doll’s head cushioned between his two hands.
And maybe he just imagines it, but he thinks the doll smiles.
Deku never leaves his side.
They bathe together, sleep next to each other, and he’s even convinced his father to allow the puppet a seat at their dinner table. Deku with his own plate and cup, and Katsuki feeding him small pieces of fish with his chopsticks.
The old woodworker silently grins at his son from his own miso bowl, relieved that he’s managed to lessen the kid’s loneliness from being kept in this big house. He has tried, swears on his life that he’s tried everything to change the boy’s fate. Sought out healers, even shamans, who all said the same thing; that the magic to cure Katsuki hasn’t been found yet, or will likely never exist. He is a rarity, they tell him. A hazard. The Red shouldn’t have been able to stay this long, and have you felt the boy’s touch?. They say that whatever it is, it’s rooted in him. A hereditary sickness from his late mother, that witch- and that the old woodworker is just lucky that people who hold the same blood as Katsuki seem to be immune to the burning.
The old woodworker may be safe from the injury, but not from the sadness. So he allows Katsuki the simple luxury of make-believe. Glad he could allow him that at least.
It’s a full moon. Katsuki can see it in all its grand and silvery glory.
He is still outside, with his legs stretched bare on the ground and his head leaning against the trees that surround his small refuge. His father has taken too long to get home like he occasionally does once a month. There has been a great demand for silk these days, Katsuki. His portion from the sauteed rice Katsuki made is now cold and put away.
He shouldn’t be out here this late, he knows that. Knows that the cold and thinning midnight air don’t quite agree with the way his body works. But the moon is beautiful tonight. What could be so wrong with a few minutes more, basking in its light?
Deku sits across from him in the minute space, the painted light brown freckles on his face attracting the fireflies. The insects stick to his skin like bees to nectar. Making him glow like the town’s lights Katsuki sees at the foot of the mountain from time to time.
The blond boy tilts his head to the side, vision going a tad fuzzy, as he surveys the doll’s face. His glass eyes are bright but empty. It reminds him of how his father looks when his tongue slips about wanting to go to the spring festival.
I feel alright today. I think I can handle it, even just for a little while. He begs without meaning to, lips pulled to a pout. He feels like a child, which he is, but now even more so, as he gets the urge to cross his arms. I promise I won’t touch anybody.
His father smiles tightly as he ruffles his hair. Not this time, Katsuki. Soon. When you’re fully better.
But is that even possible? His stubbornness says the words without his volition. He has yet to learn how to bite his tongue, but he will get there. He has to, anyway.
His father leaves him with a narrowed glance that holds too much wistfulness, the kind of look that hurts Katsuki without actually hurting him. The kind of feeling that sits behind his chest and festers until it gets hard to breathe. He is too young to be familiar with this pain.
He shakes his head at Deku now, as if both reassuring himself and washing away the thoughts he doesn’t want to think about anymore.
“I shouldn’t have said that to him, I know, he’s just trying his best after that… after-” He coughs, moving to pick up Deku gingerly. “I didn’t mean to hurt that kid back then. I had just wanted to play.”
The doll lies limp in his hands and maybe it’s the cold, the thinning of air, and the beating sadness in his chest that results in Katsuki collapsing into a heap on the grassy floor. He is a fire after all, and with the lack of wind on this cool night, it’s almost too easy to put him out.
Deku lies beside him, pale as can be and eyes barren.
There is something so heart-rending about a boy made to be so delicate and ephemeral, yet simply will not give up a fight. Even now, as he lies on the cold earth, the fire inside of him is blazing. Stubborn, yes, but resilient all the same. After years of watching from afar, the moon wanes.
The old woodworker finds his son eventually. He is frantic and worried, hoping that the cold has not done its job yet. That he isn’t too late. But what he sees has him surprised. He watches with wide, careful eyes as the scene unfolds before him. He recites a silent prayer for his late wife, apologizing for his doubts. Then, he takes them inside.
Katsuki awakens to the feel of a damp washcloth being placed on his forehead. At first, he thinks it’s his father. Because who else would it be?
After a moment, he recognizes the pale, freckled skin. He hears a soft humming, too. His father never hums.
Immediately, he sits upright although his joints are making an effort to refuse. There’s a shriek.
Deku is easily startled. At Katsuki’s sudden movement, he loses his grip on the basin and spills the small remainder of the cool water on himself. He has yet to be used to his bones.
“You.” Katsuki says it as though he’s exhaling a breath. His eyes are stunned with astonishment.
“Hello.” Deku wipes at the few splashes of water that managed to ricochet onto his cheek. He’s smiling, glad that Katsuki’s finally awake. It’s been four days after all.
He remains motionless in his position on the futon, staring at what once was just his doll. The 12 year old boy isn’t even sure if he believes in heaven but he thinks he’s in it. What with the way Deku is grinning at him, the pupp—boy’s eyes full and beaming.
He watches as Deku then stands up, running his hands down his white and burgundy yukata. He could recognize his father’s handiwork anywhere. The boy’s movements are awkward yet endearingly gentle. He reaches over behind Katsuki with careful steps and retrieves a glass of water.
His wooden toy is walking on two feet, nursing him to health, and offering him a drink. Katsuki is certain he’s dead.
“How, how are you real?”
Deku shrugs, he’s as clueless as Katsuki. “You were... the only one.. who told me that I was.”
Katsuki’s young mind is too preoccupied with comprehending the way the boy in front of him is functioning— living, breathing. While Deku is overcome by the way the blond stares at him, his cheeks painted red yet full in a grin, and his eyes curved into crescents.
None of them notice the old woodworker at the door.
He smiles at the sight of the two boys. Genuinely. He owes it to the gods, he knows, but ultimately, he’s joyous that his son finally has someone to stave him from loneliness. Someone who can fight alongside him in a way only a friend could. Maybe then Katsuki will finally get better.
He sees hope in the horizon. And it looks like a boy with green hair.
He confronts his father, as seriously as a young boy can, when he’s sure Deku is busy gathering up twigs for their makeshift forest concoction of water and leaves.
“Was it you?”
His voice is small, heedful and yet brimming with honest gratitude.
The old woodworker shakes his head. He smiles at his son, his wild blond hair and vigilant expressions too mastered for one so little. “It was you.”
Katsuki grins.
It takes a bit to relearn Katsuki’s habits with Deku. How he holds him close when they sleep, how he takes his hand when it’s time to go eat dinner, and even how they sit at the secret hideout with their legs crossed under them and their knees touching.
Now that he’s alive, Katsuki has grown far more apprehensive. He’s realized a fear of ever hurting Deku and rejects it, as to not risk their friendship. So, he sets on and makes some changes for himself.
Now, he tucks his hand dutifully behind his back in the hallway while Deku looks at him expectantly. Now, he puts his pillow between them at night while Deku just stares at him with a sleepy smile. Now, he sits on the forest floor of their alcove with his legs hugged to his chest and as far as he can manage while Deku tilts his head in calm wonder. He even closes the sliding door on Deku’s dotting face when it’s time for them to bathe.
“Why don’t you ever hold my hand anymore?” Deku asks once, the day he figured out how to pout.
Katsuki stiffens, from the way Deku looks and the question he just asked. “So I can protect you.”
He uses a rare word he’s only heard of in books, Mamori tai, or I will always protect you.
“Oh, Kacchan, you’re silly.” The nickname was born from Deku being unable to say his name correctly, but Katsuki thinks it sounds just right.
Deku shakes his head, giggling as though Katsuki told him a joke. “You could never hurt me.”
The blond stays silent after that, knowing otherwise but at the same time hoping he’s right.
Katsuki does well until the one time he doesn’t. It takes a lot to get used to, especially for one so young. A child’s impulse is a force to be reckoned with. He simply can’t resist his juvenile instincts. He will one day outlive them, sure. But for now, he is hostage to its pleas.
It happens when Katsuki is running through the halls so fast that he hits one of the shelves that line their walls. Thankfully, none of the vases on top of it fall, but a small patch of skin on his forehead breaks into a wound. He lets out a painful grunt. In comparison, Deku lets out a gasp.
He is still not used to the way the human body bends and breaks. In result, his legs have been far too scraped and bandaged too many times. Katsuki finds it both worrisome and amusing.
Now the situation is the other way around. The boy puts his face so close to Katsuki’s as to survey the cut. His brows are furrowed with alarm as he tries to check the rest of the blond’s face for any other sign of injury.
Unbeknownst to him, Katsuki is completely awestruck. He’s overwhelmed by the smaller boy’s close proximity that his mind quite literally goes blank.
Suddenly, the wound is gone. The shelf has disappeared. Hell, the house is elsewhere. All he sees is Deku and his large eyes and the freckles on his cheeks.
Oh.
He thinks. Is this what they call beauty?
Out of sheer curiosity, or recklessness, he musters up the courage and reaches out towards the green haired boy’s face. Careful to be slow and gentle, he places the pad of his thumb on Deku’s cheek. He expects the boy to inch away from the heat, readying himself for the hurt that usually settles in his chest right there after. But it never comes. Eventually, all his fingertips find their way on the expanse of the boy’s skin, then his palm— until he’s holding the boy’s face in earnest.
What was once cold cherry wood, now feels soft and supple to his touch. Warm. Real.
Deku’s cheeks flush, embarrassed, but he relaxes into Katsuki’s hand. He lets the boy who has been so deprived of the comfort of touch, hold him for as long as he wants.
Katsuki has never believed in miracles after he was named one. But now he thinks this one’s for sure.
The wound heals. As all wounds do. And the skin returns stronger.
Today, they are outside. The wind is cool while the sun is high and gleaming. Summer is here.
Deku is laughing. Katsuki is not sure why he is—maybe it’s the way Katsuki can’t fly a kite— but what he is sure about is that he's simply glad that he can hear the glorious sound at all.
Everything Deku does is so charming to him. From the way he wants to always stay a few steps behind Katsuki, to the way he’s made it his mission to save and nurture every woodland creature they meet. He recalls the time they saw a rat get devoured by a snake.
Almost as a reflex, Deku tries to run in to intervene. On the other end of the spectrum, Katsuki pulls him back with his arm around his chest. Their movements are like clockwork. As though they’ve spent years making it so.
At home, that night, Deku weeps. Katsuki watches him with intent, and just a tinge of empathy.
It’s natural for them to be eaten. They’re prey after all. He offers slowly, as softly as he could.
But, Kacchan, it’s not fair! The boy has yet to learn the cruelty of the world, although Katsuki has made it a plan to shield him from most of it. It didn’t even stand a chance.
He falls asleep like that, his tears dampening Katsuki’s lap. Katsuki thinks about staying there for eons.
This time around, though, it’s a little bunny. It has found itself under that weight of a heavy tree branch, one of its legs crushed and broken. It seems to have been separated from its companions.
At the sight, Deku lets out a quiet sob, but he stays still where he’s standing. He’s learning. He gives Katsuki a watery glance as if to ask for his permission. Katsuki has learned in turn, that for all the stubbornness he exhibits, one look from Deku undoes it all. At the hands of a miracle, hardly anyone could blame him if he becomes a capricious thing.
He nods once.
In glee, Deku kisses him on the cheek. The kiss is innocent and warm, like how Katsuki thinks it should be. How his young heart feels like it should be loved. He revels in it.
They save the small creature by leveraging it free from the tree branch. Deku’s grand smile lights their path back home.
But behind his adroitness, Katsuki is still so young. Has too much want and has just as much to give. His father is not surprised when he asks again, only dismayed. His son is truly a compulsion.
It’s not so much to save him from the world, rather it’s entirely the opposite. He fears that the world has yet to be able to take him on. He is far from well but the happiness has made him think otherwise.
This glee seems to him as a clearance. A leeway for the outside. And he begs and begs and begs.
Now that Katsuki’s been given this one good thing, a part of him knows there is a possibility of biting more than he could chew. He should just count his blessings. But the fire inside him is restless, contentment has been his companion for years and he finally has the chance to refuse it. Deku watches him sideways, thinking about the complexity of human greed.
The old woodworker looks to him for a last semblance of help. At first, Deku is puzzled. What could he possibly be able to do that the man has not?
But after a moment, he realizes it makes perfect sense. There is nothing that can get through to him much like he does.
The old man once made a joke that Katsuki would follow him even to death. Deku wishes it doesn’t sound so true.
He finds the blond in their hidden alcove. He is writing words on the ground with a stick and then crossing them out afterwards when he finds a fault in them.
“You’re here to forbid me.” He says, not even looking at Deku. It stings when he’s like this. His unkindness is a rarity to be aimed towards him, but it’s a trait Deku does not care for nonetheless.
“Maybe. You know you aren’t well enough,” He says the words far apart, as to soften the blow. “We should just wait for next season’s festival.”
“You don’t understand.” Katsuki lets out a sardonic chuckle. It’s unfair. Because Deku truly doesn’t. He has spent these first few months of his life trying but it’s no use. Whatever sadness Katsuki feels, it’s a sadness Deku cannot comprehend. He wants to tell him so but the look of defeat in his red eyes silences him.
“You can’t stop me, you know.” Katsuki whispers, gentler now as though he realized his misplaced spite. “I’m going whether or not he agrees.” Whether or not you agree.
Something about all of this does not sit well in Deku’s mind. He wants so badly to just tell Katsuki that the fact he’s alive is enough. It should be enough. Why is it not enough?
He’s tempted to use himself as the wedge between Katsuki’s avarice and fulfilment. Wondering if he would let him.
Instead, he offers him a question. For him to have it out. “Will this really give you the gratification you seek?”
Katsuki looks startled. He doesn’t know the answer himself; and the way Deku poses it as an attack is almost akin to betrayal. As though he’s asking why his worth seems so scant.
This, Deku thinks, is where the anger will finally come.
Yet Katsuki just sighs. He doesn’t have any apologies, or excuses to be bestowed. It would have been better if he had. It is the fact that Katsuki can’t hurt him upfront.
It’s useless. Trying to pit them against each other. They are like dull knives that can’t utter words that cut. He reminds himself to apologize to the old woodworker when they get home.
“Let me come with you, then.”
He thinks he sees a ghost of a smile creep up on the blond’s mouth. But it’s gone too quickly.
The festival is already in full blast when they arrive. The lanterns are all lit up, people are laughing loud, and the fragrant smell of food and the autumn wind surrounds them.
They are wearing their usual yukatas, Katsuki’s rose and pale blue one and Deku’s own white and burgundy. They wear kitsune masks they made on their own, out of rice glue and beige paper. The two boys fit right in the festivities. Without a miss.
Katsuki watches, slack-jawed in awe of all the wonder. Deku only looks at him.
“Kacchan.”
He’s not paying attention. Too distracted by the lights. The music. The people.
“Kacchan.” Deku repeats, louder now. “I love you.”
He uses the word Ai shiteru, or I love you deeply. He says it just to say it.
Katsuki freezes in his tracks.
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
Deku smiles at him sheepishly, all the lovely things in the world gathered into one being.
In the middle of the crowd, the middle of all the celebration, he pulls Deku close. He embraces him with all the love he can muster, all the admiration he has to offer.
This is the happiest night of his life.
They climb one of the abandoned roofs to get a good view of the fireworks.
They are full with food and glee and all the other good things in between. Katsuki sits back with his legs stretched in front of him, leaning on his elbows. Deku sits barely a millimeter away, his own legs pulled into his chest. All is well.
“I know the answer to your question now,” Katsuki breaks the silence as he looks up at the night sky. Deku raises his brows slightly, surprised at the frankness of his tone.
“What question?”
“The one about gratification,” Katsuki reminds him, almost bashfully. “It’s you. You’re all I need to be thankful for. To be content.”
Deku doesn’t know what to say. Instead, he leans his head on the blond’s shoulder.
“I realized it when I was watching you catch one of those fishes in the bucket,” Katsuki allows himself a laugh at the memory. “I realized that this wouldn’t have been as good without you.”
He doesn’t look to see, but he knows Deku is smiling. He mirrors it as they watch the sky explode into a thousand blazing colors.
“Kacchan, let’s go home.”
He’s done so well. Avoiding everyone. Been extra wary of everything. Of course, in the end, it is almost too easy to lose it all.
They are on their way home, their masks tied to their waists, when they are interrupted in the middle of their tracks. It’s a stranger, wearing an impossibly intricate kimono that he looks like he glows with each movement. Only, there is something wrong. He sways from side to side, as though in a trance.
The drunken man grabs Deku by the arm and calls him a pretty thing. It makes something vile bubble in the pit of Katsuki’s stomach, a sinking feeling that is unfamiliar and tastes bitter in his mouth. The man is about twice Deku’s size; struggling is no use.
“Don’t touch him.”
The man’s head turns to him. His face is twisted into a woozy smirk. “What d’you gonna do about it?”
Somewhere that sounds faraway, Deku lets out a cry. It’s a warning. A plea. Kacchan, don’t.
But he’s already decided.
With full intent to cause harm, he curls his fingers around the stranger’s arm. There is a surprised grunt. Smoke. And then the smell of singeing flesh.
The man yanks his arm away in pain, his mouth letting loose a string of curse words the two boys have never heard. Katsuki can hear Deku shuffle away as his eyes burn into the man before him in fury.
He looks at the scorched handprint on his arm in bewilderment before he charges at Katsuki, grabbing him by the front of his robes and lifting him up to his eye level.
“You’re a freak.” He says the words as though he’s eager to be rid of it, spits it out like it tastes foul on his tongue. He uses the word keno, or abomination. Katsuki sees red.
Deku tries again. He calls for Katsuki, begs him not to cave into fury. But the sound falls onto deaf ears.
Katsuki places both hands around the man’s neck and squeezes. He doesn’t need strength when he has heat. He squeezes until the man falls back onto the ground in agony, until Deku is crawling towards him and screaming at him to stop, until his hands feel like smelting iron, cold and blistering all at once.
Somewhere in the distance, angry at the sight, the gods converse:
I told you, humans are too fickle to be granted power.
They always find a way to use their gifts for ill use.
Call upon Tsuki, she must undo this.
It feels like hours or days pass by until Katsuki finally snaps out of it.
His hands are red with blood and the stench of charred flesh is almost unbearable. He’s crying, has been crying this whole time. The realization of what he’s done knocks the breath out of him, until he’s wetly sputtering on the forest floor. He’s shaking, calling for help and for Deku. But there is no answer.
After what feels like decades worth of pain, Katsuki gathers the strength to stand up. His eyes are crazed and darting to and fro, on the bloodied floor and the empty dark woods and the crimson painting his hands. They search for Deku, for his own reassuring eyes and his comfort.
But where Deku once was, lies a puppet. His green eyes are lifeless and blank.
Katsuki staggers onto his knees. There is a cry of agony, of grief, of whatever misery is made of. He pulls the inanimate puppet into his arms so tightly, it dares to break in his hold. Deku. He says. Deku. Deku. Until the word morphs into a different sound. A sob. A wail.
He weeps until the sun rises. Until the mangled body in front of him is illuminated by daylight. The town will be awake soon. He cannot risk getting caught.
He picks himself up, never once letting go of the puppet, the boy in his arms, and makes a run for it.
His father finds him before he can wash all the blood from his hands. It was a fruitless effort, trying to be silent when his hands won’t stop shaking and all he could afford to do was sob. The old woodworker eyes the puppet clasped tightly at his side and the red staining everything.
There are no words to welcome tragedy.
Katsuki is overflowing with shame, with melancholy. But he meets his father’s gaze head on. As though to say: I have angered the gods and this is all that is left.
And what else was the man to do with his son but embrace him?
The hug makes Katsuki feel safe and small all at the same time. He bursts into a desperate crying, clawing at his father’s chest as he apologizes. He didn’t mean to hurt him, he didn’t mean to be so violent, he didn’t mean to lose the one good thing that’s ever happened to him. And his father just takes it all in stride, whispering small affirmations to his son’s blond hair.
They stay like that until Katsuki is only sniffling, too tired to even cry. The old woodworker leaves his son to prepare dinner, promising him that all will be alright in time.
Katsuki sits on the rattan floor, staring into his hands rubbed raw from washing so forcefully. As though he aims to rid the blood from it still. His eyes land on Deku’s face, from across the room, frozen again into indifference. There’s an ache that blooms in his chest at the sight. He tries to remember the last words he said to him but his memory is jagged and jumbled into a mess of anger and frenzy that he ceases trying. All he can remember right now are things he would just rather forget.
So instead, he grabs Deku and carries the two of them to their hideaway. He falls asleep on the soft earth, cradling Deku like a lifeline.
It starts off slow, but eventually everything goes back to the way it was before.
Only now, the house is littered with memories of Deku he cannot shake. His voice, his laugh, the way he would stare at Katsuki’s mother’s portrait on the wall, the squirrels that run through the garden hoping for a snack.
At first it is a wistful echo, but in time, he grows to disdain all of it. They are remnants of the life Katsuki would have been so happy to live.
Katsuki does not want to hate so much of the world. But the thing is, he sees Deku everywhere. He takes up so much space. Even in his dreams. There is residue of him wherever he looks.
The puppet becomes a symbol of insult.