Work Text:
I don't know what to do without you
I don't know where to put my hands
I've been trying to lay my head down
But I'm writing this at 3am
***
Katsuki has learned, within the past few weeks, that he hates hospitals. Despises them, really.
They’re cold, for one thing. They’re cold, and sterile, and so… foreboding. And they smell like hand sanitizer and antibacterial wipes and death. He hates them, and everything they stand for.
He stands outside of Deku’s room, hands tucked awkwardly into his hoodie pocket. The bandage on his shoulder feels almost suffocating; tight in a way he’d been able to ignore, before. But now he’s here and he knows that if Deku was awake he’d be asking if he was okay, he’d be worried for him and—
—he opens the door.
Izuku’s room hasn’t changed much since he was in it last. It’s small, the curtain wrapped around the door opened just enough for nurses and doctors to slip through. Two uncomfortable chairs have been pulled up to each side of the bed; flowers are slowly wilting in vases set up on a table by the window. It smells like sickly sweet floral rot and latex gloves. Katsuki shuffles forward, shutting the door behind him.
Auntie Inko’s purse is resting on one of the chairs, her jacket draped atop it in a sad attempt at hiding it. Katsuki takes the seat on the other side of the bed, closest to the door.
He doesn’t look down at Deku, instead looking out the window. The sun shines brightly; so, so brightly like it’s mocking him. His fingers twitch in his pockets.
“You’re lucky your muscles haven’t atrophied.”
No response.
“They have this weird machine that stimulates your muscles. So hopefully the damage won’t get even worse.” Katsuki snorts. “Bet you’ll think that’s cool as shit when you wake up.”
He clears his throat.
“You will wake up, right?”
No response.
Katsuki leaves soon after that, feeling every bit as empty as when he first came in.
***
I don't need the world to see
That I've been the best I can be, but
I don't think I could stand to be
Where you don't see me
***
“No, they can’t just get away with this shit!”
Katsuki mixes his spicy curry around in its bowl, watching as the rice soaks up the curry sauce. His mother slams her fist down on the counter, her grip on her phone tightening until her knuckles turn white.
“Inko, how many times has your Izuku been put in the hospital by these people? How many times has he barely made it out of a fight alive? He’s sixteen— sixteen— in a coma, with barely working arms—“
There is a pause; Katsuki pushes his bowl away.
“I know, I know,” Mitsuki sighs, “I’m sorry. This all just— it’s shit.”
Another pause.
“Hows Izuku? Any news?”
Katsuki stands from the table, bringing his bowl to the sink.
“Fuck,” Mitsuki whispers under her breath. “Well, only time will tell, I suppose. Do you want me to come over there tomorrow? I could keep watch so you can run home and rest up there. Or I could bring you some clothes—“
Katsuki starts washing his dish, letting the sound of rushing water drown out his mother’s voice. The old hag wasn’t going to give him good news, anyway.
***
On sunny days I go out walking
I end up on a tree-lined street
I look up at the gaps of sunlight
I miss you more than anything
***
Shitty Haired Loser: hey man!!! some of the class is going to visit midoriya today, wanna come?
Me: Hard pass.
Katsuki tosses his phone on his bed, rushing down the stairs and towards the front door. He slips on his athletic shoes before grabbing the door handle.
“I’m going for a run! I’m not bringing my phone so if you need me… that sucks for you!”
“Katsuki!” His mother starts rushing out from the kitchen, where she was cooking breakfast. “Wait! The doctor said— you fucking brat don’t you dare—“
“Bye!” It’s only once the door is shut behind him that he adds a muttered ‘Asshole.’
The sun is just starting to rise as he jogs along the sidewalk. Warm pinks and reds that light up the world around him, making the cold air in front of him glow a pretty frost color each time he takes a breath. The morning air that hits his lungs is like a jolt of electricity, and he’s addicted to the feeling— even if each breath is slightly more painful than the last. He ignores the way his barely healed body trembles.
He needs this; a sense of normalcy, order.
Nothing about this seems to be very normal, however. Usually Izuku would be there; matching his steps with him, speeding up and slowing down involuntarily, chattering his ear off about something or the other.
If he closes his eyes he can almost hear his voice, talking about something dumb like the newest hero that just debuted, or something new about One for All.
When he opens them again the voice is lost to the breeze, as is the warmth he’d half-imagined and the smell of mint and pine.
***
I don't need the world to see
That I've been the best I can be, but
I don't think I could stand to be
Where you don't see me
***
He isn’t yearning, he doesn’t think, because that doesn’t make sense at all.
What is there to yearn for? Dek— Izuku’s voice? The pretty green color of his eyes? The way his hands flutter around nervously every time he talks? All his annoying, horrible, stupid little habits that make Katsuki’s stomach turn into goo and make his face feel all warm and prickly?
Hah, as if.
Katsuki is not yearning, not as he makes his way to the hospital every other day, not as he waits for his auntie to (knowingly) leave the room at precisely ten fifteen, not as he sneaks into Izuku’s room, and definitely not as he stares down longingly at Izuku’s bandage covered hands and wishes that he’d done something different. Everything different.
Sometimes Katsuki talks, but today he just sits in silence until Inko comes back. He doesn’t move, because he knows that she knows that he always comes by, and instead keeps staring at Izuku’s hands. The beep, beep, beep, of the monitor is the only sound in the room for a moment, and then Inko pulls her chair around from the other side of the bed and settles down next to Katsuki.
She places a hand on his elbow; surprisingly, or, maybe, unsurprisingly, he does not move his arm away.
“Katsuki-kun,” she acknowledges.
“I shouldn’t be here,” Katsuki says in lieu of greeting. Inko doesn’t pull her hand away.
“Why’s that?”
Katsuki tsks, moving around in his seat awkwardly. “You know why.”
Inko hums, noncommittally. “Explain it to me.”
“I—“ Katsuki swallows the lump that forms in his throat. It hits him, suddenly, that this is all very real. That Izuku is lying, unresponsive, in a hospital bed, and that he might lose his arms, and may never be able to be a hero again, and suddenly Katsuki isn’t quite sure what to do with himself.
Because, honestly, if Izuku, the most heroic person Katsuki knows, can’t become the one thing he’s wanted to be since he was in diapers, what’s the point of Katsuki continuing this life, too?
Because, honestly, hero work is only worth it if Izuku is there, complimenting him, challenging him, being there for him— completing him. Maybe that’s selfish of him.
He shrinks in on himself.
“I was— am such an asshole to him, auntie,” he admits; it’s not the first time he’s said it out loud, it’s far from the first time he’s realized it, but still, it’s different— this is Izuku’s mom. His auntie. The only woman in his life that has honest to god been there for him, no matter what. “I don’t deserve to be here. To sit here and— and worry. To sit here with you, I— I’m not worthy enough, after everything I’ve put him, and— and you— through.”
Inko smiles softly, patting his elbow gently.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and is horrified to find that his vision is blurring from tears. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Oh, honey,” Inko says, pulling him close to her side. The arm of the chair digs uncomfortably into his rib cage, but Katsuki can’t find it in himself to care about that.
He, embarrassingly enough, turns his head into Inko’s neck and sobs.
“Baby, it’s okay; he forgave you long ago, and after seeing you come by for the— for the past while—“ Katsuki can tell that Inko is tearing up too, “I’d like to think I forgive you too.”
His auntie smells like jasmine, and mint, and home.
Katsuki, for the first time in a long time, just lets himself cry.
***
And autumn comes when you're not yet done
With the summer passing by, but
I don't think I could stand to be
***
The days move by slower than before.
He’s doing more things to fill the time— school is not yet back in session (on the demand of almost every parent of the kids in Class 1-A), so instead of new homework he studies up on old topics. Just in case.
He runs until his legs ache; helps the old hag reorganize the kitchen and even lets his dad offer advice on changes he can make to his hero costume.
Mitsuki is still, very prevalently, all for suing U.A. and taking all the kids out of it; Katsuki, though it pains him to admit it, can see where she’s coming from.
So many people were put in danger, and why? Because the actual certified heroes couldn’t handle the villains on their own? They had to bring children into it?
At first, Katsuki hadn’t seen much wrong with that— they were training to be heroes, that’s what life would be like for them. There’s no sense in hiding that.
But now Izuku is laying comatose in a stuffy hospital room and nothing really makes sense anymore.
Speaking of, Katsuki has started visiting Izuku much more often; that is to say every day rather than every other day. That’s what he’s doing now, in fact.
The hospital is just as it was the day before; cold, sterile, shiny with that haunting, scrubbed-clean white color everywhere and absolutely horrible in every way.
The nurse barely spares him a glance before slapping a visitor sticker on his chest and nodding him through. Long, empty halls greet him as he walks to Izuku’s room, silent save for muffled conversations on other sides of doors and the squeaking of his shoes against the linoleum flooring. The bag he’s carrying in his hand rustles as he walks.
Izuku’s door has gotten less and less daunting as the days passed, and now Katsuki finds that he can open it with ease. Inko isn’t there; she probably left to give him some privacy.
Embarrassingly enough, Katsuki finds himself grateful.
He sits down on the chair next to Izuku, placing the bag on his lap.
“Hey, Deku,” he mumbles lowly, glancing at the other’s face. It’s calm, has been calm for the past few weeks; though it’s a bit paler than before. His freckles have become less prominent, and his lips are chapped. Katsuki fights back the flutter in his chest all the same. “I brought you something new, for fuckin’ once.”
He opens the bag, grabbing out the shoe box that had been hidden within it.
“It’s those ugly ones you like. I had to sneak off to buy ‘em, so when you wake up you better be fucking thankful as hell.” He pauses for a second, before adding on: “And don’t tell anyone I got you them.”
He’d taken to bringing Izuku ‘gifts,’ if you could call any of them that. Music he vaguely remembers Izuku listening to (the doctors told them to play that kind of stuff), some old All Might movies and memorabilia that he has no use of anymore. Stuff like that.
He isn’t quite sure when he got so soft, especially for Izuku of all people. He has honestly decided to ignore it.
“Fuckin ugly,” he snorts, setting the shoes down beside the bed. “I don’t know why you like those red pieces of shit so much, but whatever. Not my life and all that.” He’s silent, for a second, wishing, for the first time in his long, hate-filled life, that he could hear Izuku say that dumb nickname again. Have Izuku chasing behind him again. Or, maybe he’d be the one doing the chasing this time.
Either way.
“Well, I don’t have much to tell you. This is kind of embarrassing, anyway— feels like I’m talking to myself or whatever. I know I just got here but… I guess I’m going to go, now. I’ll come back tomorrow though. Don’t worry.”
He hesitates, for a second, before brushing a few strands of Izuku’s curls away from his forehead. His hair is honestly kind of knotted and greasy, but Katsuki can’t find it in himself to care.
He stands up, brushing his fingertips against Izuku’s cheek, over to his nose then down his lips to his jaw. He frowns.
“Wake up soon, idiot. I think— I think I have something really important to tell you, okay?”
No response; he’s stopped expecting to get one.
“I’m going now, okay? Don’t do anything du— don’t be dumb.”
He starts walking towards the door, only to pause at an odd sound coming from behind him. Katsuki turns, half expecting for one of the windows to be open, causing a breeze to blow on the curtains enough to make them rustle around, only to pause.
His mouth drops open.
He is greeted with the sight of large, viridian eyes, blinking at the harshness of the sunlight coming from the window.
A voice, groggy with sleep and cracking from disuse, asks:
“Kacchan?”
***
Where you don't see me