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his parent’s love often looks like one of convenience.
as in, who else could put up with you the way i can?
at first, Katsuki can’t understand why his friends are confused by their dynamic. why, while he’s sipping juice at lunchtime, absentmindedly scribbling green crayon over a spare sheet of paper, a boy with scaly wings asks him if his parents hate each other.
“don’t be stupid,” Katsuki sneers, “my parents are super grossly in love.”
“well my parents love each other and they said it’s bad to yell at people you care about,” another child points out.
“my mommy and daddy live in different houses because they used to fight too much,” the girl beside him offers, “it’s not so bad though.”
and Katsuki realizes that none of them really see his parents the way he does. equal partners in their business, spending late nights poring over designs and concepts and management materials. Katsuki stands at the foot of the stairs most evenings, well past his bedtime, watching them occupy each other’s space at the dining table while they work. when his father stays behind at the office and comes home to his mother, whose fuming temper gets the better of her time and time again; when she raises a hand to smack his arm, he catches her wrist and kisses her palm. she looks like a hag, Katsuki decides, when her face is all scrunched up and red and her eyes are slatted like a demon's. but Katsuki’s father gazes at her like she’s the most beautiful thing in the world.
there’s one child in his class who doesn’t seem to think there’s something wrong with the way Katsuki’s parents love each other. the first time Izuku Midoriya comes over, Katsuki braces himself for the inevitable concern that will come his way.
instead, he’s met with wide green eyes and a delighted smile.
“Kacchan,” he says happily, “your parents are so nice!”
“they’re fine,” Katsuki grumbles, though his chest swells with pride, “i think they fight too much.”
Izuku considers this.
“it doesn’t look like they’re fighting. i think your mom just talks kinda loud. like you!”
Katsuki sputters angrily, crossing his arms while Izuku giggles beside him.
“well, what do you know anyway? you only have your mom.”
it’s a mean thing to say, and for a moment, Katsuki wonders if he’s gone too far. he dreads the tears that will bloom from Izuku’s eyes, the proof he won’t be able to hide from his mother, who will actually get angry if she thinks Katsuki is being nasty to her newest friend’s son.
but Izuku doesn’t cry. he doesn’t get angry. his tiny hands don’t curl into fists.
“that’s true,” he says in a very matter-of-fact tone, “if Kacchan thinks his parents fight too much, he’s right.”
they don’t fight too much, they don’t fight at all, Katsuki wants to say, but Izuku has already moved on. he’s digging through his backpack with a look of intense concentration, and Katsuki, not for the first time or the last, swallows the apology that leadens his tongue.
years later, he’s staring at his own shirt and the way it clings to Izuku’s frame - too large on the shoulders, too fitted at the waist.
his boyfriend is washing dishes. soap and water spill over the edge of the sink onto the countertop and Katsuki fights the urge to crowd Izuku’s space and clean up after him.
“i think we should break up,” he says, and it’s like he’s released something ugly and monstrous into the air.
poisonous, the silence that follows.
quiet, the response that comes after.
“okay,” Izuku replies.
his elbows are shaky, fingers gripping each plate tightly as he works their green sponge in circles.
and Katsuki knows, without a shadow of a doubt, this war has been decided for them.
“you’re serious then.”
“you think i’d bring it up otherwise?”
“i don’t know what to think anymore.”
“should we talk about this?”
they volley back and forth, clinging to indifference to disguise the pain that rips from their chests.
it’s the right thing, and they both know it, but it feels calamitous, like a cosmic joke, the flaw of the universe, a sign of the times, proof of all things unholy, because who else could put up with you the way i can?
Katsuki wishes he had taken the time to understand his parents' marriage better when they were younger. still new at their partnership, still new at parenting, still struggling to love each other in a way that made sense.
now, sitting in the kitchen they were meant to share forever, fingers sparking marks into the wood of the dining table he’ll leave for Izuku to manage, Katsuki wonders how he could have possibly failed so miserably at something he knew so well.
it starts with the little things, tiny frustrations that trickle slow.
i reached for you in my sleep and woke to find the bed cold.
the bathtub faucet is dripping and Katsuki isn’t sure whether it’s broken or Izuku simply forgot to turn it off.
you drank yourself stupid to feel something new, to chase away the ghosts I couldn’t fight for you.
lipstick smudges on freckled skin and Katsuki knows they’re just remnants of enthusiasm gifted from admirers and fans alike, but damn it, those fucking extras are touching Deku when I haven’t in weeks.
i wish you would ask me if i was okay, just to feel you coax the truth from my reluctant lips one last time.
Katsuki learns early on, their relationship is anything but convenient.
they break up. far too neatly, for Katsuki’s tastes. it feels wrong to linger in their apartment more than necessary, but Izuku insists that he stay until after his next mission is over. he agrees, mostly because it gives him time to find somewhere to live.
as it turns out, breaking up, no matter how well-handled, is hard to do.
the first night is hellish. he sleeps alone in their bedroom, flat on his back like a starfish in the center of their bed. it feels awkward and lonely and too cold for his preferences. he wonders if Izuku is lonely on the couch. the thought is barely formed before Katsuki is on his feet, fingers closed around the door handle.
he pauses for a moment, stunned by his own weakness. they’ve broken up. it’s over. it’s ended. he ended it. it was his choice.
what right does he have to seek Izuku’s warmth?
you love him, a beastly voice inside him croons, only him. forever.
yes, Katsuki thinks, forever.
when he opens the door, Izuku is there to greet him, a hand poised as if he were about to knock.
“cold,” he says stiffly.
a flash of understanding passes between them. it’s the last lightning rod of something, a spark of their eternity, the burning reminder that breaking up doesn’t actually break anything, and they’re two people standing before each other, still whole and full of desires and emotions and bleeding love.
Katsuki yanks Izuku across the threshold by the back of the neck and kisses him hard. it’s angry and wistful. he thinks he can feel hot tears running down Izuku’s face.
“i can’t,” Izuku gasps against his lips, “Kacchan, i can’t.”
“i know,” Katsuki breathes, “but we have to.”
“‘m not ready to let you go,” Izuku sobs.
don’t do it, Katsuki wants to say, wait for me until we’re right for each other again.
but it’s too selfish an ask, and it’s one he knows Izuku would hold himself to.
he lets his kiss convey the words he can’t speak. clumsily apologetic, painfully ardent.
i love you.
it’s less like a confession and more like a prayer. Katsuki’s lips ghost over the hollow of Izuku’s throat, tracing the skin he’s worried so often through his teeth, marked with his mouth, and caressed with his tongue.
i’m sorry.
and it’s less like an apology and more like a confession, some kind of repentance for what they both know they can’t control; the natural end of their relationship that, at long last, caught up to them.
their joining is slow and unhurried, like all the fervor has drained out of their limbs and left them boneless. Katsuki savors every fluttery sigh drawn from Izuku’s lips.
more.
slower.
harder.
please.
yes.
they stay like that, tangled beneath the sheets and twisted so impossibly close they resemble a single body rather than two, until the first rays of sun spill through the curtains. Katsuki blinks his eyes open blearily, nuzzling into Izuku’s shoulder.
“we broke up,” Izuku reminds him sleepily.
“i know,” Katsuki replies, dropping a kiss on his skin.
and somehow it becomes easy, to be broken up and not broken up, going through the motions of being separate while being so attached. they don’t sleep together again after the first night, where they bade their goodbyes to each other’s bodies, but they fall into the habit of stealing space and warmth and touches where they can.
Katsuki officially moves out nine days later. and he really means for it to be the last time he sees Izuku for a while.
but tokyo slips into the sea, and suddenly everything is different. and impossible. and exhausting.
his agency runs him ragged during the first week of victim recovery. by the second, his new apartment is nearly submerged underwater. during the third, he’s moved into temporary hero housing just outside the city limits.
he’s lucky to have salvaged most of his belongings before the storm hit the heart of the city, but moving things into his temporary home is a bitch. he leaves boxes stacked in the entryway, hoping his roommate won’t mind the stolen space.
as it turns out, Izuku doesn’t mind. he doesn’t say much at all, committed to maintaining the boundaries of their separation. Katsuki’s fine with this; it’s easy to manage his feelings without comfort and familiarity clouding his head.
when it’s all over, he leaves without another goodbye.
news of the wonder duo’s split spreads quickly after that, though its prick is dulled in the aftermath of a great tragedy. the storm that swallowed tokyo is too devastating, too fresh a wound to be shadowed by two heroes breaking up.
for all except Katsuki and Izuku, who haven’t quite yet figured out how to allow the storm to eclipse their feelings.
one year passes. they break into the top ten hero rankings, mostly due to their monumental assistance in the recovery efforts for old tokyo. the annual heroes gala is hosted by the commission in kyoto. Katsuki is in attendance. notably, Izuku is not.
he tries not to think too much about the number eight hero. he tries not to crow over his victory, placing seventh in the rankings. he fails miserably.
his mother asks about Izuku constantly. Katsuki wonders if her only goal in life is to cement her place in his as a constant headache. if that’s the case, she’s an absolute success.
his father, even-tempered as always, does his best to manage their conflicting energies whenever Katsuki visits home. but Katsuki can still see the question in his eyes - what went wrong, why did you break up? - though it goes unasked. it’s funny, he thinks, how much his father reminds him of Izuku at times. the grounding force to slow his mother’s explosive nature.
at two years, after breaking top ten once again, Katsuki decides to start dating again. casually. very, very casually. it’s a string of hook-ups and failed dates more than it is an actual attempt at a serious relationship, but he calls that progress. it’s not nauseating to kiss someone else’s skin. it doesn’t sting to hear someone else cry out his name. he’s finally moving forward with his personal life.
he steers clear of bringing a date to the annual rankings gala, just in case Izuku might be there. once again, the newly-crowned number seven hero is absent.
at year three, Katsuki swears off relationships entirely. they’re tedious and messy and okay, he’s fed up with the countless tabloids that have taken to following his sex life. if he really has to, it’s easier to satisfy himself with toys discreetly. Kirishima thinks it’s a terrible idea. Katsuki, quite frankly, doesn’t give a shit.
he breaks top ten in the rankings again, though he slips down from the fifth to the eighth spot, just below Izuku. Katsuki knows he should care more, but victories feel hollow these days, and losses are often even emptier. he debates calling his mother to talk to her about his feelings, then blanches at the thought.
Katsuki skips the rankings gala this year. he stays home and gets drunk, and thinks, for the first time, he understands why Izuku, at his most restless, was obsessed with drinking himself silly.
he calls his mother and tells her he misses Izuku. she sighs and tells him she knows. he’s never heard her sound so sympathetic or soft. Katsuki nearly cries.
but morning comes and that’s the end of it. the end of his longing, the end of his sadness. Katsuki checks into work and goes about his business as usual. he focuses on the future and not the past. if someday he and Izuku find their way to each other, he’ll be happy. until that happens, he has other things to focus on.
in the fourth year after their break up, Izuku gets badly injured. Katsuki watches the news in horror, wide-eyed alongside the rest of the heroes and sidekicks at his agency. there aren’t many details shared, beyond the fact that the now number five hero is in critical condition at a hospital in musutafu. per Izuku’s mother’s request, Katsuki assumes.
the question of whether or not he should visit haunts him day and night. would Izuku want to see him? is there a point in going when he’s not yet woken up? aren’t there other people by his bedside? is there someone new, someone who’s replaced him, holding Izuku’s scarred hand and praying over his still form?
he puts in a request for a week-long vacation. he phones his mother and minds her screaming, before asking her if it’s fine for him to come home for a few days. the trip to musutafu by train is too long for his liking, but he books a one-way ticket anyway, biting his tongue to refrain from yelling at staff and idiot passengers and anyone else who tries to offer him comfort over the situation.
both of his parents pick him up from the station, exchanging nervous looks as they pack his suitcase into the car and buckle in for the short drive to musutafu general.
“Katsuki,” his father says gently, “Izuku hasn’t woken up yet.”
“you think i don’t know that?” Katsuki barks, fists clenched at his sides.
“we just want you to be prepared for what you’re going to see, brat,” his mother snaps back, “don’t bite our heads off.”
and Katsuki sees it again, the way his father shifts his elbow so it’s touching his mother’s, reaching out with a hand to entwine their fingers and rub his thumb along her knuckles. the tension in her shoulders disappears and he lifts their joined hands to drop a kiss on her skin. his mother never lets go of the wheel, nor does her focus change; if anything, she’s more in control than before.
“Inko is already there,” his mother adds, after a moment, “as is Toshinori. i told her they could take a break while you stayed with Izuku for a bit.”
“alone?” Katsuki sputters, “i don’t - we haven’t - if he wakes up and doesn’t want to see me -“
“i wouldn’t worry too much about that,” his father cuts in knowingly, “i don’t think that boy has ever not wanted to see you.”
that’s not true, Katsuki wants to say, what about the galas he missed? the parties he left? the nights he spent getting drunk alone instead of staying home with me?
he tries not to think about it too much when they arrive, but it dawns on him that he hasn’t seen Izuku in a state like this since they were students. it was a terrible sight that haunted his memory for weeks. he wonders if this will be worse.
Toshinori is waiting for him in the lobby. he’s thinner than Katsuki remembered, the hollows of his gaunt face more sunken in. his eyes, electric blue, shine with worry.
“young Bakugou,” he murmurs, placing a hand on Katsuki’s shoulder, “Mr. and Mrs. Bakugou, thank you for coming.”
“how’s Inko holding up?” his mother asks, wringing her hands fretfully. it’s strange to see her so antsy.
“as well as you would expect,” Toshinori admits, shaking his head, “she’s barely stepped away from Midoriya’s side.”
“stubborn as always,” his mother sighs, biting her lip, “Katsuki, you go on and let Inko know we’re here. no need for all of us to crowd Izuku.”
“they’re in room 402,” Toshinori adds.
Katsuki nods numbly and trudges towards the elevator, grateful for a moment alone. it’s a miracle that he hasn’t been swarmed by fans or journalists, though he supposes they might, for once, be granting him a wide berth given the circumstances. he’s grateful. so fucking grateful.
it feels painfully familiar, his hurried stride towards 402. blood is pounding in his head and he feels out of place in his body, like his soul is barely tethered to his flesh. he closes his eyes and all he sees is Izuku, curled up beside him in bed, making a mess in the kitchen, swinging his legs onto Katsuki’s lap and demanding a massage, beaming at him in the bath, laughing and happy and alive.
the door to 402 is slightly ajar when he gets there, and Katsuki takes a moment to collect himself, craning his head to listen in to the faint conversation that bleeds through the crack in the door.
“ - condition is unchanging, i would highly advise you take some time for yourself and get some rest, Mrs. Midoriya.”
“and i am not leaving my baby alone for a second!” Izuku’s mother cries out shrilly, “what if he wakes up and i’m not beside him? what then?”
“that won’t happen,” the woman Katsuki assumes to be Izuku’s head physician replies reassuringly, “we have him under close watch, with round-the-clock specialists observing his vitals. should anything change, you’ll be the first to know.”
“at least let me wait until his friend gets here. the only one i trust to stay by his side other than myself is Katsuki, and i am not leaving until i see him,” she shoots back fiercely.
“why don’t i head down to the lobby and check to see if your visitors have arrived?” the other woman suggests placatingly, “and then you can take a seat, eat some food, grab a fresh change of clothes. you’re no good to your son as long as you’re not taking care of yourself too.”
Katsuki can almost hear Inko Midoriya deflate, unable to argue with the sentiment. he uses the brief silence to knock on the door, pushing it open another inch.
“auntie?” he calls out.
there’s a quiet gasp and the clatter of something falling to the floor.
the door slides open, and he’s met with a sobbing ball of green that clings to him, holding him so tightly he’s nearly out of breath.
“you’re here,” Inko wails into his shirt, “oh, you’re here, thank god you’re here.”
the tension he hadn’t known he was bearing lifts from his shoulders, and Katsuki hesitantly wraps his arms around her shoulders, patting her back gently.
“i’m sorry i wasn’t here sooner. i’m sorry i...i’m sorry i didn’t save him,” he chokes out, swallowing the lump in his throat.
Inko leans back and wipes her eyes, offering him a wobbly smile, “don’t apologize, Katsuki. Izuku would be thrilled to know you came. that’s all that ever mattered to him.”
and she’s right. she’s right to think, to know that all Izuku has ever needed to feel peace was seeing Katsuki’s face. that the flaws and faults and fights, the chinks in the armor of their relationship, the cruel words tossed about carelessly and the nights spent pining for each other from afar - all of it faded in retrospect, dwarfed in significance by the sheer need they had for each other.
suddenly it’s Inko guiding Katsuki further into the room while the doctor excuses herself and slips away. Inko holds his hand comfortingly while he takes in the image of Izuku’s sleeping form.
“...he’s looked worse,” Katsuki says weakly.
Inko smiles, the tired lines around her eyes crinkling with amusement.
“Toshinori said the same thing when he saw him too.”
probably because it’s true. Izuku’s right limbs are heavily bandaged while his left leg is elevated in a cast. his left arm looks okay, minus an ugly bruise that blooms outwards from his shoulder. there are bandages wrapped around his chest, and Katsuki can see the healing flesh, mottled red and blue and yellow, peeking out from under the frayed strips of cloth. there’s a cut on his cheek and a neat row of stitches at his jaw and another at his forehead. he’s pale, nearly translucent in the face.
he looks like he’s sleeping. his features are smooth and peaceful, like he’s lost in pleasant dreams. Katsuki almost envies his tranquility.
almost.
“physically, there’s not really much they’re worried about,” Inko says quietly, “his arm was burnt terribly, but they patched it up easily enough. he c-cracked several ribs and broke his leg - those only took a few hours to set again. there was something...something wrong with his ankle but they put it in place. the problem is that his body can’t do anything to fix him on its own. they think...they think he’s healing badly because of a quirk he was hit with but,” she shrugs helplessly, “they don’t know what it could be or how long it might last. so until then, he’s stuck like this.”
“and he won’t wake up?” Katsuki asks, unable to take his eyes off Izuku.
“not unless the quirk wears off and he resumes healing naturally, or their quirk specialists come in and perform the adjustments for him.”
“i don’t understand.”
“i don’t either,” Inko says tiredly, “Toshinori can explain better than I. or you can ask Doctor Kaji, when she makes her rounds. sit with me?”
his heart stutters in his chest as he takes a seat beside her. her fingers are still tightly wrapped around his, but Katsuki doesn’t have the heart to pull his hand away.
“it’s not your fault, you know.”
Katsuki grunts in response.
“don’t give me any of that. you know it, i know it, my son knows it. there is nothing you could have done to have changed this.”
“if things hadn’t gotten so bad, if we hadn’t broken up -“
“then what?” she asks gently, squeezing his hand, “Izuku has always been reckless. it’s never mattered whether or not someone was waiting for him at home. he does things without thinking.”
“but if i had stayed -“
Inko shakes her head.
“you two really are the same,” she muses, “i’m going to go greet your parents and then find something to eat with Toshinori. sit tight until then, please.”
she pats his shoulder and rises from her seat, stepping over to Izuku’s bedside to drop a kiss on his forehead.
Katsuki hears her whisper something to her son, before she turns, grabbing her purse and coat, and heads out the door.
he sits and waits as instructed. he reads through the clipboard of notes that hangs on the wall, staying out of the nurse's way when she comes to check vitals and adjust Izuku’s positioning. he asks Doctor Kaji every question he can think of. he fusses, a lot.
he settles into a routine of sorts, keeping Inko company on afternoons when Toshinori is busy, trading evenings with them to stay by Izuku’s side. time passes quickly with little progress made. Katsuki extends his vacation out by a week. and then another. and again.
during his fourth week in musutafu, he’s called away on an urgent mission. the agency expects him in hokkaido first thing in the morning - there have been reported rumblings around the island, odd weather patterns, swells and stirrings of a storm not unlike the one that swallowed old tokyo in the years before.
he has no choice but to leave.
his trip to hokkaido is long and bleak, but necessary. it takes the full efforts of multiple agencies to prevent the island from sinking into the sea. they stave off the storm, but just barely, and spend the next several months reinforcing the outer cities to withstand the early beginnings of any coming disasters. there are still no leads in the case of why these storms keep forming. Katsuki doesn’t particularly care at the moments. There are other things occupying his attention.
when he returns to kyoto, nearly a month and a half later, the news breaks that pro-hero Deku has been discharged from musutafu general, and is currently returning home to new tokyo in near perfect condition.
Katsuki wastes no time requesting another week’s leave at the agency, and heads home quickly to pack a bag and book a ticket out of kyoto. he texts Kirishima on the way and asks him to give him a ride to the station.
once inside his apartment, he kicks off his shoes haphazardly and throws his keys on the kitchen counter, making a mad dash for his room to assemble the rest of his belongings. clothes, a phone charger, his glasses and contacts, Izuku’s favorite edition of the original all might manga that he meant to return, a stack of letters from their former classmates that he had forgotten to take with him to musutafu (oops), and a few wads of cash to tide him over in the city. he hasn’t booked a hotel, let alone a train ticket, so when he hears a knock at the door, he has half a mind to tell Kirishima to fuck off until he’s ready.
“give me a minute, shitty hair,” Katsuki shouts from his room.
Kirishima knocks again, more persistently than before.
“yeah, i heard you, idiot, would you just wait a damn second?”
he zips his bag closed and slides it into the hallway, surveying his room to ensure he hasn’t missed anything. with a nod of satisfaction, Katsuki steps out of his bedroom and kicks the bag aside, peering his head into his bathroom for a final check.
he hears another knock at the door and groans.
“alright, fuckhead, I’m coming, jeez,” Katsuki grumbles. he curses as he stumbles over his boots in the entryway, reaching for the handle of the door and pulling it open.
but it’s not Kirishima standing before him.
“Kacchan?” Izuku says breathlessly, waving with one hand awkwardly, “can we talk?”
and suddenly it’s like the last four - almost five - years never happened. the riptide Katsuki had been so desperate to avoid getting trapped in caught him after all, in the form of the one person he had never been able to let go of.
“i thought you were headed back to tokyo?” Katsuki asks, clearing his throat.
how did you end up here on my doorstep?
“there were a few things i needed to take care of first. friends in kyoto who were taking care of me for a while.”
i woke up and you weren’t there, so i had to find you myself.
“and...did you take care of those things? figure your shit out?”
are we doing this? are we fixing it, after all this time?
Izuku’s eyes twinkle with mirth.
“almost. actually, Kacchan, i-“
he’s interrupted by his own stomach growling, so loudly, Katsuki wonders if it’s a joke of some kind.
“hah, sorry,” Izuku apologizes, mortified, “I haven’t eaten in...well, since yesterday i guess? been pretty disoriented and all, it totally slipped my mind.
Katsuki’s eye twitches, his lips curling into a dark smile.
“so, Deku, what i’m hearing is you’ve been freshly discharged from the hospital and you’re already skipping meals?”
he delights in the way Izuku pales.
“i- i didn’t mean to - um - do you want to eat something together? ow! hey, i’m still injured,” he pouts, rubbing the top of his head.
“just get inside, dumbass,” Katsuki says, shaking his head, “what would you do without me?”
who else could put up with you the way i can?
Izuku beams up at him.
“i’m hoping we never have to find out.”