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Decked out in a prim, dull black suit, Izuku stood in front of the full body mirror, hands fiddling with his tie as he struggled to fasten it properly.
He had been wearing a similar one only yesterday yet he couldn’t for his life remember how he had achieved it at the time, his fingers kept fidgeting and twisting around to no avail. His heart wasn’t really in it though, it was just something to keep his mind occupied, off and away from everything else, although it was becoming increasingly apparent that that wasn’t really working for him either.
If anyone asked Izuku at that moment what he was thinking about, he wouldn’t be able to say. His mind was blank yet at the same time, it was chaos; not that anyone who took one look at the dreadful dark circles under his eyes would dare to ask, probably.
Were he anyone else he would have given up by now, either went looking for help or forgone the accessory completely, were he himself in another circumstance he would have likely done the same thing, but Izuku wasn’t his most rational at the moment.
Neither was he his most emotional, maybe he would have already either melted into a pool of tears or punched a hole into the glass in front of him if that were the case. But Izuku wasn’t angry right now, perhaps he had ran out of both tears and anger by now, because currently he could only be described as exhausted.
“Izuku...?” he heard a tentative knock on the door, followed by a timid call. “Do you need help?”
He could see Ochako’s worried expression reflected in the mirror as she came in to check on him. Normally, he wouldn’t have minded the help, but he felt way too fragile at the moment, like he would simply crumble into a pile of ashes at the smallest touch.
“No, I’m fine. It’s just that…” Izuku lied with a smile that looked hollow even to his own eyes. “It’s just that I hate ties.”
Ochako’s concerned frown didn’t recede at his words, if anything it became even more pronounced. Izuku didn’t attempt to appease her further though. He didn’t care anymore. He just wanted today to be over.
He decided to forgo the tie after all.
The funeral was a classically cumbersome ordeal, brimming with people mostly to accommodate those who hadn’t been able to attend the wake the day before. Not that Izuku remembered who had or hadn’t attended the wake in the first place, he hardly remembered anything at all, only the crushing, bottomless despair and denial taking over his mind and body, eating him up from the inside and spitting out the bones.
Either way, Izuku was surprised at the amount of people that showed up today, considering it was a private afair and had been very out-of-the-blue, the news yet to be released to the media. But he guessed he shouldn’t have. Kacchan may not have had many close friends, but he was well-liked and admired by almost everyone he had worked with; they all wanted to share a piece of his light.
Aside from their former classmates there were some other well-known professional heroes amongst the crowd, and some others he didn't recognize. He caught sight of his own mom from the corner of his eye, standing a short distance away by Mitsuki’s side and holding her in confort, although if any ignorant onlookers saw the scene they might have thought it was Inko who had lost her son instead, looking at the stream of tears running consistently down her face.
Kacchan’s mom, in contrast, wasn’t crying, not visibly at least. Her expression was instead stuck in a tight, guarded frown. Izuku had always thought she was an incredibly tough woman, or more accurately a ‘scary lady’, going by his childhood self’s standards. She always seemed to stand tall and strong, seemingly fearless, but at the moment, he thought she looked incredibly small, dwarfed by the size of the picture frame she was holding in her arms.
Through the course of the ceremony, Izuku was secretly grateful no one had tried to get him to say a few words or to lend a shoulder to mourning relatives or anything of the sort. They could probably see in his face that he wasn’t up to any of that. He wasn’t Number one pro-hero Deku at the moment, he was just Deku. Sad, angry and broken Deku. Useless Deku. Deku who couldn’t do anything.
When the time came to place flowers in Katsuki’s casket, Izuku almost couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of Katsuki’s face, pale like moonlight and still as the water of a lake, eyes forever drawn close as if in peaceful slumber, unmoving. Those adjectives didn’t fit him in the slightest, Kacchan was supposed to be burning vibrant with life and explosive colors, glowing an angry red like blood, yellow like azufre and bright orange like boiling lava, not, not-
Lifeless.
Izuku felt the edges of his sight blurring, his stomach turning and for a short second he thought he was going to be sick. It was coming back, not the pain nor the sadness, those had never left, but the anger. He was furious, at everyone, at Katsuki, at himself. At everything that had led this to happen. That had allowed it to happen.
Especially when he kept hearing people singing words of praise to Kacchan’s deed, his selfless act, his sacrifice. Heroic, they said. Izuku wanted to scream.
Heroic.
There wasn’t anything heroic about death.
Izuku was still trying to remember where he had parked the car as he stepped out of the funeral home, Ochako by his side, when a voice called out to him.
“Hey, Midoriya, Uraraka!” Kirishima shouted, catching up to them. “Or maybe I should call you both Midoriya now?”
Izuku stared at him. Ochako also didn’t say anything, although if she was just waiting for him to clarify, he didn’t know.
“Yeah, you’re right, I’m sorry,” Kirishima said awkwardly, apparently taking their silence as his answer. “I’m just... you know.”
Izuku knew. The redhead looked just as drained and drawn thin as they all did. He didn’t blame him.
“Actually, I was wondering if…” Kirisima trailed off, uncharisterically for him. Again, Izuku didn’t blame him. “Midoriya, would you mind accompanying me for a bit? There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
Izuku absently wondered what it could be, he wouldn’t mind going for a round of drinks though, god knew he needed it. “Yeah, sure thing, Kirishima-kun.”
“Uraraka, can I steal him away for a bit? I promise to return him safe and sound!” Kirishima assured his fiancée (Not wife. They had temporarily called off the wedding).
“Yes, of course!” Ochako agreed, a forced smile on her face. “Just… be careful, okay?” She looked like she was trying hard to be supportive. Izuku hated himself for making her worry, and for leaving her alone. Not enough to refuse Kirishima’s invitation though, curious despite himself.
They ended up at a bar a few streets away where Kirishima ordered them two glasses of beer. Izuku didn’t protest, he had left the car with Ochako so he wasn’t planning on driving anyways, and Kirishima apparently only lived a stop away.
He wondered if the other would let him crash there. Izuku wasn’t too keen on going back home to the sight of Ochako’s concerned frown and pitying brown eyes. Although he knew that by avoiding her he was only making it worse, dragging out the inevitable.
Moments later they had both finished their drinks in between vacant silence and occasional small talk, but Kirishima had yet to address the reason he had called Izuku out, instead he ordered them another round of drinks. The matter hung heavy over them like a thick blanket, but Izuku didn’t rush the other man, content to keep pretending that everything was normal, to forget for just a moment longer.
It was after they were well into their fourth glass that Kirishima broke, the words spilling out of him suddenly like water from an open floodgate. “I still can’t believe he’s gone,” he said without any preamble. There was no need to say any names, they both knew who he was talking about. “I woke up today half-expecting all this to be some horrible, fucked-up dream to be honest...”
“Yeah…” Izuku muttered. “Me too.” That was a lie though, he hadn’t slept.
He empathized either way, the denial was still thick in his mind.
Death wasn’t an uncommon thing in their line of work, quite the opposite in fact, it was always present, expected, accounted for. There wasn’t a day that went by where they weren’t faced with reminders of their own mortality, as well as of the people they were meant to protect. It was a whole different thing when it reached someone close to you though, it had already been over a year since Yagi Toshinori, All Might, Izuku’s own beloved mentor, had died, since the last funeral he had officially attended, and he still couldn’t quite get over it.
But this.
He couldn’t have accounted for this.
Izuku had thought he had outgrown his childhood idol-crush on Kacchan. He admired him of course, but he thought he knew better than to worship him, having experienced first hand just how flawed of a human he could be, although he knew he couldn't keep himself from liking him, hard-edges and all. Even at the times when he most wanted to hate him, Izuku still liked him.
And apparently, a part of him still held on to that blind admiration. Without his knowing, he had regarded Kacchan as an existence not unlike that of All Might, even after Izuku had surpassed him as far as rankings went, he still held strong to that infallible place in his heart. He was strong, he was brave, he was bright like a light, he was his goal, his hero. He was eternal and untouchable, like Izuku’s very own North star.
And stars didn’t die.
Izuku had seen All Might waste away, like the last vestiges of sunlight right before nightfall, but even so, he had accepted it as the inevitable fate of a hero fighting for his beliefs. It was only natural, to fight as much as they can, for as long as they can. In his place, Izuku would succeed his mission, if All Might was the sunset then Izuku would be the breaking dawn.
So he fought to uphold those ideals, never waver, never stumble, never hesitate. Even at times when he wanted to give up, when everything felt like too much and he like too little, when he felt the weight of regret crashing in on him, he carried on with that resolve, always smiling, because that was what All Might have taught him to do, because that was what a hero, what the Symbol of Peace was.
Ochako often told him that he was being too hard on himself, how she hated seeing him looking so worn down, and how he should rely and lean on her a bit more, or else he would break under the pressure. Izuku felt guilty when she saw the worry edged in her face, almost permanent now, he hated being a burden on her, so he just smiled and reassured her that he was fine, and that he loved her, because he despised lying to her and at least one of those two things was true.
Besides, it wasn’t that bad, Izuku could handle it, if it was All Might, he would face it all with a smile, if it was Kacchan, he wouldn't let himself be dragged down by only this much.
So Izuku could do better, he would do better, he had to.
And then, his star fell.
And now the sky was dark and empty again, bereft of his guiding light, and he could no longer tell north. He was stranded, lost.
Izuku could feel himself unraveling, falling apart, like everything that had held him together was coming undone.
It was terrifying.
“He loved you, you know?” Kirishima said suddenly, breaking Izuku out of his musings and bringing all of his thoughts to a grounding halt. His voice was whisper-soft and yet deafeningly loud to Izuku’s ears, drowning out every other noise in the bar. “That guy did.”
“What…?” Izuku heard himself ask, his sleep-deprived and alcohol-addled brain not quite processing the statement. “Kirishima-kun...?”
“Bakugou he… he was in love with you,” the redhead continued, voice breaking for a moment but still powering through his confession. “Ever since I knew him, though he’d have rather died than admit it. Heh,” he laughed humorlessly. “That’s not funny.”
“Wait, Kirishima, you’re not making any sense-!” Izuku pleaded, unable to wrap his head around the words at the speed of which they were being said. Unable to accept them.
Kirishima, though, carried on as if he was never interrupted, absorbed in his own monologue, peeling away at Izuku’s pathetic resistance with every word. “We never talked about it, actually. But I think he knew that I knew. I thought he would get over it, eventually. Find closure. But…” he smiled a wry smile, which morphed into a grimace. “I probably made light of his stubbornness.”
There was a weighted pause in which none of them said anything. Silence settled over them as Kirishima massaged his tired eyes and collected himself, while Izuku was…
Izuku was.
“Sorry, Midoriya,” his former classmate said. “For springing this up on you like that. You don’t deserve to feel responsible for that idiot’s decisions or anything, but I just couldn’t…” he choked out, a miserable sound. “I couldn’t carry all that myself. I’m sorry, it’s so fucking selfish of me.”
Izuku absently murmured something unintelligible that was probably meant to be reassurance as he stood up and excused himself, dismissing Kirishima when the other offered to accompany him, and the next he knew he was emptying his guts into the toilet inside the nearest stall.
Lucky for him the bathroom was deserted, silent safe for the muffled beat of music coming from the other side of the door and the lurching sound of Izuku’s gagging, quickly followed by sniffles which then grew into full blown sobs.
He must have taken too long though, the passage of time distorted as he was sitting there, feverishly warm against the refreshingly cold bathroom tiles, because he was interrupted by a kock on the door followed by Kirishima’s voice. “Hey Midoriya, you in there?” After a beat in which Izuku failed to respond, he knocked again, voice softer this time. “Are you okay dude?”
It was a stupid question. Of course he wasn’t, he was never going to be.
A part of him wanted to resent Kirishima, for telling him what he did today, for not having told him before, when it had mattered, but he knew that he couldn’t hold that against him. Izuku was the one to blame, for not having realized it sooner, for having been so blind.
“Me too…” Izuku finally mustered, voice rough and thick with both bile and tears.
“What?”
“I…” Izuku choked, a sob racking through him. “I loved him too.”
A heavy pause, and then a thump, the sound of Kirishima leaning back heavily against the other side of the door, sliding down slowly to sit on the floor. “Oh man…” he said. “Oh shit…”
Ineplicably, Izuku had the sudden urge to laugh, the eerie sound coming out like shards of glass stuck on his throat, painful and broken.
The thing about tragedies, was that they were evitable. That’s why they are tragedies.
Izuku ended up taking a cab back home, stumbling blindly into his and Ochako’s apartment without bothering to turn on the lights, praying that she was already asleep so he didn’t have to face her in his present state.
His hopes were shattered however when he found her waiting by the dining table, melancholy brown eyes watching him with undisguised concern, her dark brows furrowing as she took in his appearance. This was exactly what he was trying to avoid, Izuku knew that he didn’t have enough energy to hide exactly how drawn and threadbare he felt at the moment, he had hoped he could spare her from that.
He also didn’t have the nerve to meet her gaze, not after his latest revelation. He didn’t know if he could ever find the courage to face her again.
Previously, Izuku had never put his real feelings for Katsuki into words, not even to himself; probably because deep down, he knew what those words would be, how inescapable and final they would become once spoken out loud. It wasn’t that he was in denial so much as he was acting on a self-preservation instinct, it was easier to keep things simple and not expect too much, to not let himself hope.
When asked about it, he would often reply with things along the lines of ‘I admire him’, or ‘I think he’s really cool’ and so on, sometimes he’d go so far as to admit to his desire to be rivals, equals, and later on, friends; because that’s what he wanted right? Right, because that was as far as he dared to want.
That’s why, when Ochako came into his life, and when she confessed to him later, Izuku hadn’t thought to hesitate. Ochako was kind, beautiful, and strong. He had been nurturing his own budding crush on her since their first year, and more importantly, she wanted him. That was all that mattered at the time.
He could admit to himself now, as shameful as the truth was, that he had been looking for an escape in her, for an out from that seemingly all-consuming feeling that Kacchan had sparked within him and that he didn’t have a name for. As well as an attempt to fill the hole that rejection left in him. Izuku had wanted so hard to feel loved, to feel worthy. He had been so damn unfair to her. So fucking selfish.
He could say confidently now that he loved her, he really did, but he hadn't been wholly faithful to her. He thought he had found his salvation in Ochako, she was his love, his partner, his match. And yet.
And yet, unwittingly, his heart had always been torn, divided.
As he stood in front of her, feeling her gaze bore into him and the charged silence drag on infinitely in the span of those few minutes, Izuku couldn’t help but wonder. Did she know. Could she tell from his attitude, see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice when he said ‘I love you’, feel it in his touch, in his kisses. How he didn’t belong to her. Not completely.
He felt exposed, naked and raw like an open wound, her eyes like a knife peeling away his skin and digging into flesh until there was nothing but bone and bared nerve left. How could he hide from her, when he couldn’t even hide from himself?
Unconsciously, a sob ripped out of him and not a moment later her arms were around him, enfolding him into a crushing embrace. And just like that, Izuku unravelled.
He didn't remember the last time he had cried like that in front of her. Probably not since he had inherited the title of Symbol of Peace. She didn’t say a word, only holding him as he cried, until he started apologizing, again and again, to which she shushed him and assured him he had nothing to be sorry for.
He disagreed, he had the world to be sorry for, but Izuku was grateful nonetheless, for her boundless love and endless compassion, even if he didn’t deserve a whit of it.
Perhaps in another life, he could have been the person to deserve it, to deserve her. If he were the person he had pretended to be all this time, who he had been trying to become. Her hero, her partner, her husband, her family. She was so good, she deserved the world, she deserved to be loved wholeheartedly, not only with the part of Izuku’s heart that was willing to let go.
And she definitely deserved better than the broken and hollowed shell he was now.
Izuku stumbled out of the funeral parlor without much regard of what he was going to do once outside, he just needed to get out of there. He was surprised to see another person standing by the door, looking out onto the deserted street, a lit cigarette hanging from their hand and smoke billowing out into the night.
“Ka-kacchan! What are you doing out here?” Izuku asked, shocked.
Katsuki on his part barely turned to regard him with a raised eyebrow, silently gesturing to the cigarette in his fingers just before taking it to his mouth. Oh.
“You smoke.” Izuku astutely observed. He was adept at pointing out the obvious today, apparently.
The other man took his time taking a drag from his cigarrette and blowing out the smoke before he deigned Izuku with an answer, likely as punishment for asking stupid questions.“Yeah,” he said curtly.
“Since when?”
“I don’t know, since earlier this year, I think,” Kacchan said, humouring him despite the obvious impatience in his face. “Why, does it bother you?”
“No no, it’s not that-!” Izuku fumbled to deny. “I just, I just didn’t know that’s all.”
“Well, now you know.” Katsuki said disinterestedly, taking another drag from his cigarette.
“Yeah…” Izuku agreed uselessly, scrambling for something to say in order to drag on the conversation, glad that Kacchan was finally talking to him again after going so long with minimal contact. “I never thought you… I don’t know, you always seemed like you looked down on things like that.”
“Yeah, few things I didn’t use to look down on,” Kacchan said, an ironic upward tilt to the edge of his mouth. He flicked the end of his cigarette and the light reflected into his maroon irises, making them appear an even brighter red than usual. “But there are worse things in the world and I’m not a brat anymore, besides I can quit whenever I want.”
Izuku wisely opted not to contradict him, instead switching to a different topic. Something which had been bothering him the whole day, and even further back, to the first time he had found out that All Might’s time was approaching, that his mentor was unwell. “Say… do you think self-sacrifice is good?”
Katsuki looked at him, weighing him with an intense stare before he turned his gaze back to the street. It was still deserted safe from a stray dog wandering on the other side of the sidewalk. Izuku wondered if anyone was feeding it. “Depends on who you ask I guess, it sure as hell isn’t good for the one doing the sacrifice.”
“Yeah but I mean, do you think… Do you think it makes you a good hero?”
“No.”
Izuku let out a shuddering breath, both at the sharp answer as well as the merciless gust of wind that blew by them, the condensation coming out almost like a puff of smoke into the cold of the night. “Is it a bad thing to die, I mean, to devote yourself to a good cause…?”
“I simply don’t think there’s such a thing as a good reason to die,” Kacchan said. His cigarette was apparently snubbed out by the wind, and instead of using a lighter, the other man simply flicked his hand and lit it right back up with a spark from his fingers. Izuku watched in fascination. “There’s nothing heroic about death.”
“What?” Izuku asked, not completely registering the words.
“What I said. Martyrdom isn’t something we should be aiming towards, dying doesn’t make you a hero, dying just makes you dead, there’s no shame in prioritizing your own life,” Katsuki said at the same time that their eyes met, something hidden in his childhood friend’s gaze that Izuku couldn’t decipher. Something like a warning. “It’s better to live on and continue fighting than trade your life for a single purpose, at least as I see it that’s what a hero ought to do, live a long life and save as many others as you can, and for every person you fail to save, save a thousand more in the future.”
“But what if there’s no other choice, what if…”
“Listen Deku,” Kacchan interrupted his protests. “I understand your lofty ideals and all, but you gotta cram it into your skull, that being a hero is not about embodying some noble archetype out of an epic novel or a comic book, it’s our job. It’s a pretty awesome job, but a job nonetheless. We do it, we get paid, we work with what we have and try to make the best of it, because we’re human,” he said. “It’s also a difficult job, sometimes shit goes sour, if you screw up, you just gotta work harder next time, if you die, it’s game over, at least you can hope to go out with a bang, there’s no sense in looking deeper into it.”
Izuku wanted to listen, he wanted to believe him like he had always eaten Kacchan’s words up like they were sacred as a child, but some part of him couldn’t help but question him. “Th-then if there is no meaning, what do we give our lives for?”
“Tch, you’re still not getting it are you? We aren’t here to give out lives, numbskull, we’re here to protect them, your own as well.”
-
Izuku woke up with a start to the insistent ringing of his cellphone, temporarily pushing the bittersweet memory unearthed by his dreams to the back of his mind as he went to pick up the device.
Seeing the caller ID displaying his agent’s contact number, Izuku carefully disentangled himself from Ochako’s arms (they had moved to the bed so that he could more comfortably cry himself to sleep), taking a second to look fondly and mournfully down at her, and walked to the hallway to answer it.
“Haitama-san?” he spoke into the phone questioningly. His agent was a sensible person, she wouldn’t be contacting him for any work-related or non-urgent business at this time.
“Mr. Deku,” she said, no-nonsense as usual, although the sigh in her voice belied her real mood. “I'm sorry, I understand you don’t want to be disturbed right now, but there is an urgent matter that I consider needs you to deal with personally…”
Whatever he had expected her to say, that there was a child in police custody who kept demanding to see him, and that it was the very same child that Kacchan had rescued, wasn’t it. And so Izuku grabbed a coat and flew out of the apartment without bothering to change out of the wrinkled suit in which he had fallen asleep in, heading towards the Musutafu’s city hospital.
Which is how he found himself standing before a fatigued, but determined looking little-girl in an examination room at the hospital, where the nursing-staff gaped at him from a distance while investigators briefed him on her situation and why they had called him in. “She refused to answer any questions or give a statement until we agreed to let her meet you.” confessed one of the detectives apologetically.
Izuku was torn, part of him felt happy at the chance to talk to the last person Kacchan had ever saved, the last person to see him alive and breathing, fighting and spilling with life and brillance. Another part of him despised to be reminded of what had cost Katsuki his life.
“You... are Deku?” the small girl called hesitantly, surprising Izuku out of his contemplations.
He shot her a confused look. Why did she insist on calling him here if he didn’t know who he was?. “The very same,” he said, sitting down by her bedside. “What’s your name, little bird?”
“Mischa…” the girl answered shily, the previously determined look in her face giving way to some uncertainty.
“Mischa-chan,” Izuku said, voice gentle and coaxing. “Do you mind if I ask, why did you want to see me?”
“Onii-chan, he…” Her eyebrows furrowed, and then she shook her head as if to dispel her doubts, the fire returning to her golden eyes just before she declared. “He said you were the best hero, that Mischa should come to you for help.”
Izuku gasped, voice breaking as he pushed out his next words. “Kacchan, I mean, Ground Zero, he said that…?”
Mischa nodded, tears beginning to spill from her eyes, “It’s all Mischa’s fault- what happened, I-I tried to change it, I tried to u-use my quirk, but, but it didn’t work-!” she sobbed, “I don’t understand- why- why nothing changed- usually when I use it, things change for the better, but he was still…”
Without thinking, Izuku took her into his arms, a surge of protectiveness compelling him. “Shhh, it’s not your fault, it’s no one’s fault…” Perhaps, it was the villain’s fault, for killing him (Izuku knew mentally that he shouldn't seek revenge, he was a Hero, a public figure, but....), the team that organized the mission's as well, for letting him go there with little to no backup, Katsuki’s, for being so dreadfully stubborn, and Izuku’s own, for not having been there for him. But it was definitely not this child’s fault.
She clutched at his clothes and cried into his chest, desperate for something to ground her and offer her comfort. Once her breathing had slowed down and her tears had stopped, Izuku let himself ask the question bothering him. “What did you mean… about your quirk, Mischa-chan.”
Mischa sniffed, but dutifully answered. “Mischa’s quirk… it undoes things, sometimes, when I wish really hard for it, and sometimes I have dreams, about the future, and the past, the things that Mischa changed that I don’t remember… it’s a bit confusing, but they said I could change the past.”
Izuku silently took that in, mulling over the words and rolling them around in his head. So it was a time-related quirk. Then why didn’t it work?
He couldn't help but wonder...
He put both hands on her shoulders and met her gaze. “It’s okay, Mischa-chan,” Izuku said, and he meant it. “I’ll take care of you.”
Mischa looked at him through tear-riddled eyes and Izuku mustered all the confidence he didn’t feel in his eyes, hoping to convince both her and himself of his own words. It was a lie, it wasn’t Okay, it was the furthest thing from Okay, but maybe, he could turn it into the truth. Maybe he could make it happen. Maybe it would be alright. With time. They would heal. Maybe, eventually, they’d both be Okay.
And yet.
“Say, Mischa-chan,” he said through some hesitation. Izuku swallowed, building up his resolve as he wet his lips to prepare for the words to follow. “Do you think you could try it again...?” he whispered, careful so that no one could overhear. At Mischa’s confused stare, Izuku elaborated. “Your quirk I mean. With me.”
A look of realization crossed her face just before she nodded at him, slowly. And Izuku felt hope blossoming in his heart for the first time. Fragile and dangerous but oh so divine.
"Then we ought to try again don't we?" he said with his best heroic grin in place. "To save him."