Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Deku, Dynamight, check in: what’s your current position?” the harried person on the line – probably one of the disaster relief personnel, or a dispatcher – asks them both, voice urgent but calm.

Katsuki doesn’t bother answering, swinging himself around the corner of the railing and immediately running down the next flight of stairs. His bare shoulders keep grazing either side of the rough stairwell walls as it faintly trembles, but he ignores the faint burn to keep moving.

He hears Deku respond behind him and through the com-piece in Katsuki’s ear. His voice is loud and he hears it doubled as Deku easily keeps pace with Katsuki, jumping down the stairs as far and as fast as he can go.

“We’ve just passed the third-floor entrance! We’re approaching ground floor, just a few more flights of stairs!”

Katsuki jumps past a handful of steps and lands against the wall in front of him roughly, his shoulder taking the brunt of the force as the building shakes again. He appreciates the flat floor between the flights of stairs that gives his knees a break but the floor shifts beneath him, making him wobble, so he doesn’t pay it another thought.

“Shit,” Katsuki huffs out, but stumbles right back on his feet and continues moving down, sparing a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure Deku is still right behind him.

He’s handling the shaking a little more gracefully than Katsuki is, skipping almost as many steps as Katsuki despite his shorter leg reach and with one hand touching the earpiece to speak with the dispatcher. The stairway is tight without much room to maneuver so both their quirks are all but useless in getting them out of the god-forsaken stairwell.

Well, Katsuki thinks as he skips more steps, one hand loosely gripping the railing to make sure he doesn’t fall on his face as he skids downwards. Katsuki’s quirk is useless right now, too destructive and not enough space to use it, but Deku probably could’ve been out of here already.

Katsuki knows, though, that there’s no way Deku would leave him.

He had tried to convince Deku earlier to get a head start, get out of the building and go first, but he had adamantly refused and they didn’t have enough time to argue about it before the ceiling started to crumble on top of them.

“Almost to ground floor, understood,” the tinny voice of the communicator repeats back.

There’s a pause between their sentences, the silence filled with the groaning building, the slap of Katsuki’s feet against the steps mirrored by Deku’s, and their rough breathing bouncing around them as they continue to run down the stairwell.

“The building is still upright but the top floors have already started to collapse,” the communicator starts, “so you both have limited time to reach an exit. Barring another spike in activity, you’ll be able to get out safely. The closest emergency exit is currently blocked off with rubble, and the building is too unstable for the relief team to clear the area around it, so you’ll need to head directly towards the front entrance and leave through there.”

“Exit through the entrance, got it!” Deku responds, breath airy, and Katsuki swears under his breath, annoyed.

“God fucking damn it,” he mutters, and uses a hand on the wall and a hand on the railing to swing over the last few stairs again, landing on the next flight down. “We’re gonna have to run across the entire fucking floor!”

“At least we cleared the building beforehand, right, Kacchan?” Deku asks him optimistically, and Katsuki isn’t facing him but he just knows Deku is giving him one of his lame-ass smiles. Too bad Katsuki can’t see it right now – he could use the mood boost.

“Whoop-de-fucking-do,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Just because we don’t have to run with civilians on our backs doesn’t mean we’re safe from the fucking building collapsing on us!”

Katsuki makes a final jump past more stairs to land on the ground floor – fucking finally, it felt like they were in that stairwell for forever – right when the building gives another shudder while he's still in the air, and he slams straight into the metal door that leads back out to the main floor with a curse. Deku just barely misses leaping directly into Katsuki’s back, catching himself on the wall next to him as Katsuki pushes back and tries to jerk the door open.

“Great,” Katsuki mutters, inspecting the door. It’s slightly stuck, part of the frame curving into the door, so he gestures to Deku and moves out of the way.

“Open it,” he uselessly orders as Deku is already punching part of the door back into proper position before wrenching it open.

Damn, okay then.

He’s been working and training with Deku for years but sometimes it’s still lost on him that Deku can just… punch things into place now like it’s nothing.

Katsuki exits first, already in a dead sprint, and makes a beeline to the wide glass doors he can vaguely see at the very end of the open room. They’re a fair distance away, but there’s nothing except mostly empty space between them and the doors so Katsuki pushes forward.

Deku is on his heels, contacting their dispatcher to update them, and Katsuki takes silent comfort in his assured voice.

“This is Deku, checking in. Dynamight and I have exited the stairwell and are on the ground floor; we’re currently moving towards the exit. No major obstacles in our way, so we’ll be out soon.”

Katsuki hears his earpiece crackle to life as the dispatcher confirms Deku’s words. “On ground floor, headed towards exit, understood. Estimated time?”

Katsuki shouts over his shoulder, a bit breathless, “Two!”

“Two minutes,” Deku tells the dispatcher, easily translating Katsuki’s shout, and makes a promise to check in once again once they’ve gotten closer to the doors.

They’re running through one of the many office buildings in the city, but this one is the biggest in the area. Its ground floor is a small mall connected to a food court designed to serve the buildings’ inhabitants, so he and Deku had gone floor to floor, checking every room, office, and cubicle to make sure everyone had safely evacuated. There were only a few stragglers on the lower floors, and everyone on the top floor had practically sprinted to save their asses as soon as the earthquake warning had started blaring, so they had finished their search quickly.

He and Deku had reached the top floor and were talking to the heroes and emergency service personnel outside of the building, making their way back down. They were confirming that each person they came across had made it out of the building, so no one else was there when it started violently shaking – only Katsuki and Deku.

Elevators had gone to shit, and they were caught between floors, so no windows to jump out of. Just him and Deku playing a fucked-up version of leapfrog down the emergency exit stairwell.

It’s one more thing off Katsuki’s back, that he doesn’t have to worry about the safety and comfort of a bunch of civilians not equipped to deal with a fucking earthquake, but damn if he doesn’t wish they had finished their search faster.

The doors are finally in sight, the sun shining brightly through the glass walls and casting a sharp glare. Katsuki squints, faintly making out colorful blobs in the distance. Probably more heroes and the emergency services evacuating other buildings in the area.

“Deku!” he calls over his shoulder again. “Tell them we’re-”

He's cut off as the biggest tremor yet shakes the floor and things start to fall around them. The room already had various fallen signs and broken windows, some cracked walls and ceilings at the far edges and corners, but things were relatively untouched.

That quickly changes, faster than Katsuki can anticipate.

Some of the ceiling lights crash onto the floor, their glass covers exploding; a food cart near Katsuki tips over, spilling its contents everywhere; tables shake, chairs and store signs fall over, and a horrifyingly large crack starts to spread across one of the far walls to his right.

He hears Deku yelp just before Katsuki falls to the floor, the shaking too much to stay upright. He lands roughly, head bouncing off the polished floor as he drops on his ass.

“Shit,” Katsuki hisses, arching off the floor. His hip throbs, dull pain radiating in waves as he moves, and the side of his head aches, the room spinning slightly.

Fuck, that hurt.

His earpiece had fallen out when he fell, skidding somewhere behind him, but when he can’t immediately see it, he marks it as a lost cause. Instead, he sits up and looks for Deku.

He heard him yell but Katsuki can’t hear him over the sound of the building collapsing anymore, and it’s unsettling.

Damn nerd never shuts the fuck up, so why is he now?

“Deku!” Katsuki calls, trying to get on his hands and knees and off the floor. He barely moves out of the way on time as a piece of the metal scaffolding in the ceiling falls directly where he had been laying.

"Shit," he breathes, scooting further away and pushing up to his knees. He takes in a rough breath, releasing it harshly. That was too close.

“Kacchan! Over here, Kacchan!” he finally hears.

Katsuki gets up, unsteady and using a nearby table bolted to the floor to stand straight. He turns around to where he heard Deku's voice, and spots him on the ground covered by a banner, seemingly alright.

Thank fuck; if he had broken something Katsuki would’ve had to carry him. He had bitched not even a few minutes ago about not wanting to carry civilians on his back, and it’d be even worse if he had to carry Deku – the nerd is fucking heavy nowadays, and it’d be a pain in the ass to lug him out the building.

Deku pushes aside the banner to get up, almost falling over as the ground continues to shake, so Katsuki grabs his wrist, yanking him up and towards the exit in another dead sprint.

The doors are still in his line of sight, and they're close – so close but so damn far away. They can make it to the doors, they have to.

“Hurry the fuck up!” he yells back, jerkily pulling Deku around a large block of the ceiling lying in front of them and trying to run as fast as he can across the unsteady floor.

“I know, I am!” Deku snaps back, but he doesn’t pull his wrist out of Katsuki’s grasp, keeping pace with him even now.

The ceiling continues to fall around them, the wall with the large crack crumbling under the pressure, and Katsuki’s heart beats erratically in his throat as he continues to try and run towards the doors, hand gripping painfully tight around Deku’s wrist.

He is not going to get trapped underneath a fucking building, he refuses.

Katsuki is so focused on dodging pieces of the crumbling ceiling in front of them and on finding a somewhat clear path to the doors that he almost doesn’t hear Deku’s horrified gasp.

“Kacchan!” he calls out, voice terrified and panicked, trying to tug his wrist out of Katsuki’s grasp and pull him seconds before Katsuki feels something hard and heavy land on his head.

Pain blossoms, Deku yells his name, and the world goes black.

-

Katsuki groans, coughing as he blearily blinks his eyes open.

They open to nothing, absolute darkness blanketing everything.

“The fuck?” he grumbles.

He squeezes his eyes shut in a long blink, trying to clear his vision, but he still can’t see shit when he opens them.

He's lying on something hard and uncomfortable. His back aches, but his head even more so. There’s a familiar sound echoing around him, somewhat faint with the ringing in Katsuki’s ears, but he can’t tell what it is.

Where the hell is he? And what in the fuck is touching him?

Something’s prodding at his head, making the ache there worse with each touch. Katsuki clumsily tries to brush it away, groaning when the movement of his arm makes his stomach turn.

“Don’ fucken touch me,” he slurs, trying again to push aside the thing on his head.

His tongue feels heavy, his mouth dry, and he still can’t see anything around him, but like hell will he let some random shit try and touch him. It has no temperature that Katsuki can discern, but it’s solid against his gloves, putting up resistance against his insistent pushes.

“Kacchan! Don’t touch!” he hears, but it doesn’t sound right. The words are tense and guttural, far from the normally carefree way that name is usually said, and they’re coming from the same direction Katsuki’s feet are at.

“Kacchan, I’m trying to wrap your head, please!”

Katsuki groans again, hand falling back to the floor at his side, and he squeezes his eyes shut again. It still doesn’t do him any good, the sight behind his eyes as dark as the area around him when they’re open, but the pressure helps stave off some of his nausea.

Between one second and the next, Katsuki loses consciousness once more, eyes rolling back in his head to the sound of someone calling his name.

-

When next he wakes, it’s because of the incessant pain radiating from his head and the dull ache in his back.

He groans and rolls his head to the side, slowly blinking his eyes open. It’s dark, he still can’t see shit, and when he rolls his head, it reminds Katsuki his body still hates him when a wave of nausea sweeps through. Fuck.

“Kacchan?” he hears, but he can barely focus on or hear the voice, fighting back the intense urge the throw up.

That’d be the shittiest way to go – choking to death on his own fucking vomit on the floor in whatever purgatory he’s currently stuck in right now. He squeezes his eyes shut hard for a second before blinking them rapidly, hoping to clear away some of the haze in his head and waiting for the nausea to pass.

When he rolls his head back in place so he’s staring at the faint outlines of what Katsuki assumes is the ceiling, the piercing pain on the back of his head makes itself known and he hisses, shutting his eyes again.

“Shit, what the fuck,” he grumbles, putting a hand under him to try and sit up, abandoning the idea of laying back down. Where the hell is he?

“Careful, Kacchan, try not to move so fast.”

And who the fuck is talking to him?

Katsuki tries to remember where he is and what he’s doing, but it’s like swimming through honey. It’s also annoying as hell so he buckles down and tries to grasp his fleeting memories.

Only one person can call him Kacchan and he was on patrol today with… fuck, his head hurts. What was he doing before this? Katsuki was on patrol with Deku, he’s almost sure of it. Then where the hell were they?

He remembers a piercing, obnoxious warning sound, flashes of buildings, and a tiny, shaking stairwell, the weight of Deku’s wrist in his.

Fuck. Fuck, the earthquake. They were trying to escape the building, caught in the stairwell when it started to really shake.

“Deku?” Katsuki tries, but his voice gives out halfway through the word and he coughs, tasting heavy dust with every shuddering breath.

“Breathe, Kacchan,” he hears, and Katsuki automatically obeys, inhaling musty air in short gasps. Each lungful is disgusting but Katsuki pushes past it. What’s more pressing is finding out where the hell he is, not how clean the air is.

Katsuki tries opening his eyes again and he can see better than before, vision clearer. There’s not much light, but it’s there. Tinted green, inconsistent, and flashing, strangely enough, but it gets brighter, illuminating the space while Katsuki’s eyes slowly adjust.

It looks like there’s a mass of rocks above him, rocks and concrete next to him, and when he brushes his hands on the floor underneath him… more concrete and bits of rock. Go fucking figure.

Katsuki’s head is clearing up faster, heart picking up as he starts to put the pieces together, so he takes his chances and sits up all the way. He doesn't immediately start vomiting, which he takes as a win, and there's nothing holding him down like he expected.

Whatever had been touching his head earlier is gone but there’s a heavy weight replacing it, something wrapped shoddily around the crown of his head.

It doesn’t move when Katsuki moves, firmly attached to him, so he reaches a hand up to his head and feels around it. The flares on the back of his mask are gone, and the domino mask itself is barely in place, but he can’t tell what it is with his gloves.

He puts the tip of his gloved middle finger between his teeth, his other hand still prodding around the side of his head and looks up as he takes the glove on his right hand off. He notes his grenadiers aren’t on, vaguely remembering he left one behind when they started scouring the building, but the other one is fuck knows where.

As Katsuki lifts his head, his eyes finally catch up to his ears and he freezes. The glove drops out of his mouth and onto his lap soundlessly, forgotten as he processes the scene in front of him.

Faint crackling electricity, like the fabric of a windbreaker rubbing against itself, covering the sound of shifting rubble and settling dust. It’s a sound Katsuki’s heard a thousand times before, usually preceded with a shout from Deku saying One For All-

“Full Cowling,” Katsuki whispers, staring and grasping for words. “What the fuck.”

Deku is standing near Katsuki’s feet, back bowed forward like Atlas and body lit up with flickering shades of green so bright it’s incandescent, Blackwhip escaping from his arms in countless tendrils. Lightning arcs off his body every second, and there’s a faint tremble running through his legs.

He’s terrifying. He’s beautiful. He’s holding the fucking building on his shoulders.

“What the fuck,” Katsuki repeats, voice flat and quiet.

Deku has his hands up, palms laid flat on the huge slab of broken concrete resting on his shoulders and upper back, knees slightly bent as he struggles to keep the ceiling from collapsing on them.

The slab of concrete stretches out over them both, creating a pocket of space free from rubble, but it has cracks running through it, broken rebar bent and poking out at various places. It’s not whole or steady, the pieces still connected to the part Deku is holding bending from the weight on top of it; Katsuki can’t see past the debris piled around the edges or through the tendrils of Blackwhip holding it all together.

The slab shifts and trembles every so often and Deku shakes with it, getting pressed closer to the ground before he fights to straighten back up, refusing to lose even an inch of space.

“Hey, Kacchan,” Deku grits out between clenched teeth, meeting Katsuki’s staggered stare and sending him a tremulous smile. Blood lightly drips from between Deku’s teeth and out of his mouth when he smiles, running down his chin and dripping into an already sizeable puddle on the floor in front of him.

This asshole, trying to smile at Katsuki when he’s got the entire weight of the building on his fucking back?!

Katsuki is going to fucking kill him.

“Deku, what the fuck!” he finally yells, voice coarse. Deku winces at the volume, but he still has that stupid goddamn smile on his face.

Katsuki can feel his face start to flush and his pulse quicken, palms heating as his worry translates into the most familiar emotion he knows - his anger covers easily for the panic starting to course through him. All thoughts and concerns with Katsuki’s own injuries have been immediately shoved aside for the dread running through him, eyes frantically running up and down Deku’s bowed body searching for injuries.

He almost can't stand the sight in front of him, but he refuses to look away.

He can’t see anything from where he’s sitting on the ground, the green lightning flashing around Deku not bright enough for Katsuki to discern any dark, wet spots from the dark colors of Deku’s costume as far away as he is, but his fatigue is obvious.

Deku's face is strained, brows furrowed and dripping with both sweat and blood (from where, Katsuki can’t tell because he still can’t see clearly, his vision hazy like film has been pulled over his eyes), and even his smile is less of a smile and more of a deep grimace, his teeth bared in exertion.

“Why…” Katsuki starts, but he doesn’t finish it. It’s pretty fucking obvious why. If not for Deku, Katsuki would be smashed like a fucking grape under tons of concrete right now.

Deku makes a pained grunt as the ceiling shifts and the noise snaps Katsuki out of his daze.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters to himself, voice still faint with disbelief.

Not once does he take his eyes away from Deku while he struggles to get up. He doesn’t think he’d be able to even if he tried. The pain in the back of Katsuki’s head isn’t gone, instead growing more pronounced each time Katsuki speaks and moves, but he couldn’t give a shit. Deku’s in front of him, holding the world on his shoulders – any pain Katsuki’s feeling right now is inconsequential compared to that.

He tries to stand and immediately bumps his head on the low ceiling, grimacing as the ache blooms even sharper, the beginning of a severe migraine making itself known.

“Shit,” Katsuki swears under his breath, landing back on ass, a hand gingerly cupping the back of his head. How many fucking times is he going to hit himself on the head on these goddamn shitty rocks?!

“Kacchan, careful,” Deku says, voice annoyingly concerned and breathy.

The irony of Deku telling him that while holding tons of concrete on his back isn’t lost on Katsuki. He shoots Deku a weak glare, still wincing, but it falters at the sight. Deku’s normally wide eyes half-closed in exertion and blinking back blood is enough to quell Katsuki’s annoyance, but not his anger.

Anger not at Deku, at least not completely, but at everything. The pain in Katsuki’s body and the emotional whiplash of seeing Deku hunched over and holding up a building, looking like he’s been to hell and back right when Katsuki woke up translates into his default emotion a little too easily. But, Deku doesn’t deserve his anger, especially not right now, so he shoves it away.

It lingers though, the searing pain and panic amalgamating into a heavy weight pressing directly on his chest. The entire situation feels just surreal enough to be out of a fever dream, and Katsuki’s lagging brain only adds to the mess of emotions he refuses to look at. With each pained breath Deku takes, it builds and builds, pressing against Katsuki’s ribs and looking for an outlet.

“Shuddup,” Katsuki grumbles, finally averting his eyes, but his voice is quieter this time. Looking away doesn’t do anything because the image of a trembling, bleeding Deku getting crushed by concrete and highlighted in shades of white and green will forever be burned into Katsuki’s mind.

His first instinct is to blast everything around and above them to hell, to get them out the quickest way he knows how. It’s a senseless idea, he knows, but he’s barely been awake for five minutes and Katsuki’s already sick of the entire situation.

He wants out, he wants Deku out, wants them both to be safe and not stuck under a fucking building, wants to be done with all of this.

Katsuki closes his eyes and gives himself a moment to gain his bearings, to push through the dizzying pain and mess of emotions in his chest. He leans into the adrenaline and clears his mind.

They’re trapped, Deku’s holding a building, and Katsuki’s head is injured. He doesn’t know if anyone knows they’re alive down here, how long it’s been, or if Deku is heavily injured. He doesn’t know how stable the space around them is or if the earthquake has passed completely.

Katsuki is a hero, and a damn good one, so he gets his priorities in order and gets to work.

When he opens his eyes, more put together but no less agitated, he examines the space around him more thoroughly now that the dredges of unwilling, rock-induced sleep and wisps of nausea are on the back burner for now. He squints at the slab Deku’s holding above them both, eyeing the distance. It looks deceptively cavernous, the lack of light deepening every shadow, but when Katsuki lifts a hand, his fingers easily brush the concrete and loose bits of rock crumble away with the touch.

It’s just tall enough for Katsuki to stand on his knees without bumping his head on the top, but no more. The area is wider than it is high, the far edges of the slab twice as long as Katsuki is tall. He traces the slab with his eyes, staring with a mixture of dawning awe and horror at the crumbling edges and thick rebar that are closing off the space.

It’s… huge. Deku is holding a massive chunk of the building, somehow intact enough to both trap and save them, and the weight of this one piece alone should have been enough to kill them both if not seriously maim them. But Deku is holding it and everything on top, dozens upon dozens of levels of concrete and wood and glass and metal – all piled on them both.

When Katsuki was doing fuck-all head-butting rubble and collapsing like a fucking weakling, Deku was saving both their asses.

Deku is always saving Katsuki, it seems.

It aches like an old wound, this long-established realization Katsuki’s had since they were both young that Deku never seems to need to be saved, never seems to need Katsuki when Katsuki himself can’t live without Deku, when he’s the one person Katsuki wants to save more than anyone.

I’ll get you out of this, Deku, Katsuki swears, clutching at the area above his heart, and squeezing like it’ll help abate the old ache. He stares at where Deku has closed his eyes in concentration, saving to memory his trembling knees and sweating visage, and makes himself a promise. Next time, I’ll save you.

Rather than voicing any of his thoughts or thinking too hard on the dull throb radiating from in his chest and under his ribs, he carefully gets up on his knees and starts to shuffle forward.

“Limited air,” Katsuki says instead. His voice comes out hoarse and too low for Deku to hear, so he coughs to clear the dust from his throat. The sudden sound draws Deku’s attention, head tilting up from where his chin had dipped to rest against his chest, eyes opening.

“We have limited air,” Katsuki says louder, still walking forward on his knees. “How long have we been here?”

“I don’t- not sure,” Deku grits out. “Twenty? More? Tried to time the minutes you were out, but I couldn’t- I couldn’t tell-”

He gasps suddenly, at the same time Katsuki feels a low tremor pass through the floor. The sound of settling, shifting rubble echoes in the small space and Deku seems to sink, his thighs almost parallel to the ground now. Katsuki curses under his breath, walking forward faster.

Deku grunts, eyes squeezed shut, and he suddenly gets brighter, the arcs of lightning snapping off his body agitated and loud. Part of the ground near Deku’s feet is cracking, his iron soles digging into the floor as he's pushed lower and lower. The lightning cracks off the ground, stirring up the dust around him and frying spare bits of rubble.

How much is Deku using? How close is he to his limit? Deku is stronger and much more in control of his power nowadays, but Katsuki doesn’t know how much strength is enough to stop a building from popping them like balloons and whether it’s more than Deku can handle.

Katsuki is not going to watch Deku rip himself apart right in front of Katsuki’s own eyes. He refuses to let it happen.

He eyes the concrete and moves faster. He doesn’t know how much he can realistically take without a strength-enhancing quirk, but two people are always better than one – that was beat into his head at UA at least a thousand times, and even though Katsuki will become number one by himself, he knows when to shove his own pride and aspirations aside to do what needs to be done.

Now that Katsuki’s closer, he can see more clearly the sweat dripping profusely down Deku’s face, the blood coming from his nose and ears, but there’s more blood coming down his forehead and a big patch near his neck and shoulder that’s darker than the rest of Deku’s costume. It's concerning and Katsuki hasn’t even checked Deku’s body for wounds yet. Fuck.

“Fuck,” Katsuki says out loud, and Deku huffs a humorless laugh through his nose, breathing sharply.

“Yeah,” Deku gasps out. “Fuck.”

“Careful, nerd, might stain your image to see you swearing out of battle,” he says, distracted as he moves with obvious intent towards Deku’s side, but he looks up at that moment and even Katsuki doesn’t miss the dawning realization in Deku’s eyes, or the way it swiftly changes to a mix of worry and, surprisingly, anger.

He shouts suddenly, and the heat in Deku’s tone is enough to stop Katsuki in his tracks.

“No, Kacchan!”

Katsuki blinks, shock quickly giving way to the ball of fury in his chest. The hell did Deku just say to him? He breathes in deeply, takes a moment to settle himself, then moves forward again.

“The fuck you mean ‘no’?” Katsuki asks, his voice tight and strained.

“I know what you’re gonna do,” Deku huffs, and he stares directly at Katsuki, blinking rapidly to clear up his sight from the sweat and blood. “But you can’t join me.”

Katsuki’s hands burn from where they’re clenched into fists as his side, the refusal and fact that Deku read him so easily combining with the panic Katsuki’s been holding at bay since he woke up and saw Deku. It tints his vision red.

Katsuki’s never been good with being told no.

“Like hell I can’t! You think I’m just gonna sit on my ass and not-”

“Kacchan, if you try and help me hold the building, I will knock you out again,” Deku interrupts, voice gritty and low with pain, and Katsuki sees more whips shoot from his shoulders and arms.

“I’d like to see you fucking try,” Katsuki sneers, his lopsided mask digging into his skin. With a snarl, he reaches up and yanks it down, pulling whatever is on his head down some. “What, your hero complex suddenly acting up? Too blind or too stupid to see that I can take some of that fucking weight? Get the fuck over yourself!”

He throws his words out carelessly, set on saying anything that’ll help get it through Deku’s thick skull that Katsuki is right fucking here and that he can help with the weight. He’s breathing harshly, dust choking up his lungs as his chest rises and falls with effort, and it only gets worse the more Deku denies him.

The more rational part of Katsuki’s brain is tearing himself to pieces for arguing with Deku while he’s like this, for yelling at him and distracting him from stabilizing the ceiling but it gets shoved aside when Deku refuses to back down.

“You can’t, Kacchan! You’re injured!” Deku yells back, eyes flashing.

“And?! Like that’s gonna stop me!” The volume of his own voice makes his head pound, the stabbing in the back of his head coming back with a vengeance as if to prove Deku’s point, but Katsuki shoves it aside.

“Kacchan, if you do anything too strenuous-”

“That doesn’t fucking matter!” A strangled yell pushes its way out of him and Katsuki fights to not grab his hair in frustration. “What don’t you get! I’m trying to-”

“No, you don’t understand!” Deku cuts him off, groaning in a mixture of exasperation and pain. “You took a really serious hit, Kacchan, directly to the head! And you were out for a really long time! You can’t help me with this, not now. Please,” Izuku ends quietly, dropping his head and squeezing his eyes shut as more dust and gravel fall from the cracks in the piece of concrete. The extra tendrils of Blackwhip he had pulled out are gone now, Deku unable to spare the energy on them.

Katsuki grits his teeth, his helplessness strangling him, catching in his throat and stabbing his heart.

“Damn it,” he hisses, squeezing close and opening his hands repeatedly in his agitation. Katsuki is a fucking hero and the one person he wants to protect the most is struggling right in front of him, and he can’t do shit to help him. He trusts Deku’s words – if Katsuki was out long enough for Deku to be truly worried, then his head is probably really fucked up – but it stings to hear them, nonetheless.

It bites to give in so easily, for Katsuki to be denied when his entire job description is to help, and from Deku no less, the person he’s come to realize is the epitome of what a hero is and should be, even more so than All Might himself.

“Deku,” he says, stubborn to a fault and unable to give in, but Deku cuts him off again. He really knows Katsuki too well. At times like these, he loathes how much Deku can read him, even if Katsuki can read him just as easily

“I know, Kacchan, I know,” Deku huffs, panting between each word. “It’ll be okay, really.”

He looks up again, settled once more in his stance, and exhaustion drips off every word. Their brief argument seems to have taken a lot out of Deku and Katsuki berates himself for having pushed Deku like that.

That brief flash of anger he had seen in Deku’s eyes earlier is gone, replaced by grim resignation once again. He meets Katsuki’s stare and tries to smile. It’s ugly and bloody and Katsuki hates that Deku is trying to comfort him. He hates that it briefly works.

“I’m fine,” Deku tries to say, and Katsuki scoffs, feeling his anger and hopelessness pulling on his lungs again. He can’t believe he’s ass over heels for someone this fucking idiotic.

“That,” he starts, voice low and incredulous but getting louder with every word, “is the fattest fucking fib you have ever tried to tell me, and the fact that you have the audacity to try and lie to me while you’re holding the goddamn building on your fucking back-!”

“Kacchan! It’s okay!” Deku cuts him off, wheezing from the yell, and Katsuki immediately shuts himself up, biting his tongue until he can taste blood. Deku doesn’t need him yelling at him more but he can’t just let that shit slide.

“Don’t lie to me,” Katsuki says instead, staring straight at Deku to make sure he knows Katsuki is serious, face set in a deep scowl. “Not now, not ever, and especially not when I’m literally looking at how un-fucking fine you are.”

Not when I can’t help you despite being right in front of you.

Deku releases something like a short, pained laugh, his breaths airy and choked, but he doesn’t deny Katsuki’s words again.

“Okay, Kacchan,” he says, and he drops his head again, spitting more blood onto the floor. "Okay."

The sight of Deku’s blood curdles something in Katsuki’s chest and urges him forward. He shuffles closer and stops right in front of Deku’s One For All radius, hair standing up on ends from the crackling air. If he can’t help Deku by sharing the weight, he’ll make damn sure Deku doesn’t have the chance to bleed out while doing it.

“Kacchan,” Deku says, peeking up through the sweaty hair hanging over his forehead, squinting at him with plain suspicion. “What’re you doin’?”

“You’re bleeding,” he says simply. “I’m gonna stop it.”

“Wait, Kacchan,” Deku starts, and Katsuki growls under his breath.

“Deku, I swear to god, if you don’t let me-”

“Phone, Kacchan, check your phone,” Deku easily says over him, and Katsuki wants to hit himself. Of course, fuck. That should’ve been one of the first things he checked for but being around Deku always makes Katsuki lose his mind.

“Shit, yeah, okay,” Katsuki mutters, already moving to see if his phone is still on him.

Katsuki’s earpiece has been gone since the ceiling first started to fall, and if Deku is asking for his phone, that means his earpiece is also fucked up. The rescue personnel and heroes outside at least know where they are from when they were communicating earlier, but they won’t know both Katsuki and Deku are alive and thus a priority if they never tell them.

Katsuki shuffles his hands around in the pockets of his pants, snagging his phone and pulling it out. The screen is cracked to hell and back, but Katsuki breathes out a miniscule sigh of relief when it turns on, the bright glow illuminating the area immediately around him. It’s not much compared to the light Deku’s emitting, but it’s enough to confirm Katsuki’s earlier suspicions on how small the area they’re in is.

Katsuki doesn’t linger, immediately dialing the emergency number on the pad and putting it on speaker. While it rings, the line busy from the disaster, Katsuki looks back at Deku, unable to ignore the squeeze in his chest. Deku is still sweaty, still dripping blood and still gritting his teeth, but he’s holding steady.

His eyes are closed in concentration and Katsuki can see a faint quiver running through his body, but Deku refuses to give an inch, glowing a radioactive green and crackling with power.

Katsuki wants to reach out and touch him, to reassure himself that Deku is okay – even if he’s not, not completely. Katsuki wants to take the weight for himself, even if he can’t, wants to make it so Deku can sit down, rest for once, but he can’t.

And even if he can’t, Katsuki knows that because it’s Deku, he won’t budge an inch he’s not willing to fight tooth and nail to get back. Katsuki is safer here than he is anywhere else, and he curses himself for finding comfort in that thought so easily.

Deku’s strength is like a force of nature, something Katsuki’s instinctively known for a while now. But seeing it like this, Deku singlehandedly holding up a building? It shifts something in Katsuki’s mind. That thought, that knowledge finally settles and claims the space that’s been built for it in the recesses of Katsuki that make him who he is.

Katsuki is a hero. He’s an alumnus of UA. He’s the only son of Mitsuki and Masaru Bakugou. Katsuki is twenty-four, almost twenty-five, and he’s in love with Deku. Been in love with him for a while now.

Katsuki’s always been attracted to strength, drawn to a challenge and the thrill that comes from beating it, from witnessing it in action, and Deku has always been powerful, even before he got his quirk. There’s a quiet strength that has run in Deku’s veins and been forged in his bones since they were kids, a strength that used to make Katsuki feel inferior and now forces him forward, always forward, with Deku by his side.

As his phone continues to ring, Katsuki breathes, watches Deku hold the weight of the world for them both and settles the part of his heart that’s always belonged to Deku, whether he knew it or not.

Ah, so that’s what it is, he thinks. It’s clearer than ever who Deku is to him. He’s not just a potential boyfriend, or just a hero partner, or his old childhood friend. He’s it, he’s the end and the beginning of Katsuki.

When the call finally gets picked up, the person on the other line asking what their emergency is, Katsuki’s head is much clearer than it was before as he answers

“This is Hero Dynamight. Deku and I are currently stuck under the Yamanaka building. We’re on ground floor and-”

Katsuki doesn’t even get two more words in before there’s a loud gasp, a lot of shuffling noises, strange clicking sounds and what sounds like a second or two of elevator music, and then a familiar voice comes on the line, harried but relieved.

“Bakugou,” he says, and Katsuki can’t help the way his shoulders slump, and even Deku can’t seem to help the tired, relieved smile that comes across his face. Standing across from Deku, on his knees with his phone in his hand, Katsuki doesn’t relax, but he does bear a wild grin that makes Deku chuckle and bear his own.

His teeth are bloody, and he looks like he’s about to cry, but it’s the best thing Katsuki’s seen since he woke up in this shitty hole and with a fucked-up head.

“Sensei,” Katsuki says. “The hell are you answering for?”

Aizawa barks a laugh – raspy and just a tad unsettling like he hasn’t laughed in a while and in the way he does when he’s extremely stressed and wholly done with whatever situation he’s in - but it’s familiar. Katsuki can imagine the crazed grin that normally goes along with it and he bet Deku can, too.

“All available heroes are on call for search and rescue right now for a disaster as big as this, kid, you know that.” His tinny voice cuts out in a few places, the connection on Katsuki’s phone extremely poor buried under so many layers of rock, but he can parse out his teacher’s words well enough.

Katsuki smirks, goes to fire back, but the building shakes.

Deku grunts again, and he sinks lower, his thighs now completely parallel to the floor and getting lower. The good mood that speaking with Aizawa had briefly brought on vanishes completely. Katsuki doesn’t have the time for niceties, and neither does Deku.

“Yeah, whatever. Listen, Sensei: Deku’s holding the building.”

Aizawa seems to choke on the other line; Katsuki doesn’t stop talking.

“We’re near the street entrance of the building, on ground floor. Deku’s currently holding up everything above us. He’s the only thing stopping us from getting flattened to shit right now.”

“Jesus Christ,” Katsuki hears Aizawa mutter, the same awe and horror filtering through his tone as it did to Katsuki’s when he first saw Deku with his arms up and back bowed, the center of his own storm and surrounded by lightning.

“I don’t know how long we’ve been here-”

“About thirty- hng, thirty minutes,” Deku breathes out, interrupting Katsuki, and Aizawa chokes again. “Give or take a few, it’s- ah, hard to tell time.”

Deku is shaking even harder now, his limit finally upon him. The green is so bright it’s almost completely white, and the strands wet with sweat on Deku’s head are lifting from the sheer output of energy he’s pouring out. His nose has started to bleed again, dripping onto the floor. Something like a strangled groan wrenches out of him, and Katsuki makes an aborted move forward, teeth clenching and hands reaching before he realizes that he still can’t do anything.

“Midoriya, you’re-”

“Sensei, Deku can’t keep holding it for much longer,” Katsuki cuts in, speaking loudly and over Aizawa, his words hurried and tone tight. “How much fucking longer until they can get to us?”

“Alright, okay, status first. And speak up,” Aizawa demands, switching tracks as fast as Katsuki is. The check in suddenly reminds Katsuki of his aching head, of his bleary eyes and the nausea that had left earlier but still lingers in Katsuki’s stomach like a bad beef bowl.

He lists off anyways, staring at Deku’s trembling legs.

“I got knocked out earlier from a minor head wound, probably have some bruises, too, but I’m fine. Deku…” He trails off, ignoring the faint glare he gets for describing his injury as ‘minor.' He doesn’t know what Deku’s status is, despite the blood he can see from his mouth where Deku probably bit his tongue and the blood coming down his forehead.

“Kacchan probably has a concussion,” Deku gasps, picking up where Katsuki trailed up. It’s the loudest he’s been so far, even with the argument they had earlier, and the level of volume is almost enough to distract Katsuki from what Deku said. Almost.

“Oi!” he snaps, but Deku just keeps talking.

“I might have a concussion, too. Tongue’s bleeding, laceration on forehead, right wrist feels sprained, but I’m good.” When Deku says the last word, he winces to himself the way he does when he’s lying about an injury or forgot and suddenly remembered he was hurt somewhere else.

“He’s bleeding out his nose and ears, Sensei,” Katsuki cuts in, staring at the dark trails marring Deku’s face. “And his head hasn’t stopped bleeding since I woke up.”

Katsuki glares at him, purposely shifting his eyes to the dark spot on Deku’s shoulder that’s been illuminated by his quirk, and Deku winces again.

Deku takes the hint and opens his mouth. “And my shoulder…”

“Speak up – what about your shoulder,” Aizawa prompts, and he sounds like he’s running. Katsuki can hear other voices through the phone, faint shouting and the shrieking of sirens, but it’s all unintelligible under Aizawa’s terse voice.

“Your shoulder, kid,” he repeats. “What’s wrong with it?”

Deku groans, either from pain or being caught out.

“I can’t move it,” he says, and Katsuki starts moving towards Deku at the same time Aizawa swears. “It feels impaled.” And, despite his grit teeth and his muddled, bloody words, Deku almost says it sheepishly, eyes darting to Katsuki’s face and back nervously.

“Impaled?!” Katsuki shouts, and Deku closes his eyes, unwilling to meet Katsuki’s anymore. He may be holding the building right now, but Katsuki is going to kick his ass so hard later.

“Hold tight for as long as you can,” Aizawa says at the same time. “They’re working on the building. Uravity and Earphone Jack got here as soon as both of you cut off from coms. Other personnel have already cleared some of the rubble. Do not move or take whatever it is out. Dynamight, if you can, check his wound.”

His voice cuts in and out, but Katsuki’s done this enough to understand.

“Was already planning on it,” Katsuki bites out, staring murderously at the wet patch on Deku’s shoulder. Fuck, that means it’s probably from the back, from where Deku caught the slab of concrete on his back and upper shoulders. Fuck.

“Good, now stay on the line,” he orders, and Katsuki rolls his eyes, a wave of annoyance pressing up against his skin but still undercut by his concern for Deku.

He’s been a Pro for years now, and it’s been even longer since he was a student at UA, but whenever Katsuki works on an assignment that Aizawa’s also on, his old teacher likes to subtly order him around, whether he realizes it or not. He does it to Deku and only Deku as well, and Katsuki has a sneaking suspicion it’s because they were both officially labeled Problem Child #1 and #2 where their names were supposed to be on their last individual assessment sheets before they graduated.

(Fucking Aizawa, listing Katsuki as #2. He should’ve kicked his ass, teacher or not, but Katsuki wanted to graduate and get the hell out of UA – he was ready to do Pro work already. Still, #2 his ass. Katsuki is never going to let that go.)

“I know already, Sensei,” Katsuki points out, and Aizawa sighs.

“I know that you know. Just making sure. Now check your battery. As soon as it gets below 10%, tell me and we’ll do different check ins.”

“It’s at 71%,” Katsuki tells him, then puts the phone on the floor next to him and inspects Deku. In the minutes since Katsuki’s woken up, he’s only gotten worse, more haggard. The blood on Deku’s forehead is doing a terrible job of drying, impeded by his sweat; it’s flaking off in places, and clotting together in others, creating a sickening mosaic out of Deku’s face.

But he’s not spitting out as much blood. Fucker could be swallowing it, though. It’s something he’d do, concerned about worrying Katsuki like the asshole he is.

Damn Deku, trying to hide getting fucking impaled like it’s not an issue.

Well, fuck him, because if Katsuki can’t help with stopping the building from dropping on them, then Deku doesn’t get a say in how Katsuki treats his injuries.

He eyes the space separating them and carefully reaches a hand towards the jumping lightning. He’s never actually deliberately tried touching or being near Deku when he got this amped up with One For All, but even if it hurts him, Katsuki’s not going to let it stop him from reaching Deku.

It shocks him, insistent, little jabs into his skin that make him wince, but it feels almost like when he wears socks on carpet and touches the handle of a door - only more. It’s just static electricity on some shitty steroids, nothing Katsuki can’t handle.

He continues to push through without hesitation and he gets close enough to finally see Deku’s freckles, the rapidly shifting shadows on his face distorting each one. Katsuki grimaces as the pounding in his head gets amplified from being in Deku’s little satanic lightning circle, Deku going a little blurry, but he immediately gets to work, roughly blinking to get his eyes to focus back up.

When it minutely clears, he notices how Deku’s doing the same, constantly blinking to clear his vision. Katsuki knows how annoying it is to have sweat stinging your eyes and blood blocking your sight, so clean-up is first, then whatever the hell is going on with Deku’s shoulder.

It’s a miniscule comfort he can offer Deku, practically nothing in the long run considering Deku doesn’t need to see to hold up a building, but it’s something Katsuki can do, so he’s going to do it.

He reaches for the pockets on his belt, fingering the clasps open, but when he shoves his hand inside, he touches the bottom of the pouch without touching anything else. He looks down at his hand, brows furrowing as he moves on to the next one but it’s the same way.

Katsuki clicks his tongue, realizing they’re all empty. Where the hell are all his bandages? He doesn’t remember using them, but then again, the ache on Katsuki’s head might be the reason why he doesn’t remember. Still, he never goes out without being fully stocked.

“The fuck?” Katsuki mutters, looking down and spinning his belt around to the front to go rummaging. The pockets in the back have his flame-retardant towels for when he needs to dry his hands, a bottle of minor pain-reliving pills, and some antibiotic cream, but none of his gauze or tape. “Where’s my shit?”

“I wrapped your head,” he hears Deku say, and Katsuki looks up, meeting bright, bright eyes – too bright, too tired, but familiar all the same. “Bleeding- you were bleeding, so…”

Deku trails off, breathing heavily, spitting out another dark glob of spit and blood from his mouth. He tentatively waves a tendril of Blackwhip not supporting the concrete on his back as explanation and then immediately pulls it back in.

“Sorry for not askin’,” Deku apologizes, stupidly. “You were out, so I couldn’t-”

“Dumbass. Don’t say sorry,” he interrupts, as gently as Katsuki ever can (which isn’t much, but with Deku it’s different – it’s always different with Deku), lifting his still gloveless hand to the crown of his head and finally inspecting the weird weight there.

Now that he’s not so distracted, Katsuki can clearly tell why his head felt so weighed down and he touches the textured material of the gauze wrapped tightly around his head. The back is damp and sticky when he runs his hand gingerly around it, so Katsuki takes his hand away before he can make it worse.

“I couldn’t tell if my pockets still had any,” Deku continues to say, half-muttering to himself and gritting his teeth. The back end of his sentence is too quiet for Katsuki to hear, the sounds lost between the shifting building and Deku’s quirk. Katsuki’s been around Deku long enough to finish half his sentences most the time, so he doesn’t ask for clarification.

“Shut up, I get it,” Katsuki says, if only to make it so Deku doesn’t force himself to speak. “Save your energy.” He puts his belt back in place, and reaches for Deku’s waist, hands finding the buckle and ignoring Deku’s attempts to speak.

He finds the clasp easily and pulls it from Deku’s hips. The fact that this is the closest Katsuki has ever gotten to undressing Deku isn’t lost on him, but the pleasure of that thought is lost in the urgency of their situation. Another time, Katsuki would have taken the chance to tease Deku, get him to blush. It’s not the time for it now, but a thought for later when they get out of this mess. When. Katsuki will accept nothing less.

“Kacchan.”

Deku’s belt is still heavy when Katsuki takes it off, so it’s a good sign, but there was a warm, wet patch right above Deku’s hips that his fingers brushed against, so, not good. Katsuki can’t tell yet if it’s blood from a wound directly by his waist Deku hasn’t mentioned, or bleed through from his shoulder. Neither option is preferable.

“Kacchan, you-”

For fuck’s sake. Katsuki considers laying back down and going to sleep. Maybe he’d stop sidetracking the nerd so much if he wasn’t conscious. But he already knows it’d stress Deku out even more, and that Katsuki is providing Deku a much needed distraction, so he doesn’t consider it more than a fleeting thought. (It’s not like he’d even be able to go back to sleep, not when Deku’s holding a fucking building on his back.) Even so, Deku needs to focus on himself, not Katsuki.

“What’re you-”

“Nerd, what did I just say,” he cuts in. Katsuki doesn’t look up, opening the front pockets and rummaging through each one. Antiseptic wipes, a penlight, gloves, more pain pills, sanitizer.

“But-”

“No. I’m not so incompetent a hero I can’t check your shitty pockets, Deku.” Katsuki goes to the back pockets and finally, finally, he finds medical tape, clean gauze pads, and a roll of larger, continuous gauze. He takes note of the cohesive bandages and the small pair of scissors he comes across to use for later, and finally looks back up at Deku.

It’s like getting punched in the gut, looking at him. It’s hard to forget what’s happening for even a second as every creak of the building makes Katsuki tense up, every shift and shake causes Deku to shudder with it. He can’t ignore the way his hair stands on end staying this close to Deku’s constant output of power, or the sharp smell of ozone and iron, but the sheer exhaustion on Deku’s brow, his shuttered eyes and bloody face still manages to knock something loose in Katsuki’s chest.

There’s something horrifyingly breathtaking about Deku like this. All hard edges and raw power, shining almost too brightly and painted in shades of blood and sweat. He’s pretty like a whip crack – sharp, in his face, and almost too painful to look at, but Deku commands his attention anyways.

Katsuki’s seen Deku in so many ways, seen the way his lips tighten from sadness, the way his eyes shine with joy, the sharp angles of his anger and the quiet softness of his pleasure, but the raw pain on Deku’s face now, the utter fatigue lining his features and the trembling effort to keep them both alive is new.

Katsuki hates it.

He’d been planning on asking Deku to have dinner with him tomorrow, a real date after all the times they’ve naturally gravitated towards each other after patrols or on their spare weekends, give a proper name to this back and forth they’ve had for the last few years. Katsuki wants to make it real, to make it known to everyone around them that Deku is his, that Deku’s been his for a while now.

There’s only so many times Katsuki can catch Deku looking at him with heartfelt eyes and an easy smile before his chest bursts from the force of his heartbeat; only so many times Katsuki can casually, quietly link pinkies with Deku under the table in an effort to contain his urge to grab him and never let go.

He wants to hold the nerd, to take care of him and tell him off for his stupid ideas and argue with him about heroes and love him until Deku knows nothing else. He should’ve known better, should’ve known that with their luck and their occupation, Katsuki doesn’t have spare time to sit on his ass and wait for the right opportunity.

No, Katsuki thinks, decision resolute and hands steady as he removes his other glove and cleans his hands with the wipes and sanitizer. No, after this, Katsuki is grabbing the bull by the horns and riding it to marriage. It’s all or nothing for him and Katsuki is going to spend his days by Deku’s side in every capacity possible. And, if Deku doesn’t agree, Katsuki will die convincing him.

He reaches a hand towards Deku’s face, pushing back sweat-soaked strands from his forehead and firmly, but gently, cleaning the blood and sweat from his brow, skirting just along the edges of the large cut and split skin.

“Kacchan, why…” Deku trails off, stunned from Katsuki’s steady strokes across his face, the way he’s practically cradling the side of Deku’s face.

“Lemme do this, Deku,” he says, eyes trained on his hands, memorizing the way Deku’s breath hitches again, but this time not out of pain. “I’m not the one holding a building right now, so lemme make sure you’re at your best.”

Just let me take care of you.

Katsuki moves quickly, eyes glued to every inch of skin he uncovers. Deku’s got a wicked bruise blooming on his forehead and cheek, looking starker than normal and lit up under the skin by One For All, but he has no other major cuts than the singular one trailing from his forehead into his hair and across his eyebrow to his cheek. He probably caught a couple of rocks to the face, but nothing seems broken.

Deku doesn’t say anything for a while, not making a sound except for his hoarse breathing and pained grunts. It’s quiet, a stifling, back-breaking quiet undercut by the occasional faint scuffling sounds and voices from Katsuki’s phone, and the snap of Deku’s power.

As Katsuki’s placing butterfly bandages on his forehead, Deku speaks up, cautiously pushing his face into Katsuki’s hands.

“…I like this,” he rasps. His face is twisted deep on a grimace, but his eyes are trained on Katsuki. Katsuki doesn’t meet them, focusing intently on trying to apply the tiny bandages almost too small for his big fingers. He doesn’t fumble, Katsuki never fumbles, but it’s a close thing.

“Like what?”

“You, paying attention to me.”

“Yeah?” Katsuki asks, pulling back so he can properly look at Deku. He trails his fingers down to hold Deku’s cheek. He looks so tired, with profound creases set in his face from the pain.

“Yeah,” Deku agrees. “S’nice.”

He rests his head more firmly against Katsuki’s hand - or tries to. The tendons in his neck strain as he tries to dip his head forward, but he pulls back with a sharp inhale, unable to spare even that much energy away from the building on his back.

Katsuki reaches out in a barely thought out move, watching with wide, panicked eyes as Deku grits his teeth and pushes against the concrete. He waits, holding his breath, but as Deku keeps steady, face flushed and legs trembling, some of the tension leaves him. He takes a centering breath and lets it out steadily, not blinking away from Deku once.

“You better get used to it,” Katsuki promises him, dropping his hand so he can pick Deku’s belt back up. He tosses the dirty wipes and bandage scraps to the side and moves to check Deku’s back.

“I’m gonna-”

He never finishes his sentence because the building shakes, almost as hard as it did before they got trapped, and the ceiling once again starts to collapse.

Katsuki curses as he falls forward, catching himself on his palms right by Deku’s feet.

This feels even stronger than the one before, which can’t be fucking right. The earthquake had ended a while ago, and even then, the aftershocks shouldn’t cause more than some brief shaking. Not enough to bury already collapsed buildings.

And, even if it was a double event, and that’s a big fucking if, Japan’s Public Safety Center with all their fancy-ass earthquake devices would’ve detected it, as they’ve been doing for the last half-century.

This isn’t natural.

Katsuki catches his phone before it can skid away and get crushed, bringing it to his mouth. The call is still ongoing, Aizawa still on the line, so he yells into it.

“Oi-” he starts, and gasps as a piece of rubble falls directly on his back. Fuck!

He barely catches himself on his elbows, lilting to his side from the pain. The piece of rock tips off his back as he turns, and he hisses as the sharp spike in pain descends into a constant throbbing right under his shoulder blade.

He doesn’t try getting up, and instead turns around to land on his ass, sitting up and bringing the phone back up to his mouth. He needs to know what the hell is going on.

“Hey!” he tries again, yelling down the line, but a gut-wrenching sound pulls Katsuki’s attention upwards.

The ceiling has started to collapse and Deku is screaming.

It’s guttural, tearing his voice and bouncing between the walls of their shrinking cavity. He’s started to cry, fat tears dripping down his face and puddling below him, mixing with the blood.

The first tears since all this began start to fall and Katsuki can feel his blood freeze.

“No!” Deku shouts, but it’s desperate, different from when he was denying Katsuki’s help.

He’s sinking with every second, mouth open and eyes squeezed closed as the building pushes him lower and lower. By Katsuki’s hands, Deku’s feet are boring into the ground, the bottom half of his shoes out of sight. His iron soles are barely distinguishable from the broken floor and they continue to sink deeper.

“No, no, no!” Deku cries. Tears drip off his face, wisping away into One For All’s power field. He can’t stay upright, and one of his legs suddenly gives out.

Deku’s right knee falls to the floor with a piercing crack and he holds back a scream between clenched teeth. His body jerks away reflexively from the pain of his knee cracking against the floor, straining against the concrete slab, but Deku has no room to move. His leg begins to sink into the floor just like his feet and Deku burns so brightly his costume starts to smoke.

If Katsuki had still been up on his own knees, he would’ve been crushed.

“Please!” Deku yells, choking on tears and spit and blood. Katsuki hears a loud crash, and watches, powerless, as the edges of the slab start to crumble, confining them even further in. “Please, I need to- I have to-”

“Aizawa!” Katsuki screams into his phone, heart a jackhammer in his chest. “Aizawa, pick the fuck up, you asshole! I know you’re there!”

“Kacchan,” Deku cries, “I can’t. Kacchan, Kacchan, I can’t-”

His pained sobs echo in Katsuki’s ears. He can’t do anything. Katsuki can’t do anything but watch Deku get crushed by the building, second by second, inch by inch.

Deku screams again, the sound clenched off and chest deep, and tries to straighten back up on his knee, putting more pressure on the ground and stretching his back up. He gains an inch, a centimeter, and loses it almost immediately, knee shifting on the uneven ground. He falters, gasping in agony as it grinds against the floor. The building continues to press closer, unforgiving and unrelenting.

“Aizawa, you motherfucker, where the fuck-”

“Bakugou, someone’s causing this!” Aizawa sounds like he’s running, chasing someone.

“I fucking figured that out already! Get us the fuck out of here!” Katsuki demands, clenching the phone so tight it starts to bend, exacerbated from the heat in his palms.

“Deku’s- he can’t-” Katsuki chokes on his words, unable to say it and confirm with his own mouth what his eyes and ears have been telling him.

Deku is bending forwards by the hips little by little, fingernails bloody as they dig grooves into the concrete by his head. The sleeves of his costume are torn from Blackwhip and revealing blue, almost black bruises from using too many tendrils at once. His head is bowed, parallel to the floor. The ceiling rests on the back of his neck and shoulders like a weighted plate, forcing Deku to curve under it or fall flat. His hair is covering his eyes, but when he tries to look out at Katsuki it parts. He’s crying, staring at Katsuki with horror and sorrow flayed onto his face, eyes wide and unblinking.

Deku’s at his limit.

“They’re going as fast as they can. They need a little more time. Is Midoriya-”

“Go fucking faster! Deku doesn’t have any more time!”

“Shit,” Aizawa curses, and Katsuki hears yelling.

It’s rare to hear Aizawa raise his voice, but it’s unmistakable, the searing words and clipped sentences as he argues with someone. The sounds are hurried on the other end, people shouting distant orders, and even more clearly, the unmistakable sound of a fist impacting a body.

“Five minutes!” Aizawa shouts across the phone. “They found the safest and quickest path through and they’re already excavating, so hold on for just five more minutes!”

Katsuki can only grip the phone tighter and watch from his place on the ground as Deku burns. Deku doesn’t have five more minutes.

“Make if three or I’ll kill you,” Katsuki promises. He closes his eyes in frustration, but he can see Deku still, burned into his mind like an afterimage. He opens them only to see that in those brief seconds, Deku is already lower to the ground than before.

He’s brighter than any supernova, his power burning his body away faster and stronger than Deku can handle. His costume is falling to pieces around his shoulders and arms, and Katsuki can finally make out the piece of rebar stuck in Deku’s shoulder, the blood dripping down his back – all of it lit up by Deku’s quirk.

“Kacchan, I can’t hold it!” Deku sobs, chest heaving.

“I know, I know, but you need to,” Katsuki insists. “You have to hold it, just for a little longer, Deku, just a little more. You can do that.” He speaks urgently, words firm even as his voice shakes.

Deku’s at his limit, but he can’t give up. Not now, not when they’re so close to getting out. Katsuki doesn’t even think about the fact that if Deku goes down, he goes with him. Deku just isn’t allowed to go down; Katsuki refuses to let it happen.

Deku is too important to too many people, too important to Katsuki – he can’t give up, not now.

“It hurts,” Deku keens. The fact that he's admitting it at all means it must be ten times worse than it looks.

Deku takes in a quaking, wet breath, body creaking against the building. It’s not quite a whine, but the lilting edge of his sentence expresses more than Deku can say. His pained words tattoo themselves into Katsuki’s spine, stab into his chest like a blistering lance.

“I know,” Katsuki repeats again.

He abandons his phone with a growl, getting as close to Deku as he can. He's still within One For All’s radius, body going numb from the constant pressure, but when he reaches out, he falters.

Deku is exerting so much power the air feels scalding, but that’s not the problem. The problem is, if Katsuki touches him and catches him off guard, it’ll distract him. And even one second of inattention will be enough to crush them both.

“Fuck, I know, Deku,” he lies, because he doesn’t, he doesn’t know, but Deku needs to stay standing. “But you can’t stop, not yet.”

Katsuki decides to reach anyways. He needs to make sure Deku knows he’s here, needs to make sure for himself that Deku is safe under his hands, as fuck all that means right now.

“I- hng,” Deku grunts, gritting his teeth, and Katsuki hears a muffled crack far different from the sound of rocks splitting. Deku’s face twists, and when he opens his mouth to pant, blood stains his lips. He bit his tongue again. Cracked a tooth. God damn it.

Deku’s eyes are unfocused as he stares straight ahead, tears falling in an unending stream. He almost doesn’t look real or at all like a hero. He looks like Deku, like he’s in pain and like he’s about to be crushed under several tons of concrete.

The concrete above them touches Katsuki’s hair from where he’s sitting on his knees. He gets as close to Deku as he can, hands held up and ready, like they’re waiting to catch something.

“Focus on me, Deku,” Katsuki says, waiting for Deku to meet his gaze again. He does, but his distant eyes are steeped in anguish. “Good, that’s good. Don’t go away, just focus on me.”

Deku’s eyes clear, barely, and he sniffles. Eyebrows furrowed and cheeks ruddy, he calls for Katsuki brokenly.

“Kacchan, I don’t think I can,” he tries to say, but he can’t finish his sentence. He sinks lower with another pained cry, and Katsuki ducks down with him, keeping eye contact. His head is pressed against the concrete above them.

“You can,” Katsuki promises him. “You’re the hero Deku, right? You can always do it. I know you can.”

Deku cries harder, almost as loud as the sound of Katsuki’s chest cracking open in response, and it nearly masks the sounds of voices shouting incomprehensibly.

Katsuki whips around, staring at where he thought he heard them over the blood rushing in his ears and Deku’s broken breathing.

It sounds like their names.

Right at that moment, Aizawa’s voice comes back on over the phone.

“Bakugou! Get ready!”

Rocks shift, creating a wider and wider opening until Katsuki can see light that isn’t coming from Deku’s quirk seep into their space.

A group of voices cry out at them, and Katsuki can recognize a few, but he doesn’t pay them any more acknowledgement than a, “Hurry the fuck up!”

He turns back to Deku, who’s staring at the new opening with something like disbelief and relief. The opening keeps getting wider until it exceeds the width of the concrete on Deku’s back and is taller than what he's holding. A tunnel of sorts leads directly out from it. It’s carefully arranged and Katsuki can hear Jirou shouting orders, telling the heroes which rocks to move and which ones to reposition.

Uraraka comes in, walking forward on her knees and tailed closely by Rock Lock and a paramedic. She doesn’t have to bend down too much, still much shorter than Katsuki and Deku, but the space isn’t big enough for her to fully stand on her knees either.

Her expression is distressed but the smile of relief at the sight of them, Katsuki slightly blocking their view of Deku, is genuine. Rock Lock’s face is more serious but his lips quirk at the edges.

“Deku! Dynamight!” she calls as she beelines for them. “Just hold on, okay?”

“We’ll get you out, don’t you worry,” Rock Lock says, voice confident, and he positions himself somewhere behind Deku. He hunches over and places his hands on the slab, feeling it out for loose pieces.

“Then hurry up,” Katsuki snaps, throat tight, but they ignore him.

They arrange themselves around Deku, shouting things to one another and waiting for Jirou’s confirmation, but Katsuki can only stare at Deku.

He’s still crying, still too bright and too injured, but the hopelessness from before is gone. He’s looking at Katsuki with wide eyes and a bloody grimace, missing when Uraraka initially calls for his attention.

“Deku,” she repeats, voice serious and hands held up, hovering in position. “On three, I’m going to make the chunk you’re holding weightless and Rock Lock is going to lock it in place, okay? Then, you’ll be able to stop.” She looks to Katsuki next.

“We won’t be able to hold it for long, but with me temporarily removing the weight from this piece, Rock Lock will be able to hold it in position for much longer. It’ll be just enough time for you to get Deku out of here. Eraserhead informed us Deku’s shoulder is impaled, so the paramedic will help you pull him off, but then you need to grab Deku and go. Once Deku stops holding everything up, things are going to get very heavy, very quickly, so you need to be quick.”

Rock Lock is somewhere behind Deku, locking in place different pieces not connected to the whole piece Deku is holding, to make sure that when Uraraka makes it weightless, they won’t all fall through the cracks.

“Good, let’s fucking do it already,” Katsuki says, stuffing his phone into his pocket. The paramedic comes up next to him, pulling thick bandages out to pack Izuku’s shoulder as soon as the rebar is gone.

Katsuki shuffles directly up to Deku.

“I’m going to touch you,” he warns him, and Deku nods, teeth grit and face set in determination.

Katsuki allows himself a moment to wipe some of the tears off Deku’s face, and then sets his hand on Deku’s bare chest and another on his upper shoulder. His skin is burning to the touch, overwhelmed with his power, but Katsuki’s hands were made for the heat. He flexes his fingers and sets his hands more firmly, ready for Deku’s weight.

Katsuki is going to get Deku out of here.

“On three, you need to turn it off,” Katsuki reminds him. “I’m going to pull you from the rebar, and it’s going to hurt, but I’ll catch you.”

He ducks down to meet Deku’s eyes. “I’ll catch you,” he repeats, a promise, and Deku grunts in answer.

The paramedic kneels behind Deku, hands out and ready.

“Alright! Ready!” Rock Lock calls from next to Deku, hands placed flat on the slab, and next to Deku’s.

“You’re good to go!” Jirou confirms, still crouched by the entrance.

“On three!” Uraraka says, every finger but her thumbs touching the concrete. “One, two, three!”

“Locked!” Rock Lock calls immediately afterwards, voice straining, and something in Deku collapses, but he doesn’t turn off One For All.

“Come on, Deku,” Katsuki urges. “I’ve got you; you can let go.”

“I’m scared, Kacchan,” Deku says, fingers trembling from where they’re pressed against the concrete, the tips buried in and bloody. He’s still lit too bright; lightning cracks against the rocks and Katsuki’s body, snapping on the hands surrounding Deku.

“I know, but trust me, Deku,” Katsuki says. “I’ve got you, so turn it off.”

Deku shakes his head the little he can. “What if it falls, on you, on Uraraka, on everybody? What if you guys can’t hold it? What if it- I can’t let go, Kacchan.”

“Deku, look at me.” He moves one of his hands from Deku’s chest to his chin, turn his head back up as much as it can. In firm words, Katsuki says, “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you. You can turn it off.”

Deku whimpers, but bit by bit, like a skittish animal, the green fades away, the lightning dying down and the whips retreating until it’s just Deku.

Bruised, bloody, but still just Deku. He hasn’t released himself from his position yet, still bowed forward, straining on his bent knee with his arms held up, but he listened to Katsuki.

“Good, that’s good,” Katsuki tells him, and resets his hands. Deku’s heart is pounding frantically beneath them, too fast to be healthy, and Katsuki presses his palm in deeper out of reflex.

It’s proof Deku is going to be okay. If his heart is beating, then Katsuki can save him.

“Hurry!” Uraraka grunts. Some of the rubble is starting to resettle without Deku’s unrelenting force holding it back, and Rock Lock’s quirk can only take so much weight, even with Uraraka’s help. They’re not out of the woods yet, but Katsuki will get them there.

“Alright, on three again,” Katsuki tells Deku, meeting eyes with the paramedic. Deku shakes under him, tensing up at Katsuki’s words.

“One, two-”

His direction firmly guided by the paramedic behind Deku, Katsuki pulls him forward and down, off the rebar and into his chest. Deku screams, harsh and low, arms now hanging limp by his sides, and the paramedic rushes forward, packing the hole in his shoulder with gauze and using their quirk to keep it in place.

Katsuki clutches Deku close to him, taking a selfish moment to drop his forehead onto Deku’s head. The relief at being able to touch him after watching him suffer for so long is heady. Deku’s hot, too hot against him, and his tears soak Katsuki’s chest, but he’s alive and in Katsuki’s arms.

“Alright, I’ve got you, nerd. You’re good, we’re good. I’m gonna get you out, alright?” he whispers.

“Kacchan, I can’t move my legs,” Deku confesses, limp where his torso rests completely against Katsuki's. He sounds like he’s talking through cotton, words slurred and slow, but he lets his body fall against Katsuki’s even more. “They’re stuck. It hurts. Kacchan, I can’t feel them; my arms, I- I can’t move them, I-”

He starts to sound panicky near the end, so Katsuki gently grips Deku closer, and shifts his other arm to go under Deku’s legs, mindful of his fucked knee.

“I said I was gonna get you out and I ain’t a fuckin’ liar,” Katsuki reminds him.

He picks Deku up, holding him tight to his body. Deku’s right shoulder is propped against his chest, head lolling against Katsuki’s, bobbing as they move. He’s still crying, and his voice sharpens with pain at being jostled, but he goes easily into Katsuki’s arms.

“I’ve got you,” he repeats, more for himself than for Deku, and tracks every tear on his bare neck.

Katsuki shuffles forward on his knees to the opening, paying special attention to Deku’s every gasp from every shift he makes. The paramedic is directly behind him, one hand touching Deku’s shoulder to make sure the bandages stay on.

He can hear Uraraka and Rock Lock behind him, keeping some sort of count between them, but Katsuki doesn’t look back.

He reaches the opening and pushes through, Deku securely in his arms.

Chapter Text

When Katsuki finally steps out of the rubble and stands on shaky legs with Deku in his arms, the faintest bit dizzy and head pounding from the bright light of the outside, he’s met with a wall of sound.

He clutches Deku closer to him instinctively, heart still racing and barely cognizant of Jirou’s hand pressed firmly against his shoulder or of the paramedic still tending to Deku as they walk.

Kept behind several layers of partitions stands a crowd of civilians and several reporters, too many people for Katsuki to see. They’re all shouting, staring at the building he just came out of with wide eyes and worried expressions. Some have their phones out, others clutching pieces of orange or green in their hands but as soon as they catch sight of Katsuki, of Deku lying limply against his chest, the crowd roars.

They’re yelling something, several somethings.

It takes a second for Katsuki to understand it, still so desperately listening to Deku’s breathing that it’s nothing but unintelligible screams for a moment. Deku’s breath is uneven, quick, and wet, but it hitches when he hears the crowd, squinting pained eyes at them. That’s when Katsuki clearly hears it – they’re yelling their names.

“He’s out! Deku’s out!”

“Dynamight made it!”

“Hey, look! Dynamight’s carrying Deku!”

“Deku! Deku, are you alright?”

They’re making Katsuki’s ears ring, or maybe that’s just him.

He can barely distinguish the civilians cheering their names from the first responders and heroes holding them back. Several news cameras are trained on them, reporters gesturing and holding mics in their direction.

Katsuki clutches Deku tighter, turning to face away from the crowd clamoring for their attention. He doesn’t have time to waste and it seems he’s also reaching his own limit. The next step he takes, he almost misses, knee buckling under their weight.

Jirou is suddenly there, her shoulder catching Katsuki’s side with a grunt and keeping him upright.

Katsuki can barely focus beyond the weight of Deku in his arms and the urgent need to get him patched up, but he hears her talking to him nonetheless.

“Come on, Dynamight,” she huffs, forcing Katsuki forward. “You’re not done yet. Both you and Deku need to get to the ambulance.”

He can’t say it, but he’s grateful; he refuses to fall on his ass in front of the crowd, and especially not with Deku still in his arms.

Katsuki grunts in answer, squeezing his eyes shut for a second to stave off the black creeping in at the edges. His next step is steadier, if slower, and the one after that the same. He blocks out the sounds of the crowd as he walks, shoving it back in his mind to think about later.

He stares resolutely at the ambulances parked on the street next to the firetrucks, determined to get there. Their engines are on, their doors are open, and two paramedics are rushing towards Katsuki, pulling a stretcher along with them. An EMT hangs back by the ambulances, waiting for retrieval, and more in each driver’s seat.

About fucking time. Despite Jirou taking some of his weight as best she can, Katsuki is still leagues bigger than her, doubly so with Deku in his arms, and he knows he’s going to collapse soon.

The adrenaline that kept him upright and aware when Deku and him were both still stuck under the building is rapidly leaving him, and his body is reminding him of the beating it took from all the rubble that fell on him. Head wounds are absolute bitches to deal with and Katsuki doesn’t even know what the state of his own head is right now.

When the paramedics almost meet him halfway, running with a stretcher for Deku, the building finally settles behind them and Katsuki sinks to one knee from the tremor that runs through the ground, gasping for breath – just like how Deku was not three minutes ago.

Jirou curses, unable to catch all of Katsuki’s weight, but he didn’t expect her to. They’re mostly out of sight from the crowd, blocked by other cars and debris, so he takes a moment despite himself.

“Woah! Alright, you’re good, you guys are good,” Jirou reassures, standing over them both, hands hovering above Katsuki’s shoulders.

It’s hard to hear her over the sound of heroes and first responders yelling to each other and the crowd still trying to get his attention. He does catch snippets of Uraraka’s voice intermingling with the crowd, which is good – nerd would be devastated if something happened to anybody from his nerd squad.

“Fuck off,” he mutters, and rests his forehead against the top of Deku’s head. “Just need a sec.”

His second comes from the paramedics barreling down on them. They’re talking loudly with one another, several pairs of hands reaching for Deku, intent on taking him out of Katsuki’s arms. He backs away instinctively, a snarl echoing low in his throat. His fingers curl tightly around Deku’s body, pulling him closer, and he musters up as heated of a scowl he can.

Like hell they’re gonna take Deku away from him.

The paramedic that was in the building with them crouches next to Katsuki, a hand still on Deku’s wounded shoulder.

“Dynamight,” she says, and Katsuki finally turns to get a proper look at her. He doesn’t care if she’s still helping Deku, she can fuck off, too. Her voice is resolute as she speaks, but there’s a faint tightening at the corner of dark eyes that bely her urgency.

“We need to get his shoulder taken care of right away. He’s in good hands, so please, let him go,” she urges.

Before Katsuki can respond, Deku makes a sound against his chest, hand clenching weakly against his uniform. It’s quiet, pain-filled, and despite Deku having closed his eyes again, tears still steadily leak from the corners.

Katsuki can’t stand the sight of them.

“Kacchan,” Deku murmurs weakly, face twisted in a grimace, his nose bleeding again. His eyes blink open, and the tears fall faster. Like it pains to admit him, Deku pushes out just loud enough for only Katsuki to hear, “It hurts.”

Katsuki loosens his fingers.

The paramedics from the ambulances immediately grab him out of Katsuki’s arms, hefting him up and onto the stretcher. They grunt under the bulk of Deku’s deadweight, staggering slightly, but they’re on the move soon after.

He can hear Deku hoarsely calling out to him, an echo of a Kacchan! barely reaching him, before Katsuki is struggling to his feet, treading after Deku.

“Woah, woah, woah! Hey! We’ve gotta get you checked out, too!” Jirou protests, and another hero loudly agrees with her, making their way to stand in front of Katsuki.

They try to stop him, hands firmly pushing against his chest to stall his momentum, but there’s no fucking way Deku is going to leave his sight and stay out of it, especially not after hearing him call Katsuki’s name and limply reach out a hand.

Katsuki growls, shoving past them both. He pushes past other heroes and ignores the other, empty ambulance waiting next to the one they loaded Deku in.

Deku is already getting settled inside by the time Katsuki catches up, so he steps right up to the ambulance without hesitation. He stops the closing door with a hand, ignoring the cry of another person telling him to stop, and swings it back open.

In the cabin, Deku is struggling against the paramedics trying to hold him down, refusing to let them put an oxygen mask on and turning his head back and forth, eyes searching.

“Where’s Kacchan?” he cries, trying to sit up, but his body betrays him. He falls heavily back onto the stretcher beneath him, too tired and too weakened to do anything more.

Katsuki struggles to climb in, and when his heavy boot lands on the edge of the ambulance, the vehicle dipping just slightly from his weight, all the paramedics inside whip their heads around in alarm at the loud, echoing sound. He heaves himself inside, too tall to stand straight with hands outstretched and holding the doorway to steady himself.

At the imposing sight of Katsuki standing hunched over at the back of the ambulance, blocking off the exit and demanding entrance, Deku stills, slumping against the stretcher beneath him in relief.

Katsuki’s shoulders do the same; Deku being within his field of vision eases a pressure building in his chest he hadn’t realized was there.

“‘M coming with,” Katsuki says, refusing to take no for an answer yet again.

“Dynamight, sir, you also need to get checked out. There’s another ambulance for you that-”

“‘M coming with,” Katsuki repeats, undeterred.

He takes heavy steps towards Deku, squeezing past a paramedic to sit roughly at his side. He all but falls down, vision blacking out for a moment now that he's no longer on his feet. It clears slowly to the sight of Deku sprawled on the stretcher, and Katsuki resolutely ignores the sound of his name being called to keep his weak vision focused on him.

Deku has stopped struggling, an oxygen mask finally over his face, but his hand reaches out desperately, fingers curling in Katsuki’s direction.

Katsuki takes it. Deku’s rough fingers and burning skin are a relief.

“Deku,” he murmurs, ignoring Jirou arguing with the paramedics both outside and in to just let Katsuki be, to let him go with Deku to the hospital. He can’t find the strength to say more, so he bows his head and touches the back of Deku’s fingers to his lips.

He did it; Deku’s safe.

Deku makes a strange sound in the back of his throat, tears dripping down the side of his face and fingers squeezing, before his eyes roll back and the ambulance starts moving.

The paramedics move briskly, turning Deku and tending to his shoulder. One tends to Katsuki, or tries to, but the black has encroached his vision completely and the pounding in his head is reaching a crescendo.

He squeezes Deku’s hand and says nothing more.

Katsuki doesn’t recall his head falling next to Deku’s chest on the stretcher, or the attempts to wake him, or even when they arrive at the hospital and they both get moved. He just knows the weight of Deku’s hand in his and the steady rise and fall of his chest next to Katsuki’s head.

Izuku wakes, but only for a second.

He’s tired. There’s a bone-deep exhaustion that Izuku has felt only a few times before settling in. He doesn’t think he could get up if he tried.

He needs to, though. He needs to find Kacchan, he has to- he’s going to get crushed, Izuku needs to save him.

It’s loud. There are lots of voices, none that he knows, and they’re distracting.

He needs to find Kacchan.

There’s a weight in his hand, and then there’s not, taking the meager warmth it gave Izuku with it. He cries out instinctively, throat rough and tongue clicking uselessly against his blood-stained lips. It tastes metallic, inexplicably clean, like the aftermath of using his quirk too much.

The voices get louder and Izuku is jostled as he’s moved somewhere. It sends a fresh wave of pain from the tips of his toes to the very ends of his hair, digging into his skin and spearing through his body. He falls unconscious between one breath and the next.

-

Flashes of Kacchan getting struck in the head and crumpling like a ragdoll flit through Izuku’s mind over and over. They come unbidden, unwanted, and he can do nothing but relive it. Relive the horror of tossing aside the rocks on Kacchan’s body, of trying to pick him up and drag him out before realizing he wasn’t going to have time. Too many rocks, too fast, not enough space or room.

Breaking apart the first rocks that fall on them, too many to count, before catching the slab on his back; the feeling of something unyielding ripping through his shoulder, more weight on his back, his legs; Kacchan, still collapsed on the floor in front of him, blood pooling next to his head; Blackwhip tearing out of him almost subconsciously to bring Kacchan into his safe zone.

Kacchan unresponsive, Kacchan almost getting crushed, broken gauntlet and a blood-stained mask, Kacchan’s lax face, Kacchan’s blood-

Izuku can’t breathe. It hurts, everything hurts: his head hurts, his blood hurts, his hair hurts, his bones hurt. He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, where’s Kacchan, he needs-

Voices shouting, his name being called. The distant awareness of hands touching his body, of the space in his ribs where his quirk burns going quiet but not gone, of cold slipping through his veins and a particularly angry voice shouting. Then-

Nothing.

Nothing but blissfully empty darkness.

-

Izuku can hear people speaking around him, strange weights in both his hands. One is distinctly warmer than the other, fingers gripping almost too tightly. It’s comforting.

One For All… it’s silent, quiet in a way it never is, but Izuku can’t come up with a reason as to why he should be worried. It comes back to life every now and then, and along with it, immeasurable pain. It hurts, but the pain ebbs and flows along with the snippets of sentences Izuku snatches. He can’t make out all the words and he can’t do more than listen.

An unknown, carefully measured voice is speaking, and Izuku catches his own name. Someone is talking about him, for some reason.

“Mr. Midoriya, above all else…extreme quirk exhaustion. The muscles in his…to say the least. And in his left…torn, but healing. He is extremely lucky. For now, we let him sleep.”

“What about Deku’s knee? It got fucked when…”

Kacchan’s voice. Izuku likes Kacchan’s voice.

“-wake up? His quirk is still activating without…”

That’s Sensei. Izuku hasn’t seen Mr. Aizawa in a while, he wonders why he’s here. It’s nice. Izuku’s missed him.

“For now, he…until his body’s ready. Not to mention the toll…especially for so long. It’s almost unbelievable…as well as he is. But, until then…waiting game.”

“What else…for Izuku?”

Mom. She sounds worried. Izuku should do something about that.

“Ma’am, I’ll take care of Deku once he’s-”

Izuku falls back to sleep soothed by Kacchan’s rough tenor.

-

When Izuku finally blinks his eyes open for the first time, he’s met with a burning red.

They widen, uncharacteristically surprised before Izuku’s heavy lids close, refusing to open again. There’s something on Izuku’s face and when he clumsily tries to reach up and touch it, vaguely disgruntled at the feeling of being trapped, he doesn’t get very far, his arm too tired and stopped by something grabbing it.

“Deku,” he hears in admonishment.

Izuku smiles stupidly in response, and then without his consent, he slips back into a fitful sleep to the sound of faint protesting.

-

When he wakes, he’s alone. Izuku blearily blinks up at the white ceiling, body heavy and immobile, weighed down like cement blocks have been tied to each limb. He’s all too familiar with the feeling.

He takes stock of himself as best he can, but moving his head feels like trying to haul around a bag of rocks: heavy and clunky, too much effort to be worth it. Even trying to roll it to the side sets his pulse racing.

He hurts, but it feels like all his pain is stuck behind a wall; the bone-deep ache in his body still present, but only the aftershocks reach him. It’s like all his senses have taken one step to the left and exist in a kaleidoscope. He doesn’t bother trying to decipher everything he’s hearing or feeling, and instead reaches for his quirk. One For All hums in his chest and he takes comfort in its easy access while he’s stuck in this state.

His head stays on his pillow, weighed down by more than just his fatigue, but his bed is propped up just enough for him to see part of the room he’s in. Clean, clear, blank walls and familiar tables. A light sheet covering his body up to his chest and an IV line in his left arm, a clip on his finger with a wire extending past Izuku’s view.

Hospital? he thinks. That seems right.

He’s here for a reason, but that reason can’t come to him right now and his brain isn’t fast enough to remind him. His mind is too fuzzy, his thoughts floating around with nothing to anchor them. He can’t latch onto one before it escapes like smoke. He stops trying to, floats in the strange pain-but-no-pain state he’s in.

Izuku listens to the hum of machines around him, idly tapping his pointer finger along to the rhythm of his heart.

Cold, his fingers are cold, joints stiff and aching.

His finger is all he can move, and even that much movement tires him out. But even when idle, Izuku can’t keep completely still, no matter how draining it is.

His eyes refuse to stay open, though. He’s staring at the door as it takes longer and longer for his eyes to blink open, his finger stilling without more energy to spare. He slowly traces over the way the single overhead light that’s on plays with the reflection of the glass window in the door. It’s interesting to his sleep-addled mind and despite the blur, his eyes latch onto the easy distraction.

It’s between slowing blinks that he catches sight of a blond head, and he smiles unbidden.

That color looks so familiar, and the shape of the hair, too, even while blurry. A taller, thinner blond man stands next to him, and he’s familiar as well but it’s different.

Izuku strains to keep his eyes open, but it’s too much effort, already feeling the tendrils of sleep digging their fingers into his ribs and deepening his breaths.

He can just only hear their voices in the hallway, one recognizable and rough, the lilt of his words the same since children, and the other replaying in Izuku’s mind double-toned when his eyes finally close. They both make Izuku feel much safer, much more relaxed in a way he can be around only a few people. His shoulders slump and his head presses deeper into the pillow.

The door opens and Izuku forces himself to at least see who it is before he gives in to his weary body and mind. It takes a magnitude of concentration and effort to keep his eyes open, but he manages to barely catch two shocked faces looking directly at him before they close.

Izuku may be tired, but he knows that face. Knows both, but the one at the front catches Izuku’s eyes like it’s been doing for years already.

Kacchan, he hums to himself. Kacchan is here, with Toshi. Good, that’s good. It feels like a dream, but it’s a good one.

Two pairs of footsteps and chairs scuffing the floor.

“My boy,” he hears whispered on his left, and a large hand brushes through Izuku’s hair. It rests heavily on his head, a familiar action.

Knuckles skim his cheek, the touch softer than he’s ever felt them before they leave. He grunts, the sound low in his chest and dissatisfied, and the fingers come back. They skim over his wrist this time, callouses gently catching on his scars.

Izuku sleeps, urged to a gentle slumber by the too-warm hand slipping into his and the gentle, murmuring voices of his heroes. His fingers aren’t cold anymore.

-

Izuku blinks awake and stays awake. His room is quiet; the digital beep of his heartbeat doesn’t seem as loud as before and the hallway outside is silent.

When Izuku tries to lift his head again, this time it’s easier, despite the twinge of pain it sends through his sore muscles and the bolt of electricity through his skull. He still can’t hold it up for long, though, gently dropping his head back into the pillow underneath him with a muted sound.

“Ow,” he mutters. He squints his eyes, faint tears coming to the corners from the deep ache in every part of his body.

There’s a sharp inhale of breath to the right of him that makes Izuku twitch instinctively towards, and then dry, calloused fingers slip into his, squeezing just shy of too much and stilling his hand.

“You gonna stay awake this time, asshole?”

Izuku’s eyes startle open, before he relaxes completely into his bed. He shuts his eyes to stave off the tears again.

Kacchan. Kacchan’s here. Izuku smiles.

“Kacchan,” he whispers, voice trembling despite his best effort. It hurts to speak, but even just saying his name relaxes him. “Kacchan’s okay?”

A tear slips from the corner of his still closed eyes. He wants to see him, wants to see for himself that Kacchan is okay, but he can’t. Something is stopping him from opening his eyes and taking in his friend’s, his partner’s state.

“Yeah, I’m okay, nerd.” Kacchan squeezes his hand, and for some reason, that’s what does Izuku in.

“That’s good,” Izuku whispers, cries, really. “I’m so glad.”

There was only one thing going through his mind the entire time he felt his lungs being crushed, felt the blood running down his back, and his ears pop over and over with the more power he exerted: Kacchan will get out, no matter what.

Izuku couldn’t give up at all, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how heavy it got, never, because Kacchan was in danger. Kacchan was in danger, and Izuku could never stand Kacchan being in danger. He was determined to see Kacchan get to safety, no matter the pain.

The fact that he did, that Kacchan is well enough to tease Izuku right after he wakes up puts part of Izuku’s shattered spirit back together. It had been so hard to hold everything, so hard to not fall with the building, harder than almost anything he’s ever done, especially when Kacchan was alarmingly still and unerringly quiet through the whole beginning of it.

There was no way for Izuku to tell whether Kacchan had still been alive, no way for him to check his pulse or get answers to his unheard questions. Izuku couldn’t see the rise of his shoulders or chest in the dark; couldn’t hear his breaths through the shifting rubble and his pulse pounding in his ears; couldn’t for a long while find enough energy to devote to tending to the bloody wound on the back of Kacchan’s head, to stop the slow, unmistakable spread of dark, shimmering red around him.

Izuku could do nothing but hold the rocks above them and hope he wasn’t just holding it over a dead body, over his dead Kacchan.

The moment Kacchan started coughing and woke up himself up in the process, Izuku cried. Kacchan didn’t stay conscious for long, falling to sleep right after, but it was enough to help Izuku push through his limits, for the tears to dry up as he amped One For All even higher.

He’ll never be able to explain the comfort he felt when Kacchan finally woke up. He was, of course, swearing his lungs off and yelling at Izuku for being dumb in the way Kacchan did when he cared too much too properly handle, but just knowing he was awake, alive, gave Izuku strength. Strength he needed when things went from bad to, as Kacchan would say, fucked.

Kacchan is here, he’s okay, but Izuku still can’t look. He’s still afraid of the what if, of this being just another dream.

He doesn’t remember the time between when Kacchan pulled him into the safety of his arms to now, but there are vague, unclear flashes of voices, of seeing red eyes mixing with red blood, of feeling hands moving him change into pressure on his lungs so great he couldn’t breathe. And that awful sight of Kacchan falling over and over and over again, burned into the back of his eyelids so every time they closed that’s all Izuku saw.

“Hey,” comes Kacchan’s gruff voice, quieter than it normally is. Izuku’s breath hitches, loud enough for even Kacchan to hear. His hand gets tugged, pulling at his arm and his attention. “Look at me.”

Izuku shakes his head, just a shift of his face pushing it deeper into the pillow, away from Kacchan.

“Izuku,” he murmurs. Izuku stops breathing. “I’m right here. Look.”

The please goes unsaid, but Izuku knows him like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west.

He turns his head.

The sides of Kacchan’s head are shaved under where it’s wrapped lightly with bandages, deeply bruising bags rest under his eyes, and the last dredges of bruises yellow the skin on his cheeks and jaw, but he’s staring at Izuku with an intensity he’s long become used to, and his lips are pulled up into a smirk, a self-assured smile that’s all Bakugou Katsuki. He’s wearing a black hoodie with a simple orange dynamite pack outlined on the front, and dark joggers, feet stuffed into outside slippers. Despite his obvious hospital-comfort clothes, and the bandage around his head, his back is straight under the hoodie and he’s breathing steadily.

He’s actually, really okay.

“Kacchan,” Izuku cries for lack of anything else to say, tugging at the hand holding his own closer. It’s become progressively sweatier since they’ve been touching, and Kacchan tries to take it away to dry it on his pants like he’s been doing, but Izuku won’t let go – he refuses to. “Kacchan.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got you,” he says, and scoots closer.

I’ve got you, Kacchan said to Izuku, when he held him in his arms and took him out of the building, when he brought him back down to earth and touched him so carefully Izuku could feel what few parts of his heart that were still his own fall under Kacchan’s spell.

If Kacchan doesn’t stop being very nice, very soon, Izuku is going to start sobbing with no end in sight and start to think the things he wishes for in the dead of night will inexplicably come true.

He’s hoped, oh Izuku’s hoped, but nothing’s ever been said, ever been confirmed, and right now Kacchan is being very specific in his words and actions, so much so Izuku’s almost sure this is another dream, a delusion brought on with his fatigue.

Kacchan’s right hand comes up to touch Izuku’s face, knuckles swiping over his cheeks and brushing away the tears, and, oh. His hands are so gentle. It’s so reminiscent of a delirious moment of comfort Izuku thought he had dreamt up that he finally links it back to the mysterious hand that’s been touching him every time he’s woken up. That means Kacchan hasn’t left his side once, or for long, the entire time Izuku’s been sleeping.

Maybe Izuku’s not so deluded.

“Crybaby,” Kacchan mutters, voice unbearably fond, and Izuku’s cries break into raspy chuckles. He meets Kacchan’s red, red eyes, and smiles.

For the first time since the ceiling began to crumble and Kacchan went down, Izuku really, truly smiles.

He must look awful, with stitches tugging near his eye and on his forehead as his grin pulls on his face, teeth aching and mouth dry as tears continue to fall, with hair that must be a tangled, dirty mess. But he’s just so, so incandescently happy that Kacchan is safe, is here with Izuku, that he simply can’t contain his joy or lessen his smile.

Kacchan stares back at him, eyes wide, and curiously enough, his cheeks flush a faint, very light pink, highlighting the still healing bruises. He makes a pretty sight, and Izuku is suddenly very aware of Kacchan’s hands touching him.

Izuku squeezes Kacchan’s hand involuntarily, flushing himself. They’ve never held hands before, only ever linking pinkies for a few short seconds, and the new skinship is doing something to Izuku’s heart. Thankfully, Kacchan is ignoring the monitor recording his vitals and displaying every moment Izuku’s heart decides to commit a coup d'état on his body, or maybe Kacchan is just waiting to use it as blackmail. Yeah, that one seems right.

Izuku flexes his hand, hesitantly and haltingly adjusting his grip so their fingers lace together. Kacchan lets him fumble with their hands, watching as scarred fingers bracket his own.

“You’re okay with this?” Kacchan asks, because even though Izuku is the one affirming his hold, Kacchan has been the one initiating it. He brings up both their hands to show Izuku what he means, displaying where Izuku is gripping as tight as he can and Kacchan’s thumb brushes back and forth on his skin.

Izuku nods his head for lack of anything better to say, face a little warm.

“Yeah?” Kacchan pushes, eyebrows furrowed together. He looks like he’s going to try and pull his hand away again, and Izuku can’t have that.

“Yeah,” Izuku confirms, voice a hoarse, hushed whisper, but firm.

“Good,” Kacchan says, and the smallest of smiles pulls at the corner of his lips. Izuku is entranced – or maybe it’s the exhaustion tugging on his heart and the drugs on his mind.

“Good,” Izuku repeats quietly, smiling, too.

Izuku contents himself with staring at Kacchan’s face, memorizing once again features he’s known his whole life, taking in the new, tired lines, and the way the ceiling lights shift along his skin.

“Have I been asleep long?”

“A couple of days, give or take,” he says, shrugging. “I was out, too. I woke up Monday, and it’s Thursday. Got discharged yesterday, so…”

Kacchan trails off, tracing the scars on Izuku’s hand. His eyes are glued to where his thumb moves back and forth over the biggest one. It’s old, from so long ago Izuku hardly ever thinks of it, but Kacchan touches him like he’s something precious, something more than the power in his bones and the legacy in his veins.

Izuku eyes the bandages around Kacchan’s head while he preoccupies himself with Izuku’s scars. They’re not bleeding through, but Izuku still needs to make sure.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Kacchan?”

“I’m fine, Deku.”

Izuku nods, but he continues to stare blearily at the bandage on Kacchan’s head. Head injuries can be tricky, and while Kacchan seemed okay while they were stuck under the building, Izuku also couldn’t pay as much attention to Kacchan as he wanted.

Kacchan catches the direction his eyes go and shakes his head in exasperation, but he answers Izuku’s unasked question anyways, reading his mind like always.

“I had a concussion, and the docs said I went into shock” – Izuku’s eyes widen almost drastically – “but I got my thick fucking skull from my mama. I’m good.”

“Fucking brat,” Izuku hears before he can ask any clarifying questions. (How bad was it? How soon did Kacchan get treatment? How bad was his head, too, because the amount of blood loss needed to cause shock- Later, he’ll ask later.)

In the doorway stands Izuku’s mom next to Kacchan’s. His mom is crying, and Mitsuki is smirking with a hand on her hip. Huh. It reminds Izuku a lot of him and Kacchan.

“You should be thankful for your hard head, else Izuku would’ve held that shit for nothing!”

“Hah?! What, you’re proud of that big ass head of yours?”

“You wanna say that to my face, you little shit? That ‘big ass head’ saved your-”

While Kacchan catches up with his mom, a smirk on his face as they trade insults back and forth with an ease that would run most people off, Izuku reaches out to his mom, smiling softly.

“Hi, mom.”

“Izuku.” Her voice warbles, but she’s smiling, too. “Oh, it’s so good to see you awake. Are you alright? Does anything hurt? We can get the nurse for you if you want?” She wraps both her hands around his, letting them rest against the bed.

Izuku laughs, gripping his mom’s hands as best he can with his limited strength, letting her fuss over him. “I’m alright, mom. Just… tired.”

“You sure? What about your knee, is your knee hurting?” she asks, eyes wide.

“My knee…?” Izuku trails off, looking down at his legs.

He hadn’t noticed it, but there’s a sizeable lump where his right knee should be. He can’t feel his leg either, but considering his mom isn’t freaking out more than usual, he doesn’t assume anything worse happened to him than “on so many anesthetics he can’t feel anything past his nose.”

If he really lost his leg, Izuku doesn’t think his mom would be smiling so much.

“Oh baby, don’t you remember? Apparently, you fell on your knee and cracked it,” she says. She brushes a hand through Izuku’s hair, eyes crinkled at the corners. “You’ll have a cast for a little bit, but Dr. Nakamura said it should heal just fine. You got lucky, especially with your knee guards. It was just a simple… a simple fracture? No, wrong body part. Oh darn, it was a-”

“A stable fracture,” Kacchan cuts in, and both Midoriya’s turn their heads to look at him, eyes wide.

He pauses at the sudden attention, eyes darting between them both but continues explaining what Inko couldn’t quite recall. “Kneecap cracked right down the middle, but nothing moved. Doc casted it, so you’ll be bed-bound until it’s removed.”

Izuku winces, eyeing the lump under the sheet.

His legs were everything to him. After high school, after the mess of internships and the war, Izuku started treating his legs like they were his babies – incredibly powerful, violent babies the size of hams as Kirishima had once told him, laughing at Izuku’s red face – so any direct injury to them messed with Izuku’s head.

He tries to wiggle his toes, and he can’t tell if he succeeded or not.

He does it again. Nothing.

His breathing picks up.

Before he can even take a shaky breath in, his right hand is squeezed, and Izuku lifts his eyes back up to meet Kacchan’s.

“It’s fine. No lasting injury.” Kacchan squeezes his hand again, in sync with Izuku like always. “I still need to get you back after that last spar, so you better heal quickly, Deku. No slacking off.”

Izuku lays his head back, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply through his nose. Good, that’s good; if Kacchan says it’ll be fine, it will be. Izuku trusts him, especially with something like this.

Tension leaks out of his shoulders, and Mitsuki’s sudden, echoing laugh, exactly like Kacchan’s but higher pitched, brings a smile to his face.

“Can’t ever say what you really mean, huh, Katsuki?” she asks, cackling when Katsuki stands up to tell her off.

Turned around like he is, Izuku can see his red neck. It’s an endearing sight – flustered Kacchan happens so rarely that Izuku appreciates every moment he sees it. His mom half-heartedly reaches her hands out towards them, much the mediator like her son, but she’s smiling, too.

“I only say what I mean, hag. And like you’re one to talk!” Kacchan takes a step forward, his hand beginning to slip out of Izuku’s.

He panics, unintentionally tugging with what little strength he has on Kacchan’s hand in the middle of his sentence – he doesn’t want to let go, not yet.

“Who was the one telling dad off about – huh?” Kacchan pauses, turning around when he can’t step forward anymore. Mitsuki smirks behind him, drifting over to Inko’s side to snark something under her breath that makes his mom lift a hand up to cover her growing smile.

Izuku’s face flushes, palm growing sweaty, but he doesn’t want to let go.

He hopes Kacchan can do the weird thing he’s been doing and just know what Izuku is thinking because Izuku isn’t sure if he’s mentally here enough to explain out loud that Kacchan’s hand in his is the greatest thing that’s happened to him all month. Or, even worse, that Izuku is steadily becoming addicted to the weight of his hand and the feel of their callouses brushing together. Kacchan will make fun of him, Izuku just knows it.

“Deku?”

Izuku shakes his head, tugging Kacchan’s hand again, and something must get across because Kacchan’s eyes widen infinitesimally before he smirks at Izuku.

“How old are you again?” he teases, laughing at Izuku’s panicked eyes and flustered face. “Still need me to hold your hand and lead you around like when we were brats?”

He starts to move back, like he’s going to let go of his hand, and Izuku hums low in his throat in distress, gripping tighter. Kacchan could easily pull out of his grip if he wanted to, Izuku nowhere near his normal strength to hold on, but at the squeeze of his fingertips and the way he starts to pull his torso off the bed to follow, Kacchan stops.

Instead, he looks at Izuku with a raised eyebrow and up-turned lips, waiting for an explanation because he’s a jerk and never lets him have the easy way out. Izuku wouldn’t have it any other way.

(He looks exactly like Mitsuki with that expression, but because Izuku values his life, he keeps that thought to himself. His mom must notice it, too, because she’s snickering behind her hand again.)

Izuku tries to hold out, he really does, but Kacchan’s burning stare has always been one of Izuku’s weaknesses.

“My hand is cold,” is Izuku’s flimsy excuse, and it’s so bad that Mitsuki starts laughing so hard that Izuku’s mom has to guide her gently but firmly out of the room to “get some air and a nurse.” Mitsuki is already wiping tears from her eyes when the door closes behind them, her howling laughter in the hallway gathering attention from nurses, doctors, and patients alike. “His hand is cold! Your brat really said-”

Izuku’s face is steaming.

Eventually, her laughter fades and Inko’s light chiding becomes inaudible the further they walk from the room, leaving them all alone. It’s just him, Kacchan, and Izuku’s terrible choices alone in a room together – it sounds like the set up to a bad joke, and if Izuku were any more sober and any more awake, that’d have been enough for a truly disastrous scenario.

Even Kacchan had barked a laugh at Izuku’s excuse, several octaves deeper than his mother’s, but instead of pulling away completely like Izuku expects him to, he sits down, scooting the chair as close as he can to the bed side and lowering the railing. He doesn’t say anything at all, but Kacchan’s never been one to fill the silence when it wasn’t needed.

“Kacchan,” Izuku whispers, face still red.

Kacchan just grunts, lips still smiling. He reaches past where the railing was and places both of their linked hands on the mattress, his eyes darting up to check Izuku’s face and make sure the position is comfortable. Kacchan hovers his other hand over Izuku’s and then both palms begin to pop softly, a sweet, almost acidic smell drifting through the room.

The small but infinitely caring gesture is nearly enough to bring tears back to Izuku’s eyes. The heat sinks into Izuku’s weary, twisted bones, and instead of crying, he relaxes back into his bed with a pleasant, quiet sigh. He can’t quite feel the constant ache in his twisted fingers that’s accompanied him since he was fifteen, courtesy of the many drugs running through him, but even so, Kacchan’s hands feel like a dream against his.

If Kacchan hadn’t become a hero (and it’s such a blasphemous thought to think, of Kacchan being anything but a hero, that Izuku taps twice with his left hand on his bed frame in lieu of wood) he’d be the perfect physical or massage therapist.

Izuku rather likes this, though – Kacchan’s intense concentration aimed solely at Izuku, massaging his hands with warm fingers and a familiar heat that Izuku hasn’t seen him share with anybody else. It makes him feel special, like Kacchan values him over everybody else.

He doesn’t want to share this with anybody, a selfish desire Izuku has in abundance when it comes to Kacchan. Izuku shares everything else: his body, his life, his quirk, all to save others. He doesn’t regret any of it but sometimes Kacchan makes him wish for more, for a life filled with red eyes and sparking hands that Izuku can call his.

As he watches Kacchan, Izuku’s eyes grow heavier, breaths deeper. He tries to fight it because he doesn’t want to sleep just yet, but it’s a game he was bound to lose.

“Are you tired?” Kacchan asks him, noting the change in Izuku immediately. He looks up from their hands to meet Izuku’s eyes.

And Izuku is, despite only having had a few minutes of consciousness – but it’s also only been a few minutes, not nearly enough time for him.

“I just woke up,” he points out.

“So?”

“Shouldn’t I be not tired?”

Kacchan gives him a look, like he’s dumber than dumb and like Kacchan can’t believe he really has to deal with him, and it’s so familiar, so normal compared to everything that’s happened, that Izuku can’t help the rough laughter that bubbles out of him.

“Dumbass, you’re allowed to be tired,” Kacchan scolds him, lips twitching at the sound of his quiet snickers.

Kacchan leans closer, his right hand moving to pinch Izuku’s cheek; it doesn’t hurt, nothing even close to it. Kacchan is careful of the cuts on his face and the bruise mottling his cheek, but Izuku plays it up if only to keep Kacchan’s warm fingers on his skin.

“Ow,” Izuku whines. “Kacchan, that hurts.”

“Then stop saying stupid shit and go back to sleep if you’re tired,” Kacchan says. He doesn’t let go of Izuku’s face, instead lightly pulling his cheek even more.

“But…” Izuku trails off, frowning. He’s barely even talked to Kacchan, let alone seen enough of his face after staring at the cracked concrete stained with his sweat and their blood for so long. He just wants to spend time with Kacchan.

“Speak up or shut up,” Kacchan orders, narrowing his eyes at Izuku. His fingers have stopped pulling and instead move to hold the side of Izuku’s head. It’s done so casually he almost doesn’t notice.

Almost, because this is the most Kacchan has ever blatantly touched him without any excuse or social necessity (hello agency-mandated sparring and locker rooms and wound tending done with sweet, burning hands that Izuku can barely stand before rushing home to take care of issues) standing in the way so of course Izuku is going to notice and catalogue every moment for a later dissection (and to replay it all in his head over and over and over again).

“I want to talk to Kacchan,” Izuku says, staring down at the sheet covering his body.

He’s cold; he’s always cold in hospitals, whether it’s for a simple checkup or if he’s fresh from surgery. The pain relievers always make him cold and the simple bed sheets are never enough. But now, when Kacchan’s hands are warming him up, Izuku doesn’t want to go to sleep. He wants to enjoy Kacchan’s heat. He wants to hear Kacchan talk to him, pay attention to him like he did when they were stuck together in the dark, crushing hole under the building.

“And my hand is still cold. Kacchan makes me feel better,” he adds, brain-to-mouth-filter slowly eroding the more tired he gets.

“You’re an embarrassment, you know that?” Kacchan’s face twitches, like he’s repressing a reaction to his words, but he grips Izuku tighter anyways.

“Only to Kacchan,” Izuku declares proudly.

“Weirdo,” he grumbles. Kacchan watches him for a moment, hands still but red eyes tracing Izuku’s face.

“I won’t go anywhere, alright? We can talk and shit once you’ve gotten more sleep,” he offers, withdrawing the hand on Izuku's face. Kacchan puts two of his fingers to his forehead and pushes it down, his touch lingering. “So go to sleep.”

“You’ll stay?” Izuku asks, not fighting Kacchan’s insistent hand but refusing to close his heavy eyes.

“I’ll stay,” Kacchan promises, then switches his hands. He pries his left one out of Izuku’s only to replace it with his other one. His newly freed hand comes up to card through Izuku’s hair, slowly smoothing through tangled strands and scraping blunt nails lightly across his scalp.

The light drag coaxes his eyes shut, and Izuku shivers, too content to be embarrassed over Kacchan touching his dirty hair or this strange, new intimate side of Kacchan that Izuku is steadily becoming addicted to.

“Sleep,” Kacchan orders, and Izuku does. Like every time before, he falls asleep to a warm hand in his and Kacchan’s voice guiding his dreams.

Izuku wants to fall asleep like this for forever.

-

Izuku wakes up with a dry throat but warmer than when he fell asleep. When he groggily blinks his eyes open at the blank ceiling, the first thing he does is croak out a barely audible, “Kacchan?”

His voice is hoarse from a combination of disuse and the damage to his throat from the screams that tore out of him when the building collapsed for the final time, and he tries to clear it without any luck.

Ah, he’d have thought he’d have his voice completely back by now. Izuku wonders if he’s been through any rounds of healing quirks, but if he’s still so tired, it’s possible he simply hasn’t had enough extra energy for them. He needs water.

“Right here, nerd,” Izuku hears, and he forgets all about the water, turning his head to the right. Kacchan has his phone in his hand, sitting in the same chair but sans his hoodie. He’s just wearing a simple, black V-neck, tight on his body with enough give to move comfortably in. Izuku is not awake enough to process that in any way, shape, or form, so instead he focuses on the other thing that’s making his heart race.

“You stayed?” Izuku asks, a whisper and something like hope filtering through his voice.

Kacchan makes a face, offended at his question. “Of course, I did. I said I would, didn’t I?”

Izuku hums in assent, still smiling because yeah, Kacchan did.

Kacchan is staring at him, daring Izuku to prove him wrong, so he drops his eyes, darting around his bed and the room around him. He’s not awake enough to be dissected by those eyes or awake enough to control his own eyes from drifting to places they shouldn’t. It’s when he’s looking down at himself that he notices something is different.

“Oh,” he says, gingerly stretching his arms out in front of him. He can’t hold them up for the long, but it’s impossible not to notice the change. He’s not just wearing the papery gown the hospital provided for him anymore. He has large, black sleeves covering his arms, his left one pushed up to make room for the IV in his arm. But the one on the right is too long and covers him all the way to his fingertips and then some.

He looks down further and right there on his chest is the orange outline of a bundle of lit dynamite. Kacchan’s hoodie. He’s wearing Kacchan’s hoodie?

He turns his head to look at Kacchan, eyes wide – he doesn’t back down from the dead-on stare he receives, instead giving one of his own back. Kacchan’s face is daring him to say something about it, but Izuku doesn’t know how to explain the ball of emotions he’s feeling – all just because he’s wearing Kacchan’s hoodie.

“What, you don’t like it?” Kacchan barks. “You were whining about being cold and I don’t have any of your shit here. Your mom is getting your shit from your apartment, but she won’t be back until tomorrow so deal with it.”

Izuku shakes his head because that is not the issue! Kacchan was just wearing this hoodie! And now Izuku is the one wearing it! He bets it still smells like Kacchan, but he doesn’t duck down to see if he’s correct because Kacchan is still staring at him.

“Then what?” Kacchan challenges.

“…It’s comfortable,” Izuku says instead. “And I am never going to take it off.” Kacchan just rolls his eyes, but he relaxes back in his chair, stuffing his phone into the pocket of his sweats. Izuku attempts to laugh at Kacchan’s underwhelming reaction, but the sound comes out all mangled, reminding him of his dry throat.

Izuku turns his head to look for water, struggling to push himself up on shaky arms, but before he can even fully lift his torso up, he’s being pushed back down, two fingers to his forehead, just like before.

“The hell are you doing?” Kacchan scolds him, glaring at Izuku.

Izuku tilts his chin up to bare his throat, clearing it again. “Water.”

“Lie the fuck down,” Kacchan orders, standing up so he can fill a paper cup with water and bring it to Izuku’s side. But Izuku wants to be able to properly look at Kacchan, and he knows if he stays lying down, he might accidentally fall asleep, so he struggles to sit up anyways.

His body is still tired, every muscle aching as the pain killers start to wear off, but by now it doesn’t feel more than when he’s been conditioning for a bit too long. At least, until he tries to put pressure on his left arm.

He cries out at the burning feeling deep within his shoulder, arm buckling under his weight.

“Hey, hey, Deku!” he hears Kacchan say, but Izuku’s gone dizzy with the rush of piercing heat centered behind his left shoulder, black spots littering his vision. A pair of hands grab him, settling him more gently against the bed.

It burns, some of the stitches Izuku hadn’t realized were there tearing. He’s panting by the time his vision comes back to him, sweat beading on his forehead and his shoulder throbbing. The sudden rush of pain happened so quickly that waiting for it to ease up enough to hear Kacchan feels like an eternity.

“Deep breaths, Deku, don’t need you passing out so soon.” Izuku complies, taking gulps of air as he comes back down. He’s breathing through his mouth and blinking hard, squeezing his eyes shut then opening them repeatedly to clear his vision.

“What…?” he asks, blearily blinking at where Kacchan hovers over him, one hand on Izuku’s chest and the other gripping his right arm.

“You had that piece of rebar in your shoulder, remember?”

Izuku nods. He assumes he’s been on so many painkillers that the brief time he was awake, he couldn’t feel anything and so he forgot all about the injury. But now, Izuku can’t stop thinking about it, the constant pain radiating from his shoulder too strong.

“Yeah, well, shit got infected. It took a piece of your uniform with it when it went through you. No exit wound, so it was festering for a while inside your shoulder. It wasn’t exactly clean either,” Kacchan tells him, sitting down heavily in the chair. He’s still sitting close to Izuku, knuckles rubbing back and forth on his sternum almost distractedly.

“That’s why you were out for so long. Docs pumped you full of antibiotics after your surgery to stave off the infection, then waited for your body to do the rest. It’s still not healed, which is why I told you to lie down.” He glares at Izuku, reaching to the side of him to adjust Izuku’s bed so he could sit up.

“And if you had, I could’ve told you all this without you fucking up your shoulder even more,” Kacchan says, eyebrow twitching in annoyance and what Izuku is starting to realize is concern.

Izuku chuckles sheepishly, a little breathless. It hurts now almost as much as when it happened. “Sorry, Kacchan, I didn’t realize.”

He resettles now that he’s sitting up a little more, still resting heavily against his bed.

He watches as Kacchan turns to grab the cup of water he had set down, following the bandages around to the back of his head. They’re clean, and little tufts of blond hair stick out near the top. Izuku breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

He knows Kacchan’s okay, but after varied and unwanted dreams during his many hours of sleep, the physical proof just cements it each time he wakes up.

“Obviously,” Kacchan mutters once he turns back around. He keeps muttering as he scoots his chair as close as he can get to Izuku’s bedside. “Your doctor’s gonna give you hell for that stunt. I’m gonna give you hell for that. Brainless, you act like you’re literally brainless sometimes. You’re in a hospital recovering, asshole. What makes you think you can move like nothing happened?”

Izuku simply lies there and listens as Kacchan rants his worries out – it’s nice to hear Kacchan cares about his recovery. Kacchan sees Izuku’s little smile, and smirks, leaning in really close to him. “You’re not gonna be able to get away with skimming on your recovery this time, Deku. Your doc’s gonna be up your ass your entire stay.”

Izuku flushes at the close distance and Kacchan backs off with a snicker.

It sounds like Kacchan likes this doctor, which is surprising because Kacchan and hospitals mix like oil and fire. He abhors being told how to take care of himself, what to do, what to eat, and how to perform his job, and since most of that is in a doctor’s job description…

Well, there’s a reason why whenever Kacchan needs to go to a hospital for some reason or other they treat him like he’s dying: quick, to the point, and then shoving him out the doors without so much as a farewell. Kacchan also likes it that way, so the irony of him being gleeful over a doctor that apparently is going to have a heavy hand in his recovery gives Izuku some much needed amusement.

“Hey, I don’t- I’m not gonna skim on my recovery!” Izuku weakly defends. He does most of the time, but Kacchan doesn’t have to win every argument.

Kacchan rolls his eyes, but the tension in his brow from earlier is gone.

“Sure,” he says, dismissing his defense, and Izuku gives up.

Kacchan leans back in, sliding his left hand behind Izuku’s head to grip the back of his neck.

“Up,” he urges, pushing gently at Izuku’s neck to tilt his head forward and Izuku has to fight back a blush – he doesn’t succeed. It’s just- Kacchan’s hand is so big and warm.

He’s holding the cup of water in his other hand, close to Izuku’s face, waiting for him to open his mouth.

“I can do it myself, you know,” Izuku mumbles.

“Don’t fuck with me,” Kacchan scoffs. “There’s no way you can lift your head or your hands up right now.”

Izuku frowns and goes to try and lift his right hand up just to see if he can but stops at Kacchan’s glare.

“Kacchan…” Izuku does not whine.

“Drink,” come Kacchan’s stern command. Izuku squints at him, cheeks still a ruddy red. Just because Kacchan’s hands are steady and fit so easily around Izuku’s neck does not mean he’s going to give in.

When Kacchan continues to hold Izuku’s head up, staring at him with narrowed eyes – just daring him to refuse – Izuku relents. He’s too tired to argue and Kacchan helping him isn’t that big of a concession.

The cool water sliding down his throat is blissful, and he sighs into the cup as he gulps down almost all its contents, but Izuku almost chokes when Kacchan’s thumb moves to brush back and forth behind his ear.

“Ease up,” Kacchan chides him, taking away the cup when it’s almost empty but not the hand on his neck. “I did not watch you do a shitty cosplay of Atlas only to watch you drown in a hospital like a goddamn moron. You’re not getting away from me that easily, not anymore, so stop trying.”

This actually makes Izuku choke, and he splutters heavily, one hand gripping the railing on his left to steady himself.

“What?!”

Kacchan rolls his eyes but it’s more performative than it is a genuine sign of annoyance. There’s worry creasing his brows, anger sparking in his eyes.

“Nothing, just drink your water.”

“No, what do you mean, Kacchan?” Izuku insists as Kacchan pulls his arms away. The hand on his neck slides down to grip his forearm but Izuku barely even notices.

“Nothing.”

“Kacchan!”

“Fucking what, Deku?”

Izuku just looks at him, eyes wide and imploring. Kacchan sighs heavily, like this is the last thing he wants to talk about. And yet, he answers.

“I know you did what you had to, and you did good, Deku. Really. It was the most batshit insane thing I’ve seen you do yet, but… you held out, all the way to the end.” He sounds proud, meeting Izuku’s eyes with a pleased smirk.

They’ve come so far, both in their relationship and as people and heroes, but genuine praise from Kacchan always makes Izuku’s face burn, makes his heart skip in his chest. Kacchan doesn’t give him a chance to respond, to adresss why his cheeks are red over simple words of praise. Instead, his smirk drops from his face as he talks.

“But I’m still mad you didn’t let me hold it.” Kacchan’s eyes dart down, staring at his feet. “I know why you didn’t, too, but I just…”

He pauses, throat working like the words are fighting him. Izuku holds his breath, unwilling to speak up and scare Kacchan from talking as he so rarely does.

“I was fucking helpless,” he finally spits out, brow creasing. “I’m a goddamn hero, but I couldn’t do anything but watch. Couldn’t save you, couldn’t use my quirk, couldn’t do jack shit but watch you bleed. How many times are you gonna save my ass, Deku, huh? Seeing you like that, bleeding and lit up like you had a tornado living in your chest – I couldn’t stand the thought that you’d break yourself for me. Again. And that I’d still have no claim to you – to us. It made me realize some shit I should’ve realized a long time ago.”

“Kacchan,” Izuku whispers. He hadn’t considered that. He couldn’t have, really, didn’t have the time then or the brain capacity when he woke up earlier, but he knows Kacchan, knows how much Kacchan derives his worth from proving his abilities to win, to save others.

Izuku hadn’t let him help hold the building because he had just watched him almost bleed out on the floor, unconscious and unresponsive. It wasn’t because he didn’t think Kacchan couldn’t have done anything. Izuku has had enough experiences with head wounds, major and minor, that no matter what Kacchan thought or what the adrenaline was telling him, the strain of trying to help Izuku hold everything would’ve made Kacchan worse off.

So Izuku’s not sorry for refusing to let Kacchan help him, but he’s sorry it’s making Kacchan feel like this anyways.

Kacchan looks up at the sound of his name and locks eyes with Izuku’s again.

“Then we got out,” he says, voice tight and lips pulled up in a small sneer, “and I couldn’t even find out where your room was when I woke up, didn’t know how the surgery went, if you were still fucking breathing – nothing until your mom saw me losing my shit at the front desk and told me. Even fucking Aizawa got more information about you before I did.”

Kacchan twists around to place the cup of water down on the small table behind him with a muted thump, and, without a moment’s hesitation once he turns back to face him, purposely slides his fingers back between Izuku’s. He instinctively grabs back, with what little strength he has. The motion is almost already familiar, but it’s still new enough that Izuku's pulse jumps from the confidence in which Kacchan holds him, cheeks coloring almost softly.

“And that? Yeah, I’m not good with that because I’m not playing anymore, Deku. I’m gonna drag your ass to dinner, and then to bed, and I’m gonna make sure you understand that you’re it for me. I’m not half-assing this. Next time your unlucky ass ends up in the hospital, I better be the first person to know.”

His eyes, a deep, dark red in the low lighting of the room, burn into Izuku’s as Kacchan gives him promises he intends to keep. They land like blows on Izuku’s heart, tenderizing it until he can feel all the love he’s stifled these many long years pour out along with his tears, shock and hope paralyzing his mind until all he can think about is Kacchan. His brain is filled to the brim with Kacchan: his words, his presence, his warmth, and his touch – he’s too much. It’s not enough.

“Next fight you win, celebrate it with me; when you lose, point me in their direction and I’ll soften them up until you can do it yourself. Next time you get hurt, I’ll patch you up. When you try a new recipe, share it with me and nobody else. When you need a ride, when something breaks, when the day is too long or the burden on your shoulders is too heavy, you come to me. Wear my hoodies, my merch, and eventually, my name. I’ll keep your hands warm, Izuku.”

“You mean…?” Izuku doesn’t dare finish his sentence but there’s no possibility that Kacchan could mean it any other way. Izuku's heart beats solely for Kacchan and this must mean Kacchan’s heart is the same.

“Yeah. Stay by my side, nerd. Keep your eyes on me and only me,” Kacchan says, commands, even.

Izuku feels the tears building up at the corner of his eyes and he breaks into quiet laughter, shakily wiping at his face with his free hand.

“Of course, Kacchan. I could never look anywhere else anyways,” Izuku says.

Kacchan smirks at him, eyes dancing with genuine happiness. “As it should be, nerd.”

“And Kacchan will be mine?”

“Always have been.”

He squeezes Izuku’s hand to make his point and leans closer. He taps his forehead against his, pressing just enough for Izuku to feel the weight, hear the rustle of his clothes as he breathes him in. Kacchan’s next words are quiet compared to the impassioned speech he just gave, but their weight is no less.

“Nothing like a fucking disaster to show you what’s most important, eh, Deku?”

“And what’s most important?” Izuku whispers, lost in warm, familiar red.

Kacchan watches him for a few moments, and then his lips quirk, just a bit.

“You, Deku. It’s always been you.”

-

When Izuku wakes the next day, he scares the nurse who had come in to check his chart.

He had woken with a loud gasp, eyes shooting open and green lightning sparking across his arms, sitting up in the bed so fast his right hand became tangled in the sheets. He’d grabbed onto the railing on his left, crushed it in his grasp as he heaved for breath.

He was lost in his mind for a moment, lost in memories melding into nightmares, eyes open but unseeing. It was Kacchan again, but this time, he didn’t wake up. This time, his neck had snapped from the force of the rock and Izuku was stuck there, waiting to be crushed with his heart bleeding out in his arms, Kacchan's body heavier than anything he's ever held.

He was about to start crying, the acute despair in his chest from even the thought of a world without Kacchan so severe his throat had closed off, heart burning and lungs ceasing their motions, when the nurse yelped in surprise, chart clattering to the floor. It snapped Izuku out of it, a single tear falling down his face as his head whipped up to see what he heard.

The too-quick motion made him dizzy, but he forced his eyes to lock onto her pale face and open mouth.

“Mr. Midoriya!” she had gasped, hands reaching out to him.

When Aizawa walks into his room, followed by a woman in a clean, white coat, Izuku is doing his best to bow from his spot on the bed, apologizing for scaring the nurse over and over with trembling, half-spoken words. His heart is still pounding in his throat, hand trembling around the ruined railing, but the flush on his face had overtaken his previous despair.

Embarrassment, as always, is a potent distraction. Not potent enough to erase Kacchan’s blank eyes, eyes that had been so warm the day before when Kacchan held his hand and declared his life was now tied to Izuku’s whether he liked it or not, but enough to wake him up.

He remembers his promises, remembers the hoodie still wrapped around him, and Izuku breathes through the disorientation of suddenly waking up and then meeting people so soon after dreaming. He’s all right, Kacchan is okay, everything is fine.

“Problem Child,” Izuku hears, a deep, tired sigh that makes Izuku want to yawn following it. His breath rushes out of him, subconsciously comforted by his old teacher’s familiar, safe presence.

“Sensei,” Izuku says, straightening up his back and neck out of his hunched-over, lilting bow with effort. Aizawa raises an eyebrow and Izuku’s flush deepens. “Er, Aizawa, sorry. Habit.”

“It’s been at least half a decade since I’ve been your sensei, kid. How is that still a habit?” Aizawa sighs, again.

The nurse takes this chance to escape, setting the chart back in its original spot. With a wave to Izuku, she passes by the doctor and Aizawa with a simple nod and leaves the room.

Aizawa moves to lean against the wall next to the door, slumping like he hasn’t been able to rest in weeks. He’s out of uniform, in a black three-quarter sleeved t-shirt and dark pants. His capture scarf, Izuku notes, is uncharacteristically wrapped around his neck, even though he seems to be off duty.

Despite his tired demeanor, his eyes are sharp and completely awake – they’re also studying Izuku’s face. They bore into him, and it feels like he’s a bumbling first year again, like he’s a bug under Aizawa’s microscope. Izuku fights the urge to fidget, reminding himself he’s a Pro Hero on equal footing as Aizawa, but his old teacher has always been able to cut straight to the core of a person with a single, withering gaze. Izuku wonders if it’s part of his quirk. Or maybe it’s the lingering nightmare and the lingering drugs.

Aizawa stares until he finds whatever he’s looking for, shoulders relaxing from tension Izuku hadn’t realized was there and silently looking away. He doesn’t offer an explanation and Izuku’s known him long enough to know he’s not going to get one unless it’s necessary.

The doctor laughs good-naturedly at the foot of Izuku’s bed, hands tucked in the deep pockets of her white lab coat. “Once a teacher, always a teacher, right, Eraserhead?”

Aizawa slumps further against the wall, ducking his chin into his scarf. “Unfortunately. And I’m off duty, don’t call me that.”

Izuku sighs, heart finally calming, and he ignores the twinge in his face as he offers them a smile. Aizawa is the same as he ever was.

“And you! Mr. Midoriya!” she calls, ignoring Aizawa completely. Her smile is huge, eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s good to finally meet you when you’re awake! I’m Dr. Nakamura, and I’ll be taking care of you during your stay here.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Izuku offers, bowing his head in her direction. “I’ll be in your care.”

“Sure, sure,” she says, brushing aside the polite talk. “Now that you’re awake, we have much we need to discuss! You’re one hell of a patient, and your records are enough to give any health professional a nightmare, so we want to get you out of here like Satan is busting down the doors himself and have you back on the streets keeping Japan safe. But,” she pauses, “I don’t see Mr. Bakugou here? Is he in the bathroom?”

Izuku blinks. Well. This explains why Kacchan seems to approve of Izuku’s doctor. No patience for small talk and as passionate about her job as they are about theirs.

At the reminder of Kacchan, he thinks back to last night, when Kacchan had left him to go home and sleep, replacing the persistent nightmare with his actual memories. A hand brushing Izuku’s face in farewell and a kiss pressed to his forehead, fingers smoothing over Izuku’s and tugging his sleeves into place before walking out the door with confident steps, a promise to come back early the next morning. Izuku blushes just thinking about it, heart beating erratically in his chest as the easy affection Kacchan has been doling out to Izuku like it’s nothing.

He answers Dr. Nakamura’s question, foregoing telling her about the intimate farewell. Izuku wants to keep that to himself, and he doubts her or Aizawa would appreciate hearing about it. “He left once visiting hours ended to get some sleep. He said he was going to come back if that’s of any help?”

“Well, he can’t blame me then,” she says, smiling wryly. “We happen to go off your schedule, not his. Too bad; he was adamant about being here for this part.”

Izuku cocks his head. “Kacchan wanted to be here? For what?” It was only going to be dense medical talk about Izuku’s injuries and how he’s recovering – it doesn’t seem like something Kacchan would be interested in.

At this, Dr. Nakamura’s smile drops in intensity, but doesn’t disappear. “Well, I’d like to go over your stay here the past few days and discuss with you the many injuries you accrued while you held up the Yamanaka building. Mr. Bakugou insisted on being here with you. I assume to support you, as some of this information may be hard to receive.”

“Oh,” Izuku whispers. It seems like Kacchan has been taking care of Izuku even without him realizing it. Kacchan really is amazing. Izuku is going to have to get used to Kacchan wanting to be part of all this now – he can’t say it’s a bad feeling, having such adamant support.

It explains why Kacchan wanted to be here, but…

“Sensei, may I ask why you’re here?”

Aizawa looks up at his name, pushing off the wall. He doesn’t immediately answer, walking over to stand an arm’s length away from Izuku’s bed in silence. He watches him for a moment, deciding on what to say.

“Your quirk was flaring up while you were unconscious,” Aizawa finally explains. “I stayed to make sure it didn’t.”

“That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about,” Dr. Nakamura cuts in before Izuku can ask for clarification. “Is it alright if we discuss your condition while Eraserhead is in the room?”

Izuku nods immediately. “Of course, I don’t mind at all.”

“As you wish. Before we begin, I’d like for you to know that this may take quite some time to go over.” She picks up the clipboard at the end of his bed, and quickly flips through the many pages, eyes moving rapidly as they take in the information written there.

“You have quite the extensive list of injuries we need to discuss, as well as the recovery process – both short term and long-term recovery. If you feel tired at any moment, or need a break, please let me know immediately.” She looks up, making and holding eye contact for the next bit. She’s more serious than she’s been since she’s arrived, and Izuku can’t help the way his shoulders instinctively straighten under her gaze.

“You’re no longer in a critical condition nor are you urgently needed as a hero, and most of these injuries have become minor during your sleep, so if we need to take a few hours or a few days to go through them all, that is perfectly acceptable,” she says.

“O-oh,” Izuku says, a little stunned, distractedly watching her put the clipboard back in place.

He didn’t know the state of his body was this bad, or that he could just… stop whenever he felt like it. He always powered through these discussions and his mandated checkups so he could get out of the hospital and back into his suit faster. He still did everything his doctors recommended him, much more careful about his recovery and his body as he’s gotten older, but, well, a few shortcuts here and there wouldn’t kill him, right?

…

Izuku winces. Kacchan would probably kill him if he said that out loud, so probably not. Still, Izuku can handle it.

“It’s fine, really, we don’t need to take breaks-”

“Midoriya,” Aizawa cuts in. “You’re allowed to rest. That’s the whole point of why you’re here.”

“I mean, yeah, but-”

“Mr. Midoriya, please.” Dr. Nakamura’s expression is stern, lips frowning a little bit. “Your well-being is quite literally my number one priority, and it should always be yours as well. Now, with your profession, I can understand why you may not grasp that concept as easily, but while you are here in my hospital and under my care, I must insist that you take no shortcuts and that you do not hide anything. Are we clear?”

Izuku blinks, mouth gaping open a little. Honestly, she reminds Izuku of a mix between Aizawa and Kacchan. Scary.

“Right, yes, got it,” he says. He gives her a weak thumbs up and Aizawa drops his forehead into his hand.

“Good!” she says, giving him a wide smile once more, expression suddenly flipping as she dives right in.

“These quirk ‘flare-ups’ are one of the reasons why Eraserhead is here. While you were sleeping, at various, random moments, your quirk would turn on. I assume that it’s your body’s subconscious response to a threat you might have perceived in your dreams, but as it was becoming a danger to those in the room, as well as to your recovery, Eraserhead was asked to help abate some of those subconscious reactions,” she explains.

“My quirk was turning on? While I was sleeping?” Izuku asks, eyes wide. That rarely happens, even with the worst of Izuku’s nightmares. That’s… concerning.

Aizawa nods, gesturing to Izuku’s body. “You would randomly light up and wouldn’t let anybody touch you. Thankfully, none of your whips came out or your other quirks became active. I’m too tired to deal with that shit, so please refrain from letting your quirks join the light show when next your quirk turns on.”

Aizawa states it, like he does everything, bluntly, digging his chin back into his scarf at the end. Izuku can only laugh breathily, unsettled by his lack of control but comforted by Aizawa’s confident words. He’s glad his old teacher is here to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone. He can trust Aizawa with keeping him in check.

Dr. Nakamura continues with a small smile. “I’m sure it’ll come as no surprise to you that you’re suffering from extreme quirk exhaustion. That’s why you’ve been sleeping so much and why we asked Eraserhead to be here. Right now, what you need more than anything is pure and simple rest, and lots of it. Because of that, I forbid you from consciously using your quirk unless necessary.”

“What?” Izuku asks, breath stilling in his chest. He can’t use One For All? At all? At Izuku’s shocked face, she rushes to reassure him, offering a small smile.

“Just for now,” she says, waving a hand in the air over Izuku’s body. “Just while your body is healing. Each time you use your quirk, it strains your body more than it can handle and resets much of the progress you’ve made. Whenever Eraserhead’s schedule allows it, he’ll be here to stop your quirk if it flares up while you’re sleeping.”

Izuku’s shoulders slump, breath whooshing out of him. He really needs to stop jumping to conclusions. Aizawa places a heavy hand on his head while he regains his thoughts, lingering for no more than a second before pulling back.

“You’ll be fine, kid,” Aizawa reassures him. “These incidents have been steadily lessening every day, so don’t worry too much.”

“Alright. But does that mean I’m taking longer to heal?”

“I’m not going to sugarcoat it,” Dr. Nakamura warns, coming around to Izuku’s right side and lightly prodding his arm with sure, practiced fingers before picking it up. “To put it simply: yes. If everything had gone perfectly, you should have been able to firmly shake my hand if I asked you. However, I don’t expect you to, simply because between the infection in your shoulder and the extreme exhaustion coupled with your quirk flaring up and the multitude of other minor, yet significant injuries, your body has yet to recover much, if any, strength.”

Izuku looks at his arm and tries squeezing his fist. Just like Dr. Nakamura said, there’s not much strength behind his grip. As she sets his arm back down, the tremble in his hand is noticeable against the sheets.

“Now, despite the severity of your quirk exhaustion and injuries, it shouldn’t take long for you to be back to holding up buildings again – although, as your attending physician, I cannot recommend that you do so.” She gives Izuku a look, serious but joking at the same time. “Please, Mr. Midoriya, if you can avoid it, do not catch another building on your shoulders. In fact, if it weren’t for the nature of your profession, I would ban you completely from anymore building-holding endeavors in the future.”

Izuku laughs nervously, wincing. He probably shouldn’t mention that he would be willing to do it again, especially for Kacchan.

“I’ll, uh, try my best,” he says instead.

“Good. Your body is slowly but surely healing. Your wrist, for example, was sprained, yet you should be able to move it around freely now. Your knee as well, which I was told Mr. Bakugou explained to you. It’s in a cast for now, but within a day or two, we can take it off. The same specialist that took care of your cracked molar will come in and look at it.”

“My molar? As in, my tooth?”

She raises an eyebrow, asking, “Do you remember?”

Izuku slowly shakes his head. He doesn’t remember much of the moments after he fell on his knee; the pain and the panic overrode his every thought. His only clear memories are when Kacchan was holding him.

“Well, don’t worry if you can’t,” she reassures him. “Mr. Bakugou told us that he heard a crack at the same time you had been gritting your teeth. While I have my doubts about him hearing the crack simply because of how well a mouth can muffle sounds, there’s no doubt that the pressure of your own bite cracked your tooth. You see, a sudden impact to your jaw would have displaced the tooth, shifted it, and bumped the other teeth. However, there is a single crack down one molar matched by the slight chipping of the tooth above it that would prove Mr. Bakugou’s theory. It seems that you really did bite down hard enough, with your own power, to crack a tooth.”

Izuku didn’t know he could do that, but maybe he shouldn’t be surprised.

“Dr. Bones, our bone specialist-”

“Is that really their name?” (She winks. Izuku is very invested in this doctor now.)

“-came in to look at the progress of your healing bones while you were still sleeping a day or so ago.”

At Aizawa’s questioning hum, she explains, “His quirk uses calcium to repair tissue and bone in the body.”

Izuku lights up. That is such an interesting quirk! How did he find his quirk, and how nuanced is it, if he’s licensed to use it in medical settings? And calcium, does he use outside sources, like milk and broccoli, or internal sources, like calcium stores in the body? His own calcium stores? Izuku has so many questions, but as he opens his mouth to ask, Dr. Nakamura is already talking, snatching his train of thought away.

“Now, contrary to popular belief, teeth are not bones” – what – “but he can tweak his quirk to fix teeth like he can bones. Very convenient. Could have made a fortune as a dentist, honestly.” She mutters that last bit, squinting into the distance like the fact that Dr. Bones didn’t become a dentist personally offends her.

Izuku is sort of glad Dr. Bones is not a dentist and chose to be a doctor instead. He’s still distracted by learning that teeth aren’t bone, though.

She shakes her head as if to dispel that thought and says, “It was a simple fix for your teeth. He essentially glued the cracked tooth together like nothing happened.”

If he uses calcium for his quirk, did he poor milk into Izuku’s mouth to use as glue? He smacks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

It doesn’t taste like milk. When he tongues his back molars, he can’t feel any crack either. Wow, this guy is good.

Aizawa shoots him a confused look, and Izuku offers him another thumbs up, tuning back into Dr. Nakamura’s explanation. She had also seen Izuku’s mouth exploration but doesn’t comment. She continues giving her explanation with a slight smile.

“A few rounds of healing quirks schedule for you later this week will take care of any lingering pains from the quick healing in your mouth. As for your knee, it’ll take a bit longer. The process is a little more delicate due to its very active and mobile position in the leg,” she says.

Izuku would love to meet this Dr. Bones. He wonders if he had been around when Izuku ground the bones in his arms to fine dust during high school then maybe his quirk would have helped him, if it could still help Izuku now – maybe, if the doctor’s quirk allows him to strengthen bones that have already been healed.

“The same will happen with your ribs.”

What. His ribs were damaged? He hadn’t even noticed, and Izuku feels like he should have because rib injuries usually put anybody out of commission almost immediately.

“Did they break? I feel like I would have felt if my ribs broke,” Izuku mutters, placing a hand along his torso. It doesn’t hurt when he presses on them, but that could be the drugs.

Dr. Nakamura shakes her head, bringing back an arm and slightly turning to gesture to her upper back.

“After hearing you had caught the building on your back, we were initially worried about your ribs and spine. That’s a lot of sudden force, and the impact should have broken many things if not debilitated you, but your quirk seems to enhance not only your strength, but also your body’s endurance and durability. Luckily, you got off with heavily bruised ribs and a few simple fractures.”

At Izuku’s furrowed eyebrows, she explains.

“That means these breaks appear like cracks in the rib; the bone isn’t displaced, and despite the pain, there’s no fear of puncturing any organs. If you had a shortness of breath not caused by holding the building – which,” she pauses, wrinkling her nose, “I assume that would have been hard to tell, given the nature of holding a building. On your back.”

“Uh, a little,” Izuku laughs, still fingering the lattices of his ribs, hand under Kacchan’s- his hoodie so he can subtly prod with his fingertips to see if he can feel anything yet.

Nothing.

What drugs did they put him on because they are exceptionally good.

“Yes, well, aside from that, the worry with broken ribs is the potential damage to your organs caused by your ribs being displaced. We tested you very thoroughly, and your organs seem to be in relatively good shape, Mr. Midoriya.”

Aizawa watches with furrowed eyebrows as Izuku pats his stomach like he’s telling them they did a good job.

“That’s good to know,” Aizawa says. “Last thing he needs is internal bleeding.”

Nice, Izuku likes when his organs are in ‘relatively good shape.’ That’s a good thing, as his doctors like to remind him.

“I’d have to agree with you there,” Dr. Nakamura says, laughing. “No internal bleeding is always a good day in my book.”

“Mine, too,” Izuku says, completely serious. It means he can go to work the next day.

“I bet,” Aizawa sighs.

Pointing out the different places on her own body, Dr. Nakamura says, “Your liver, your kidneys, your spleen, and either one of your lungs – no bleeding, no piercings, all in tip top shape for being crushed. Your spine as well is miraculously uninjured, and I believe you have your quirk to thank for that. Your collarbones were also a great worry, as much of the force would have been distributed to them but your quirk offered the same protection. The most pressing concern is-”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence before the door bursts open and Kacchan walks in like a veritable storm – a pretty one though, Izuku thinks, a little dazed.

Kacchan’s cheeks and nose are red from the cool of the spring, morning air, black jeans folded over his off-duty combat boots, and he’s bundled up in another hoodie underneath a jean jacket. The hoodie has a subtle insignia over the heart, a dark green and very recognizable mask contrasting with the white fabric – a Deku-merch hoodie. Kacchan has a backpack over one shoulder and carries an assortment of plastic bags in one hand, a scowl on his face and his teeth bared. The bandage from yesterday is gone, something Izuku notes with growing happiness.

Izuku’s heart speeds up, the monitor playing it embarrassingly loud in the room. He ignores Aizawa’s rolling eyes as well as Dr. Nakamura’s widening grin, brain coming to a halt at seeing his merch on Kacchan’s body. He’s never seen Kacchan wear his merch before, and this particular hoodie is part of the very first line of merch Izuku released years ago.

“Oi, you couldn’t have waited five goddamn minutes?” Kacchan calls, pulling Izuku from his daze. It’s been more than five minutes, but right now, Izuku is not willing to sacrifice himself by correcting Kacchan. Maybe later when he can run again. And also stop staring at Kacchan.

Dr. Nakamura turns around and spreads her arms to welcome Kacchan in. “Ah, good morning Mr. Bakugou! Glad to see you’re as cheerful and happy as ever!”

Kacchan glares, expression murderous as he brushes past Dr. Nakamura without a word. She chuckles and moves to stand on the left side of Izuku’s bed next to Aizawa, nonplussed by Kacchan’s reaction.

“Hi, Kacchan,” Izuku greets softly.

He can’t control the smile that spreads across his face, even when it makes the healing cut on his face ache from the stretch. His heart still hasn’t calmed down, despite his best efforts – in fact, it’s sped up the closer Kacchan gets. He wants to sink into his bed and under the covers, especially when Aizawa snorts and Kacchan sports a shit-eating grin at the racing beeps.

“Nerd. Excited for me, I see,” Kacchan says, dropping a hand on top of his head and softly scratching his fingers against his scalp. It feels wonderful. “You couldn’t have woken up any later?”

“Sorry,” he automatically apologizes, willing his heart to calm down and his smile to shrink – his face is genuinely starting to hurt, the butterfly bandages lining the cut pulling at his skin. It doesn’t work, so instead Izuku leans into the hand, looking up at Kacchan. He’s so happy that Kacchan came back, that he’s okay.

“Shuddup,” Kacchan mutters, his already red cheeks darkening further. He raps his knuckles against Izuku’s skull in reprimand instead of saying anything else. When he takes his hand away, Izuku doesn’t miss the way his thumb seems to linger, brushing across his temple when it passes.

What Izuku would do to keep Kacchan’s hands on him all the time is a piece of information no one needs to know.

Kacchan turns to Aizawa, simply giving him a nod as he sets his bags down and drops into the chair that he seems to have claimed for himself.

“Sensei. Glad to see you’re not dead in a ditch. Your funeral would’ve been boring as hell.”

Aizawa sighs when Dr. Nakamura laughs but greets Kacchan back with a miniscule smile. “Bakugou. If you didn’t bring me coffee, then you just might yet find me there. And I’m not your teacher, stop calling me that.”

“Sure, Sensei,” Kacchan says, and Izuku has to hide a smile at Aizawa’s long-suffering face. “I’ll get you coffee as soon as you wake up.”

“You little-”

“We were just going over Mr. Midoriya’s current condition,” Dr. Nakamura cuts in, hands back in the pockets of her white coat. “So, I’ll ask once again just to be sure: Mr. Midoriya, are you alright with discussing your condition while Eraserhead and Mr. Bakugou are in the room?”

Izuku laughs when both Aizawa and Kacchan make a face at the interruption.

Aizawa frowns, more fondly exasperated than anything, but Kacchan scowls. It’s like he didn’t expect the possibility of not being in the room while they talk about Izuku’s healing body.

His nose scrunches and his eyebrows furrow, endearing little wrinkles that never leave lines on his face quietly showing his displeasure. Izuku almost catches himself looking away when Kacchan meets his gaze, so used to having to avert his eyes lest he stare for too long, but after yesterday, Izuku thinks it’d be alright if he stared for as long as he wanted – even if Kacchan will inevitably call him names for it.

“It’s fine. They can stay,” he confirms, looking back at Dr. Nakamura, and she flashes a quick smile at him.

“As you wish. Now, as I was saying,” she starts, and a rough hand slips into his, warming his cold fingers. Izuku smiles at the motion. “The most pressing injury you have right now is your shoulder.”

Dr. Nakamura steps close to Izuku’s side, and gestures at his left shoulder. “May I?”

Izuku nods, and she places a hand on his arm to gently urge him to lift his shoulder and turn a bit. She’s not looking at the wound, the bandages still hidden underneath Kacchan’s hoodie and the hospital gown, but rather at Izuku’s face. When he winces at the light stretch of her pressing his arm up and out from his body, she nods, lips pressed together in a thin line.

It must be pretty bad if Izuku could feel that and not when he was prodding at his ribs.

“You, Mr. Midoriya, were very, very lucky,” she says, shaking her head slightly. Kacchan squeezes his hand at that, brushing his thumb over the back of his hand in slow strokes. “In your shoulder, there’s not much more than bone, muscles, and nerves. Not much except for several of your major arteries.”

She gently presses Izuku’s shoulder back into the bed and takes a step back. “Impalement is always a tricky wound to treat, entirely because of the placement of the wound. Depending on that placement, it is very, very easy for that wound to become a fatal one. Had the rebar entered your shoulder any further to the left, you would have pierced an artery and bled out almost immediately once you were moved or damaged a major bundle of nerves and lost your ability to move this arm.”

Izuku freezes. The threat of losing his arms isn’t a new one, but it’s different this time, more ominous. Because this time, the injury to his body wasn’t because of his quirk or lack of control. It was an extenuating situation that Izuku had no control over. He could argue that it was the same every time he broke and rebroke his arm in high school, but under that building, with Kacchan on the floor and the world falling down around them, Izuku was reacting, not making choices.

Izuku stares up at Dr. Nakamura, eyes wide. He didn’t know he was that close to being out of commission for a long, long time.

“You must have excellent karma or have lived extremely well in a previous life because the rebar missed all fatal spots in your shoulder. The surgery went well, and we were able to treat the wound almost immediately after the removal of the object,” she tells him, smile returning.

Izuku releases a shaky breath, dropping his head back into his pillow with closed eyes.

Tired. He’s suddenly so tired.

“You okay, Deku?” Kacchan asks him, leaning in so he can speak low and give them some semblance of privacy.

“Yeah. Just… yeah. M’okay.”

“I know,” Kacchan murmurs, and his other hand comes up to wrap around both of theirs. “I know, but you’re good, it’s all good.”

Dr. Nakamura gives him a moment to collect himself, Aizawa politely looking away the closer Kacchan leans.

She’s only telling Izuku the worst-case scenarios, and he appreciates it because he would’ve asked to know anyways, but after the scare with his knee the day before, learning about his apparently injured ribs, and now his shoulder – well, he doesn’t think anyone can fault him for needing a moment to come to terms with it all.

Somehow, the scariest but still easiest part of all this to accept is that Izuku knows he would do it all again for Kacchan. For him, Izuku would do anything, be anyone, just to stay by his side.

He breathes in deep, catching the faintly sweet smell that always follows Kacchan around, then breathes out. He opens his eyes, steady once more. He looks at Kacchan, who’s watching his face carefully, hand still warm around his own. It’s just another day of Izuku doing what he loves and protecting those he loves.

“I’m alright,” Izuku says softly, smiling.

Dr. Nakamura grins at him, eyes crinkling in the corners. “You’re one hell of a patient, you know that? After reading through your medical history, and now this? I’m real glad you’re on our side, Mr. Midoriya, because it seems that you just can’t be killed.”

And that seems to break some of the tension in the room as Izuku stammers his way through a thanks-apology-excuse-who-knows-what, embarrassed and a little pleased, and Kacchan laughs at him. Even Aizawa cracks a smile, eyes relieved.

“Not for lack of trying,” Aizawa says, placing a hand on Izuku’s head and ruffling his hair. “You know how many grey hairs you gave me – that you still give me?”

“I-!”

“Don’t argue, Problem Child.”

“You’re damn right he can’t! Fucker’s like an ugly green cockroach, a leech you can’t get rid of,” Kacchan cackles, but he’s the one tightening his grip on Izuku’s hand, not letting go even when Izuku instinctively tries to bring his hands up to cover his face.

Rude, Izuku thinks, smiling to himself.

“The only issue,” Dr. Nakamura starts once Kacchan was done laughing to himself, “was the piece of your costume that got pulled inside your shoulder by the rebar. Impalement wounds are notorious for being high-risk for infection. Add in a bacteria-riddled piece of fabric that was left to fester for at least an hour?”

She shakes her head, a grimace slightly pulling at her mouth. “There’s no surprise your wound was infected. But, after the fabric was removed during your surgery, we gave you some antibiotics and the infection cleared while you were still sleeping. You had a slight fever, and we’re still closely watching you just to make sure the fever is completely gone, but you’re in the clear.”

Just like Kacchan told him, if in more medically correct terms.

She gestures to her own shoulder in place of Izuku’s, rotating her arm slowly as if to demonstrate how his own arm will be. “As for your shoulder: your movement will be limited for a while, at least up until you get to the point where you’ve rested enough for our resident quirk healers to help aide you. You might not be able to lift your arm completely, or have complete range of motion, but you’ll work back up to it.”

Izuku doesn’t respond, his mind slowing a little. He glances at the ruined guardrail on his left side, still mangled from his sudden wake up this morning. Dr. Nakamura was right. That brief moment he unintentionally used his quirk is starting to kick in now, eyes drooping and his left-hand trembling.

Kacchan speaks up, voice confident as ever, and it drags Izuku out of his thoughts. “And how long until he’s rested enough?”

Dr. Nakamura rocks back on her heels, humming. “Hm, if everything continues to remain as smoothly as it has been going, another three, four days of rest should be enough for Mr. Midoriya to start actively participating in his recovery process.”

“So, he’s just gotta sit on his ass and breathe.”

Dr. Nakamura laughs, “Essentially, yes. No strenuous activity for now. Just lots of sleep and he should be right as rain soon enough.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard to fuck up,” Kacchan says, nudging Izuku’s arm.

“You never know with him,” Aizawa mumbles.

“Hey!” Izuku says, affronted but not as energetic as before. “I’m not that bad!”

“Not anymore, no,” Aizawa concedes. “But still bad? Yes.”

Kacchan laughs at him, and when Izuku doesn’t do anything more than sigh a little, with a tired smile pulling at his lips, he gives him a knowing look.

A pale eyebrow raises in question, and Izuku shakes his head.

“Nerd’s done for now,” he says, looking back at Dr. Nakamura. “Go over the rest of this some other time.” He doesn’t leave any room for discussion even though Dr. Nakamura seems to agree with him.

“Of course, that won’t be an issue. Mr. Midoriya,” she says, turning to him. “Are you fine to continue this later today? I’ll be here until five, so take your time and please, get some rest.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “That sounds good.”

“Wonderful. Mr. Bakugou, if you would walk with me? There are some questions Mrs. Midoriya had I’d like to answer and for you to tell her. I trust that you’ll be able to do so without forgetting anything?”

“Fuck off,” Kacchan says automatically (Aizawa drops his head back and sighs at the ceiling, but Izuku just smiles. Kacchan is Kacchan), but he stands up anyways. When Izuku hesitates in letting go of his hand, he turns back around and leans down, right in Izuku’s face.

“I’m coming back,” he tells him.

Izuku goes cross-eyed, flushing at the tiny distance between their noses and trying to stare at anywhere but Kacchan’s lips. They’re very pink, and the bottom one is shiny with spit. Izuku is a weak, weak man, who is very tired and very full of drugs. He bites his own lip to stop himself from saying anything or doing anything inappropriate.

“Okay?” Kacchan asks.

“Okay,” Izuku whispers. He slowly releases his fingers, shifting to weakly grip the sheets instead of Kacchan’s hand.

“Good boy,” Kacchan says, smirking and kissing Izuku’s head before leaving the room with what Izuku would call a bounce in his step if it were anybody else.

The monitor explodes with Izuku’s heartbeat, dreadfully loud in the now quiet room, and Aizawa does a double take when he takes in his bpm.

“Are you-”

“Yup, fine, I’m fine!” he squeaks. Kacchan just-! He just said-! Izuku sinks deeper back into his pillows, cursing Kacchan as much as he can. He’s a jerk, he’s rotten to the core, Izuku can’t stand him-

“Midoriya,” Aizawa sighs, looking skeptical, but he trails off, shaking his head and side eyeing Izuku with, frankly, an undeserved glare. He mercifully drops it. (Mercifully? More like ignorance is bliss and Aizawa wants to be as blissful as possible.) He pulls up another chair from the wall to Izuku’s bedside, sitting down and settling in.

Izuku takes the distraction like a dying man who just found water in the desert, sitting back up with cherry cheeks. It’s as he’s watching Aizawa cross his arms against his chest and drop his face into his scarf, eyes wide and trained on Izuku, that he realizes what’s happening.

“You’re, uh,” Izuku hesitates. “You’re watching-”

“Watching you sleep, yes. Get over it.”

“Get over- what?”

“Sleep. I’ll turn your quirk off if it happens to turn on.”

“Sensei-”

”Sleep.”

Aizawa’s quirk isn’t active, but his eyes are glinting like they do whenever he’s primed to turn it on at a moment’s notice. Izuku has gotten very familiar with that look over the years, but there’s something different. Something’s been different since he walked in and first stared at Izuku without saying a word, studying his healing face and his broken body before his shoulders slumped underneath his scarf like he could finally breathe.

They weren’t the closest – no, that spot belonged to Shinsou – but Izuku could safely say they weren’t too far from it either. There are some things you go through with someone that makes it impossible for them to not hold an important place in your life until you die. Aizawa was one of those, and Izuku will forever be connected to his teacher: as a hero, as a student, and as one of the many Eraserhead has saved.

So, something is different, something is bothering him, but Izuku doesn’t quite know what yet – he will, though. Aizawa deserves someone looking out for him after all the years he looked out for Izuku and his class. He deserves at least that much.

Izuku stares at him.

Aizawa stares back.

Izuku blinks.

Aizawa does not.

“Sensei… are you okay?”

Aizawa closes his eyes, sighing through his nose.

“Problem Child,” he groans, eyes still closed.

“Sensei,” Izuku says, quiet. “Please.” Even in high school, Aizawa was never this vigilant, never this stubborn.

“I know I’m the one in the bed, but something’s happened. Something is bothering you,” he says softly, shoulders set against the pillows behind him, voice steady. “It doesn’t have to be me, but are you okay?”

Aizawa opens his eyes, and he looks more tired than he’s ever been. There’s something like tragedy passing behind them, memories Izuku’s not privy to playing like an old, well-worn film reel over and over as he looks at him. He looks at Izuku in the bed, bandaged and hooked up to various machines, like there’s someone else in his place.

“You never stop, do you?” Aizawa’s voice is gruff, muted like he doesn’t want to be heard. Izuku barely hears it over the beep of his heart.

“Never, Sensei. You know that,” Izuku says, smile a little bittersweet. He’s long given up trying to change who he is, and this is just part of it. Izuku aches to reach his hand out to whoever will take it, and right now, his old teacher deserves that hand, that lifeline.

Aizawa doesn’t say anything for a long while, long enough for Izuku’s breaths to deepen and his blinks to lengthen. Izuku says nothing else, waiting to see if Aizawa will take the offer. When he finally does, he doesn’t meet Izuku’s eyes.

“…He was going to be Loud Cloud. He had…an incident. Much like yours. Didn’t quite end the same way.”

Was, Izuku thinks. Ah.

“Sometimes I look at you and see him. And now, after this… well. The resemblance has never been stronger.” Aizawa looks up and the weight of his gaze gives Izuku goosebumps. “It’s good to see you in this bed, kid. Real good.”

“Tell me about him?” Izuku asks gently. “I never miss an opportunity to learn about heroes, you know?”

Aizawa laughs through his nose, but his brow has softened, and his shoulders have loosened.

“What the hell, why not. Maybe it’ll bore you enough to get some sleep,” he says, relenting easily.

Izuku can’t do much, but he can do this.

He falls asleep sitting up in his bed to Aizawa’s gruff tenor leading him through memories of a boy as light as clouds and with a smile as bright as the sun.

-

Izuku wakes to Kacchan brushing his thumbs across his cheeks, fingers gingerly gripping the sides of his head, trying to avoid the long cut on the side and the bruises littering his face. His eyebrows are wrinkled, lips pressed in a thin, displeased line.

Kacchan doesn’t look happy. Actually, he looks a little distressed.

Did something happen?

“Kacchan?” Izuku asks, voice croaking from his rough throat once again. He’s lying down, tucked into the bed despite having no memory of moving. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Kacchan opens his mouth but doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is hushed, words troubled and confused in equal measure. “You’re crying, Izuku.”

What?

His thumbs brush across once more, and Izuku finally notices the wet drag.

“You were crying in your sleep. You wouldn’t stop,” he tells him. “Anything hurt? Your shoulder?”

Izuku hesitantly shakes his head. He doesn’t feel anything from his shoulder or his leg right now, and he doesn’t remember what he was dreaming about.

“Shitty dreams?”

“I-I don’t know. Sorry, Kacchan,” he whispers, slowly bringing a hand up to grab a wrist. He vaguely notices it’s easier to move his arms then it was this morning.

Kacchan drops his forehead on Izuku’s, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. “Dumbass. Stop apologizing for stupid shit.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah.”

Izuku tugs Kacchan closer, as if it’s possible, and Kacchan doesn’t even act like he’s annoyed by it, going with a soft sigh. He breaths in deeply, and Izuku copies every breath.

Eventually, the tickle in his throat grows too strong to be ignored and Izuku clears it. Kacchan backs off, filling water for him without Izuku having to ask.

“Can you hold it?” Kacchan asks him, offering Izuku the cup.

“I can try,” Izuku rasps, already missing his warmth. He sits up a little, scooting back against the pillows until he’s reclining and not lying down.

“Alright.”

Izuku takes the cup, bringing it to his face with both hands. He’s not as steady as he’d like to be, some water dribbling out the sides and down his chin as he drinks, but his thirst overpowers anything else as he drains the cup.

“Fucking slob,” Kacchan mutters. He uses the sleeve of his hoodie – the Deku hoodie – to press against the wet trails on Izuku’s face, fingers lingering on his throat as he follows them down his neck.

“And yet you like me?” Izuku boldly whispers, compelled by Kacchan’s still creased forehead and the leftover anesthesia loosening his tongue. His voice comes out easier, but he’s still thirsty.

“Oh, so a couple of naps, a shit ton of drugs, and you’re suddenly braver?” Kacchan takes the cup, filling it up again. Izuku still didn’t need to say anything.

He blushes, but doesn’t back down, still staring up at Kacchan. “Of course. Kacchan is here. I’m always braver with Kacchan around.”

“I’ll kill you,” Kacchan mutters, handing the cup back to him with red ears.

Izuku smiles and drinks.

“What time is it?” he asks as he sits up all the way, setting the cup on the table to his left.

Kacchan moves to adjust the pillows while he answers, stuffing them behind his back and waiting to see Izuku settle comfortably before he sits back down. He even raises Izuku’s bed up, so he doesn’t have to strain his head to talk anymore.

“Just after three; you slept a couple of hours. Aizawa went to get some food a couple minutes ago and Doc is still here if you wanna talk with her again.”

Izuku hums, rubbing his stiff fingers together to try and give them some warmth. “Maybe later? Once I’ve woken up a bit more?”

Kacchan takes his hands without saying anything, pressing them between both of his. They're calloused, soft, but almost overwhelmingly warm, and that warmth feeds into Izuku's fingers like tinder catching fire.

“Sure, nerd. You hungry? You didn’t eat this morning and I’ve got food, pre-approved by your nurses and everything.”

“A little,” Izuku says, smiling softly. Kacchan is amazing. “Did Kacchan make it? Just for me?”

“Like I was going to let you eat the nasty shit from the hospital, or even worse, the boxes of shit from the store. Saves money, making it at home.”

He lets go of Izuku's now considerably warmer hands to bend over, grabbing something from under his chair. The sound of plastic rustles loudly in the quiet room, and Izuku recalls the plastic bags Kacchan had walked in with this morning.

“Of course,” Izuku says, smile widening. Kacchan is so talented.

“I will explode your ass if you don’t quit looking at me like that with that face,” Kacchan threatens when he sits back up, those same bags now in his lap.

Izuku cocks his head. “What face?”

Kacchan stares at him like he’s just said the sky is green, or that Mitsuki was a lovely lady, halting his search through the bags. “The fuck you mean ‘what face?’ That one! The one you always stare at me with when you’re all,” he waves his hand in Izuku’s direction, “you know!”

“But… I always look at Kacchan like this?”

“But I always look at Kacchan like this,” he mocks with a high-pitched voice. “Shut up. Exactly. It’s embarrassing as shit,” Kacchan mutters, resuming rummaging through the bags. “All big ass eyes and stupid, dumb-fuck smile. Can’t do shit with you looking at me like that.”

Izuku’s smile grows slowly, but Kacchan speaks up before he can ask him to clarify, drawing his hands out from the bags, and setting them back on the floor.

“Pick your poison, shit-nerd: soup or rice first?”

“Poison?” Izuku asks, letting him change the subject. Now, he knows Kacchan would never harm him, but still…

Kacchan grins evilly, holding out two boxes. One is hard plastic, a white bento box, the other a brown, disposable take-out container, flaps folded in the center. Neither of them are see-through. “Choose, or I’ll choose for you.”

Izuku wordlessly points to the brown paper box on the left, eyes wide when Kacchan places the box in his hands and sets up Izuku’s eating table for him without telling him what he chose. He even slaps a napkin down for him, a smug smirk still on his face the longer Izuku stares at the box in his hands silently.

What was Kacchan up to? Poison…? Izuku gasps, realization dawning on him.

No! This is probably too spicy for Izuku to handle! He has an above average spice tolerance simply by being around Kacchan for as long as he has, but he doesn’t have Kacchan’s insane one! He’s not the one that’s been eating jalapeños like pickles and habaneros like an appetizer since they were kids!

“Kacchan, you’re not supposed to kill me, I’m in a hospital!”

Kacchan cackles, unbothered as he opens the white bento box and picks up the chopsticks. “Nah, you can take it.”

Izuku carefully sets the paper box on the table, handling it like it contains a bomb. He cannot, must not touch his face during or after he eats. He has learned that lesson the hard way one too many times.

He opens the flaps, squinting and slowly leaning forward to peek inside. He doesn’t want to look; maybe if he just eats whatever it is all at once, he won’t get it on his tongue?

He cranes his head, seeing just past the edges and into the box.

It’s… just rice balls? Really big rice balls? There’s not even a red tint to them. They're only rice wrapped in seaweed and with pickled plum at their center.

“Kacchan, I am quite literally going to kill you. While I’m in this bed. With my pillow. Come here and make it easy for me,” he says, air rushing out of him as he slumps back against his bed, weakly glaring at Kacchan.

Kacchan cackles again, bending over from the force.

“Your fucking face,” he howls, gripping his chopsticks in his hand so hard Izuku’s afraid they’ll break. They're metal chopsticks. “You were about to shit your pants!”

“No!” Izuku defends, blushing hotly. “And even if I did, it’s because this is exactly the kind of thing you’d do!”

“Ha! I still got you!”

“How do I know that’s not actually plum in the center? Huh?” Izuku accuses.

“You’ll have to find out then, won’t you,” Kacchan says, smirk on his face and returning to his own box of rice and grilled meat. He has a bowl of miso soup as well, but he takes it out to put it on Izuku’s table without eating any of it.

“Your face,” he snickers, still laughing to himself as he moves things around to make space.

Izuku grunts, a frown on his face as he picks a rice ball up with both his hands and brings it to his nose. It doesn’t smell spicy, but still. He squints his eyes at Kacchan suspiciously, cautiously biting into it. Kacchan just watches him expectantly, smug smirk on his face.

“Oh, wow,” Izuku mumbles, and starts to shove the rest of it in his mouth. His face hurts from all the chewing, bulging cheeks pulling at his still sore muscles, but it’s a simple price to pay to eat Kacchan’s homemade food.

“Hey, chill,” Kacchan chides. “You haven’t eaten anything close to solid or soft food in a while. If you throw up, I’m going to make you eat whatever comes out.”

“Kacchan, ew,” Izuku mumbles, mouth full.

He continues eating though, undeterred by the gross visual. Izuku is really hungry – he didn’t even realize it until now. And Kacchan’s food is always so. Good. He's shoving the rest of it in his mouth before he realizes it, chewing madly.

“Then slow down.”

“No.”

“I’m going to choke you with the next rice ball. Don’t test me, Deku.”

“Yeah? Try me.”

Izuku grabs the next one out of the box with both hands again, cradling it protectively in his palms. He shoves half of it in his mouth, holding eye-contact with Kacchan the whole time and chewing slowly, exaggerating his motions. Kacchan pretends to grimace, but his eyes are smiling as he flips Izuku off.

Izuku can’t hold the tease for long at that, laughing softly and covering his mouth so he can chew properly.

“Dumbass,” Kacchan says, shaking his head, lips turned up in the corners. “I am never going to feed you again.”

He stops chewing at that, staring at Kacchan in horror. “Wait, no! Kacchan, take that back!”

“Are you going to use the manners I know for a fact your ma drilled into your head?”

Izuku nods his head vigorously, chewing quickly so he can answer. “Yes!”

“Be good, and then we’ll see,” Kacchan offers, stuffing a piece of chicken in his mouth. “’Course, you could still throw up. I’ll still make you eat it.”

Izuku gives Kacchan a look, rolling his eyes, but he slows down, taking his time with his bites. It really isn’t anything too special, but because Kacchan made it, made it specifically with Izuku in mind, it’s the best thing he’s eaten. Ever. Sorry, mom.

Izuku will have to return the favor sometime. In the future though, when he can walk properly and move his shoulder without wanting to cry.

As they sit quietly next to each other and eat, Kacchan silently getting up to reach over him and grab his cup (his face was so close again, too close; Izuku stopped breathing for a while, frozen with his last rice ball halfway up to his mouth), he hears a knock on the door before it’s being opened.

“May I come in?” a deep, familiar voice asks. The voice is loud, but not overbearing, just naturally sonorous.

Izuku perks up, a smile automatically pulling at his face. Kacchan rolls his eyes, refilling Izuku’s cup, but Izuku can see the lift of his cheek, too.

“All Might!” Izuku calls. “Of course, come in!”

All Might finishes opening the door, a wide grin on his face and a ginormous fruit basket in his hands. There’s also many, many people behind him holding various things, and as soon as they catch sight of Izuku sitting up in his bed, a rice ball held between both hands, they start yelling.

“Midoriya!”

“Deku!”

“Yo, Midoriya!”

“Good afternoon, Midoriya!”

They all rush into the room after All Might, simultaneously talking incomprehensibly among themselves and clamoring for Izuku’s attention. People Izuku hasn’t seen in months and friends he sees nearly everyday press into the room like an unrelenting waterfall, leaning on each other and moving chairs and equipment to get as close to Izuku as possible.

“Midoriya!” Izuku hears Kirishima say, a basket of… meat buns? In his arms? Balloons are tied to the handle and written in messy, smeared kanji with a permanent marker, they say, ‘I eat buildings for breakfast!’ Seems like a nice sentiment, if Izuku could understand it. “Man, it’s so good to see you up and awake!”

Before he even gets to finish his sentence, Uraraka is pushing to the front, a teddy bear bigger than her own body floating above her head. “Deku! How are you feeling?”

“Yo, your face! Sick trophy, Midoriya!” he hears Kaminari yell, followed by an oof courtesy of an elbow to the ribs.

“Hey, are you good?” Shinsou asks, frown on his face when Izuku freezes at the reminder.

“Um,” Izuku hums, self-consciously bringing a hand to his face, but before he can dwell on it any further, or answer, Yaomomo is asking about his recovery, then Iida as well, then Tokoyami is offering up a pitch-black card, Dark Shadow holding it.

And on and on it goes, Izuku overwhelmed by the well-wishes of his old classmates and several of his new coworkers. He even spots Aizawa slinking back into the room, conversing quietly with Rock Lock as they lean against the wall. All Might is stuck somewhere in the middle of everything, still trying to make his way to Izuku’s bed side.

“Hey,” Izuku hears, and he turns his head to see Jirou standing by his left side, hand on the ruined railing. “Good to see you’re alright.” She offers a small smile, and Izuku gives her one back. Right, she saw him at the very end, helped get him out.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Thank y-”

“Dude, you are not about to thank me for doing my job, right?” she interrupts, twirling a jack between her fingers. Her eyebrow is raised, but she’s smirking at him.

Izuku laughs, rubbing the back of his head. Caught out again. He sets his last rice ball back down in the box, turning to her. “Well, of course I was!”

Jirou shakes her head. “You know that-”

She's cut off by Kacchan’s distinct yelling voice, raised to be heard over the clamor of the room.

“Oi! Shut the fuck up or get the hell out!” Kacchan is standing at the foot of Izuku’s bed, hands up and palms smoking. “I can’t hear myself think because of you chuckle-fucks!”

“Like you ever think, brat!” comes Mitsuki’s own yelling voice, and oh wow, here comes Mrs. Bakugou, Mr. Bakugou, and his mom, too.

Izuku didn’t know his room could hold this many people.

All Might is now sending Izuku pleading looks, stuck between Sero’s jostling arms as he laughs at something Todoroki is trying to say to Izuku, and Shouji’s bulky body. Asui is holding onto his arm for stability, too, still on the shorter side and in danger of being trampled on in the crowd, and All Might is, of course, too chivalrous to pull away.

Izuku can only send a pleading look of his own back. Honestly, once his friends get going, there’s no stopping it.

“Hag! I will-”

“Bakugou, refrain from calling your mother a hag!” Iida calls out, right when Dr. Nakamura walks in with a shocked face.

“I will kill you-”

“Well, if this isn’t a party,” she says over Kacchan’s screech, a growing smile on her face. “Not sure if this follows fire-code regulations but don’t let me stop you.”

“Oh, Dr. Nakamura!” Izuku hears his mom say, before whatever she tries to ask is lost under the incomprehensible but impressively loud volume of Ashido shrieking something at Kacchan, Uraraka pointing a finger at her with a hand on her hip to reprimand her for yelling - while also yelling.

All Might seems to have given up, leaning against the wall and making conversation with Rock Lock. Aizawa has commandeered a chair, placing it in the farthest corner of the room, but even there he doesn’t escape the jostling bodies. He looks like he regrets coming back.

It’s chaos, utter chaos with Kacchan doing a horrible job of getting everybody to leave, and everyone yelling right back at him, all wanting to talk to Izuku. Gifts are being passed forward, his name is called as they try to start a conversation, reaching to him to see if Izuku is 'really, truly, actually okay? Do you swear on All Might?'

Izuku laughs, a deep, heartfelt laugh that makes his face hurt and his eyes close from the force. A few bandages pull off, and he can feel parts of the scab crack apart, but he can’t help it. It's so nice to know that, despite all the commotion, everyone cares enough to visit Izuku. He finally feels settled, like he's truly out from under that building.

The room seems to hush, everyone staring at Izuku as he freely laughs.

“It’s so good to see everyone,” he says, a teeth-filled smile aimed at all of them. “I’m all right, so please, don’t worry.”

There's a pause, not one person seemingly able to respond back despite having been talking loudly and yelling moments before when a scoff gets Izuku's attention.

“Dumbass,” Kacchan mutters, shoving his way back to Izuku’s side and reaching for his face. “Can’t not fuck yourself up for even a second, huh?”

Kacchan’s usual attitude breaks the sudden quiet, as most everybody responds back to Izuku with even louder voices, smiles of their own splayed on their faces.

“I haven’t heard him laugh in so long, it feels like the sun just came out.”

“You, too?”

“He is the light that banishes all darkness.”

“You can just say he makes everything seem better, you know.”

“Right? You look at him and you just want to smile with him!”

“Oh, my god, same!”

“Your brat’s one hell of a kid, Inko.”

“Oh, I know. He’s just wonderful, isn’t he? Your son seems to think so, too.”

“You still think they’re not together yet, Mitsuki?”

“Masaru, I will beat your ass-”

“Do you think Midoriya would like some soba right now? Is that something he can eat?”

“Bro, what’s with you and soba? Are you googling if soba is post-surgery healthy?”

“I simply cannot recommend that we give Midoriya any foods not strictly approved by his doctors!”

“Sure, but have you considered hospital food sucks?”

“Here,” Dr. Nakamura says amid the clamor, standing next to Kacchan and offering him some sterile gauze and new bandages. “I’d do it myself, but I trust you know how to do it properly?” she teases.

Kacchan grunts in appreciation, taking them from her hand before placing two fingers to Izuku’s jaw to tilt his head up. He briskly removes the old butterfly bandages and cleans the little bit of blood from the scab, swiping Izuku's cheek with focused precision and ignoring everything happening behind him.

Izuku beams at him, happy that Kacchan is taking care of him, so Kacchan squishes his cheeks to make him stop. “Can’t put them on if you’re smiling like a crackhead, Deku.”

“Dude, did you just call Midoriya a crackhead-”

“Sorry, Kacchan,” he laughs, words garbled from the gentle cheek smush. “I’m just really happy right now.”

“Yeah?” he asks softly, letting go of Izuku’s cheeks to cup his jaw.

“Yeah,” Izuku says, grinning and leaning into the hold. Kacchan gives him a private, almost miniscule smile of his own, blocking out the noise and energy of the loud room until it feels like they’re in their own private bubble.

“Good. You deserve to be happy.”

“I’m happiest with Kacchan.”

“Yeah?” Quieter this time, softly disbelieving, but with unvoiced hope.

Izuku smiles, staring up into red eyes that he so loves.

“Yeah.”

Chapter Text

When Izuku wakes, sometime in the quiet hours of the morning where the birds sing but the sun still sleeps, he breathes.

He lays in his bed quietly, conscious thought coming back to him slowly. He takes his time, sluggishly blinking up at the ceiling. Hazy figures escape his mind as the sound of birds replace the whispers of dreams.

A week ago, he caught a building. Two days ago, his cast was removed. Today, Izuku is going home.

Finally.

He’s never been one for hospitals, despite his familiarity with them. He can’t do anything worth his or other’s time when he’s bed bound and the responsibility of someone else. He’s restless, anxious to get back up.

That changes today.

Today, he’ll be officially discharged with pages of instructions to follow, and prescriptions he’ll set reminders to take. He’s more than familiar with the routine by now, and it won’t be hard to follow as he gets back into fighting shape.

And yet, he dreads it.

He hates this part. The after part that comes when it’s time for Izuku to reintegrate himself back into the working world, to leave the small bubble in space and time the hospital creates.

Izuku presses his head back into his pillow.

He’s suddenly weary, more tired than he should be with all the rest he’s had.

But he’s weary because in the end, he’s going home alone. After all the pain and all the joy, after being surrounded by his closest people and allowed to contemplate the quiet hours of the night in hushed tones and softer words with them, after all the conversations and extravagant stories shared, all the time spent eating and joking and reconnecting with his friends, Izuku is going to go home to an empty apartment filled with rotten food and dirty laundry.

After the brightness of his hospital room and the warmth of seeing Kacchan every day, of realizing that Kacchan was purposefully coming to spend hours and hours upon end with Izuku even when he could have gone home long ago, Izuku doesn’t think he can stop the loneliness slowly sneaking into his heart.

He breathes out, forcefully squeezing his eyes shut as he shakes his head.

None of that. It’s too early for such self-pitying thoughts.

He’s not going home yet, and the sun is finally breaking through his window. He’s fine, he’ll be fine. He has his phone anyway, his friends only a text and call away.

Just because he’ll be alone doesn’t mean Izuku will be alone.

And with that thought, his door opens with a bang, slamming against the opposite wall and swinging back close when a hand stops it.

Izuku jerks up, reflexively raising a clenched fist in front of his body, pulse picking up immediately. His eyes are glued to the hand wrapped around the frame of the door, to the fingers that slip away as it pushes it back open.

And then Kacchan strolls in like he has every other morning, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his pants as he says something over his shoulder.

He’s wearing another hoodie, all black with no adornments or symbols, a wide front pocket and the drawstring tied near the collar. Izuku’s chest aches a little at seeing Kacchan bundled up and comfortable, his feet automatically taking him to Izuku even when he’s not paying attention.

He’s loud, in both words and footsteps, filling the room completely with his presence and ripping away the quiet, almost maudlin morning Izuku was having.

Whatever conversation he’s having is apparently wrapping up as he marches straight to his bedside with a slight scowl.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kacchan mutters, rolling his eyes.

Izuku slowly lowers his tensed arm, staring wide-eyed at the sudden intrusion. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, so Izuku settles his hand over it, waiting for it to calm.

Well. Kacchan certainly doesn’t seem tired; certainly not too tired to give Izuku an early heart-attack.

Kacchan didn’t walk into Izuku’s room alone, either. All Might had followed him through the door, and Izuku can just spot Mitsuki waving from the edge of the doorway before she heads off somewhere else.

“Ah, my boy, how are you feeling?” All Might asks, coming up to Izuku’s side to place a hand on his head. He smiles softly, his large hand encompassing the entirety of his head and resting heavily, easily.

Izuku smiles back, pressing up into it in greeting.

“Good morning, All Might. I’m alright. Just woke up a few minutes ago,” he says, fibbing the time just a little. Minutes, hours, they’re the same thing. Sort of.

“Right on time then,” All Might says, ruffling Izuku’s hair.

“On time for what?”

“To take you home, of course. Although, I do believe Dr. Nakamura would like to speak with you one last time before you’re officially released from her direct supervision.”

All Might takes his hand off Izuku’s head to rest it on the recently fixed guard rail of his bed.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” Kacchan cuts in. “You feeling ready to go?”

“Yup! I’m excited to leave.”

Kacchan stares at him for a long second before grunting, “Good.”

“But why are you guys here so early?”

“We’re here to help you,” All Might says. “You have quite the number of gifts in your room, and knowing you, you wouldn’t want to throw them out.”

Izuku shakes his head. “No, of course not. They’re from all my friends.”

“Hoarder,” Kacchan mutters, but Izuku just rolls his eyes.

Sure, like Kacchan still doesn’t have the wicker basket from the fruit basket All Might sent him the first time he landed in the hospital as a Pro. It’s in perfect condition, too, or at least it was the last time Izuku saw it when he was visiting Kacchan’s apartment to go over a mission with him.

“And that is why we are here!” All Might says, a broad smile spreading across his face. “I imagine it’d be hard to carry everything back to your apartment, especially with only one arm free.”

Izuku winces. Yeah, he hadn’t exactly thought about that.

He looks down at his left arm, tucked against his side in a side-sling to make sure he doesn’t aggravate his shoulder now that he’s allowed to move around more. Izuku was initially just going to… figure it out. Somehow.

Although, that thought is a little daunting once he looks back up and sees the flowers, balloons, cards and stuffed animals, various food items and even more miscellaneous gifts, all tucked into the corners of the room, under the tables, under Izuku’s bed – they’re literally everywhere.

His friends were, uh, enthusiastic when it came to hospital gifts for Izuku’s stay thus far.

Whatever Izuku couldn’t manage to eat or wasn’t a one-time use got stacked together in an aesthetically pleasing pile courtesy of Ashido and Iida.

Izuku still doesn’t know how he was planning on bringing everything home, though.

He doesn’t even have his car, and the train ride from this hospital to his apartment is at least a few hours. Izuku hasn’t had reasons to travel this far south recently, so he’d have to figure out the route, too.

“You were gonna try and take it all back yourself, weren’t you,” Kacchan accuses, and Izuku whips his head up. “Just ‘figure it out’ or some shit like that? Moron.”

He swears, sometimes it’s like Kacchan can read his mind. Or maybe Izuku is still a little predictable when it comes to things like this.

“What else was I supposed to do?” Izuku asks, a little defensive.

He still has time before being discharged, and he’d been trying his hardest not to think about the day he was scheduled to leave. He doesn’t have any good ideas, as Kacchan is so eager to tell him. He didn’t know Kacchan, or even All Might, were going to show up when he was getting discharged, either.

“Ask for help, you gigantic dumbass,” Kacchan berates, bringing a fist down on Izuku’s head and roughly scrubbing his knuckles back and forth. “You know, the most obvious fucking solution?”

“Ow, Kacchan,” Izuku complains, trying to shove his heavy arm off. It only makes Kacchan bear down harder, his knuckles burning a hole right into Izuku’s scalp.

“Stop being stupid,” Kacchan says, and finally lets up on his noogie. Instead, he settles his hand on Izuku’s head and pushes it down. “One trip to the hospital and you regress into a high schooler. What, you gonna start running with scissors like you’re a kindergartener now? Again?”

“That was one time, Kacchan. I was in a rush! And you tried putting your hands on the stove two weeks ago!” Izuku retorts, pushing up against Kacchan’s arm, trying to fight the smile rising on his face.

He manages to get his fingers under two of Kacchan’s, but Kacchan has better leverage and starts to lean his whole body against his head. He even curls his fingers around the ones Izuku are trying to wiggle under Kacchan’s grip, stopping their progress.

“My hands are literally bombs! They can handle some lame-ass fire! You, though, are not fucking stab proof! Or did you forget two years ago when that shitty raccoon villain stabbed you in the ass?”

“Hey!” Izuku frowns, instinctively flexing his thigh at the reminder. “That was a long time ago, stop bringing it up. And, it wasn’t in the butt, it was in my thigh! Below my butt!”

“Same thing. Your thighs are as big as your ass-”

“Boys,” All Might interrupts, and Izuku jumps a little. He forgot All Might was there and Izuku feels so guilty about the fact that he forgot about All Might despite him literally standing right next to him, he immediately stops pushing against Kacchan. “Please. The door is open, and this is a hospital. Keep it down a little.”

“Sorry,” Izuku says, slumping against his bed with red cheeks.

Kacchan always makes him lose his mind.

He keeps his fingers under Kacchan’s though, because Kacchan hasn’t removed his hand yet and Izuku doesn’t want to let go.

“It’s not like they’re gonna do shit. What, they’re gonna kick us out? Deku’s already leaving,” Kacchan scoffs, and pulls back his weight.

“Young Bakugou,” All Might sighs. A smile plays in his eyes as he looks at Kacchan. “Even so, it is not such an effort to be courteous, hm? Especially so early in the morning.”

Kacchan clicks his tongue, dissatisfied, but he relents.

He finally removes his hand, and his index and middle fingers stay curled around Izuku’s own when he lowers it. Izuku’s red cheeks get darker, and All Might kindly doesn’t comment on it.

Kacchan, however, is not known for being particularly kind, especially when he senses weakness. And when it comes to Izuku, it’s like blood in the water.

His other hand comes up and he pokes insistently at Izuku’s cheek. “Oi, what’s this? Looking a little red in the face, nerd.”

Izuku turns his head away, trying to hide his blushing face, but that only encourages Kacchan to pinch his cheek between two fingers and pull.

“Can’t hide from me, Deku,” he says, a mean smirk twisting his expression as he pulls hard enough that Izuku has to face him. “Stop trying to.”

He looks up at where Kacchan’s eyes burn into him, tracing over Izuku’s flushed cheeks with something like manic satisfaction in his eyes.

Izuku can’t keep eye contact for more than a few seconds, his face getting hot immediately. Why does Kacchan always have to stare so intently?

All Might laughs softly from somewhere to the left of him, and Izuku slumps further into the bed. He can’t believe All Might is watching all of this and letting it happen!

“Hey, stop it,” Izuku mutters, still unwilling to let go of Kacchan’s fingers to try and swat his hand away from his face.

“Make me.”

“Katsuki, stop pulling Izuku’s pigtails and start packing shit up,” he suddenly hears.

“Mrs. Bakugou!” Izuku exclaims, looking back at the doorway.

Mitsuki walks in with a stride extremely similar to her son’s, large, reusable grocery bags with equally large handles held in both hands. She doesn’t look impressed by the sight that greets her, raising an eyebrow at them both.

“Just Mitsuki, kid, how many times am I gonna have to tell you?”

“Ah, Ms. Mitsuki, then?” Izuku tries.

“Sure, kid,” she snorts with a roll of her eyes, before turning to glare at Katsuki. “Hands off, brat.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Kacchan says, scowling.

“Hands off, or I’ll take Izuku away.”

“Don’t fucking touch him,” Kacchan immediately says, glaring at her.

“I’m not a toy…” Izuku mutters to himself, but no one hears him.

Kacchan does pull back from him though, putting his hands back in his pockets as he turns to face Mitsuki. Izuku tries to focus on her, but it only marginally works, flexing the fingers that were curled around Kacchan’s in absently registered loss.

“Yeah, yeah. Help me carry everything outside,” she says, waving at him dismissively with the bags.

Instead, Kacchan stalks over and snatches every bag from her. “You stupid? You’ll break your back trying to carry everything. Go sit down.”

“Oh, my big strong hero,” she mocks, grabbing one of the bags back with a smirk. “Trying to show off to Izuku? Whatever shall I do when you ditch your poor, weak mother for the lovely boy next door?”

“I’m not gonna visit you at the elderly home, ma. You’ll have to entertain yourself by watching shitty cable with Dad and suffer through all the Viagra and diaper commercials. I ain’t paying for shit,” Katsuki promises, practically looming over his mom as he moves to stand next to her. “Either start getting ready to steal your neighbor’s oxygen and slurp down those shitty jell-o’s stuffed with your medication like your past reincarnation was a chipmunk or give up now and maybe I’ll answer your life-alert.”

“So, you are trying to show off.” She smirks, pulling at Kacchan’s bicep and the fabric covering it with neatly manicured nails. Are those… Are those Deku designs on them? “Can’t show off jack shit if you’re hiding everything underneath a hoodie like this. Why don’t you give it to Izuku? Again. He looks better in it than you do. You should wear more green instead.”

Izuku can feel his face warming against his will. He didn’t know Mitsuki kept up with all of Hero Deku’s different logos and merch, enough to recreate it on her own nails. She suddenly points one of her green nails in Kacchan’s face, eyes narrowing as she glares him down. “And that life-alert better be limited edition Dynamight merch, boy.”

He slaps her hand out of his face with a cantankerous scowl, sharp canines flashing as he sneers at her. “What color do you think I’m wearing under this? And I don’t care if you’re my ma, I will throw you over my shoulder and toss you out the room if you don’t shut up. Go bring the fucking car around or something.”

“Only your dad can manhandle me.”

“Oh my god,” Kacchan gags, face twisting while his hands continue to move efficiently. “You’re too old to be fucking. He’s gonna throw his back out and you’re gonna break a fucking nail.”

“Just wait until you get to our age, especially with Izuku. The Bakugou libido ain’t a fucking joke, brat. Just last week, when we were on the couch, your dad-”

“Shut up!”

Mitsuki cackles, standing shoulder to shoulder with Kacchan as they shove Izuku’s gifts into bags, albeit carefully. Even in her heels, she’s much shorter than Kacchan but like this, with them both bending down, side by side, they look like they could be siblings as they elbow each other and snark with ease.

“They’re quite an act, aren’t they,” All Might says to Izuku quietly. “Much like you and him.”

“Me and Kacchan?” Izuku asks incredulously.

“Kacchan and I,” All Might absentmindedly corrects, and then faintly grimaces at the nickname he unwittingly repeated.

He reluctantly tears his eyes away from Kacchan’s side-profile to look back up at All Might. “But we’re not doing any sort of act.”

“And so oblivious to it, too,” All Might continues like Izuku hadn’t spoken at all. “When you come visit me in the elderly home, make sure to turn my hearing aids down, hm?”

“What?” Izuku asks, a little bewildered.

“Also, I prefer the strawberry jell-o over the cherry one. Just so you know,” he ends in a playful whisper, winking at Izuku.

“All Might!” Izuku exclaims, laughing a little.

He laughs with him, a boisterous sound that reminds Izuku of when All Might was in his prime. It’s always a treat to see him happy and relaxed, so very different from when Izuku had first met him. He’s so happy his mentor can laugh like this now.

“You think I’m joking,” All Might chuckles. “But there’s only so many times I can rewatch your fights before I miss your company, so please don’t forget to visit me, my boy.”

“You watch my fights?!” Izuku says, squeaks, really. He didn’t know his voice could hit that high of a pitch. “Repeatedly?!”

Both Mitsuki and Kacchan look up at the strange sound Izuku releases, an awkward amalgamation of noise from him fighting to both breathe and speak at the same time. He stares up at All Might, his brain wonderfully failing to compute this new information.

That’s when Dr. Nakamura comes in, catching the tail-end of Izuku’s best impression of a Pterodactyl.

“Mr. Midoriya,” she starts, a grin on her face, and Izuku can only groan.

“Please, I need a second,” he wheezes, falling back against his pillows and putting his arm over his face.

Holy woah. All Might watches his fights.

All Might watches his fights. Repeatedly.

How had this never come up before? For all the conversations he has with his mentor, not once did Izuku ever consider the idea that All Might would leisurely watch his fights for entertainment!

“You dead?” Izuku hears, and instantly afterwards, a finger jabs into the sensitive part of his stomach.

He jerks, yelping like a squeaky toy on its last legs. He instinctively curls around the wounded area, groaning when Kacchan laughs at him.

“Please,” Izuku begs, voice muffled against his pillow. “Please, I can’t die at the hospital when I’m finally leaving.”

A finger jabs his waist again. Izuku makes another odd wheezing sound, jerking again from the pressure.

“Holy shit, All Might, you broke him.” Kacchan shouldn’t sound so gleeful.

“I apologize.” All Might doesn’t sound sorry at all. In fact, he sounds like he’s laughing, too. “It was not my intention.”

“Why do you both insist on harassing my patient?” Dr. Nakamura is his savior. “Do it once you get off hospital grounds.” Never mind, she’s Izuku’s enemy now.

“Deku,” Kacchan calls, and he feels hands carefully turning him. “Come on, get up. You can nerd out later. It’s time to ditch this hellhole.”

Izuku sits back up, a little faint from the limited oxygen he got with his face stuffed against his pillow.

“I-” he wheezes, trusting Kacchan’s hands to hold his full weight as they push him to sit up.

“Yeah, yeah. All Might nerds out about you as much as you do him. This ain’t new. Now pay attention.”

Izuku wheezes again.

“Mr. Midoriya, I have just a couple of things to go over. After that, you’re free to leave!”

Izuku shakes himself a bit, trying to focus himself.

Right. Discharged, he’s getting discharged.

Dr. Nakamura doesn’t waste a second, immediately diving into everything he needs to know. It’s no different than what she’s been telling him over the week, but Izuku appreciates it, nonetheless.

That appreciation, however, does nothing to temper the dread he already feels when he thinks about the slow journey ahead of him. The time it’ll take to get back to his normal workout routine after a week of straight bed rest and then the next couple of weeks’ restricted exercise and mandated rest is a little daunting.

She’s very, very insistent on that part, of him resting often.

“Remember, despite your wounds having been mostly healed, disregarding your shoulder, you are still suffering significant drawbacks from severe quirk exhaustion. If you feel tired, you must rest. That is not a suggestion, it’s an order. If you want to get back to the level of performance you were exhibiting before this, you will initially be resting more than you will be exerting energy.” She looks him dead in the eye, forcing him to nod and acknowledge her words.

He feels like a bobble-head with how much nodding he’s been doing, but he nods to her satisfaction anyways.

“You can use your quirk, but please limit yourself at first. When you go for your check up in the next week, your doctor will know if you’re pushing yourself too hard and word will get back to me. Keep that in mind.”

“Of course,” Izuku says, sweating a little. He had forgotten how intense she was under her smile. She didn’t even have to directly threaten him – that stare is a threat enough on its own.

“Then you’re all set to go!” she says cheerfully, backing up. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Midoriya! I hope I never see you here again.”

“Thank you,” Izuku says sincerely, bowing from where he’s seated on the side of the mattress.

She waves him off as she leaves the room, calling out a farewell.

Everything after that is familiar enough that Izuku doesn’t need to be told what to do.

He changes out of his hospital attire into a fresh pair of clothes his mom had brought earlier that week, finishing before one of the nurses on rotation had come in.

The gym shorts are easy enough to slip on, especially without the bulky leg cast hindering him anymore. It’s a bit more of a struggle to put the flannel on, but eventually he has everything buttoned up, tucked in, and ready to go.

He did give up on his shoes, though, opting for the slides Sero had brought him because the hospital sandals were “too boring.”

Also, probably from guilt because he had thrown the shoe at Kirishima (and it’s just bad luck that Izuku’s sandal was the closest thing to Sero’s hand at the time and was thus his chosen ammunition) who had, for some reason, caught it in his mouth and shredded it completely while they were playing Uno.

Kacchan looked like he was going to have an aneurysm and that was when Aizawa officially walked out of both the Uno game he was playing with them and Izuku’s room, leaving the hospital without a word. He hasn’t been back since.

Izuku loves his friends.

The nurse that had come in to help with the final steps of his discharge reaffirmed everything Dr. Nakamura said and made sure Izuku had a way to get home safely. She helps him put his sling back on, showing him one last time how to do it himself.

“If you can’t reach one of the straps, or if it starts to feel too tight, ask someone to readjust them for you, alright?” she says, stepping back from his left side. “Do you have someone in mind that will know what to do?”

“I’ll handle it,” Kacchan says, stepping up to Izuku’s side.

He’d been quietly watching everything, having come back into the room after briefly leaving while Izuku was getting ready.

His room is empty now, free of the clutter that had started to take residence after his almost two weeks stay. Izuku grabs his phone off the bedside table, looking around one last time to make sure he didn’t forget anything.

“That’s great. If you have any questions later, refer to the instructions Mr. Midoriya will be sent home with. It should have everything in there, and if not, feel free to contact your personal physician or your agency’s medical staff.”

She steps back, opening the door for them both. “That’s all then. Have a good day Mr. Midoriya, Dynamight!”

Kacchan places a hand on the small of Izuku’s back, pressing him forward. “Finally. Let’s go, Deku.”

Izuku nods jerkily, stepping out into the hallway. He’s entirely too aware of just how large Kacchan’s hand is.

“Thank you,” Izuku says one last time to the nurse and then exits the room, walking down the bustling hallway.

Kacchan never steps more than an inch away from his side through the entire trek out of the hospital.

Even in the elevator with other people, Kacchan only pushes closer, placing himself between Izuku and the other passengers to prevent him from getting jostled.

Izuku is touched, but his voice refuses to work and his heart is hammering against his chest when Kacchan tugs him closer.

He doesn’t offer Izuku support while walking, though, which he appreciates.

He may need it later if he gets tired but after being bed bound for so long and only allowed to walk during strictly regulated therapy sessions with Dr. Bones, it’s nice to be able to go and move wherever he pleases.

“C’mon,” Kacchan murmurs, hand once again on Izuku’s lower back. He presses him forward, out of the elevator and through the lower lobby past the hospital doors.

Before he knows it, they’re approaching where Kacchan parked, his car inconspicuous but sleek and low riding, all matte black with just the faintest hints of orange on the rims.

Izuku smiles at the sight because leaning against the trunk is All Might, waiting with a smile as he watches them walk to him.

“Hello, boys,” All Might greets, pushing up to his full height and casting them both in shadow as they stop next to him. “Ready to go?”

Kacchan tsks at the sudden change in light, still bothered that he never managed to get close to All Might’s giant 7’3” height.

Izuku rolls his eyes, too used to this one-sided grudge match Kacchan has with All Might’s genes whenever he’s reminded. He should be happy he even broke six feet, let alone grew a couple inches past it.

Kacchan’s been lording over Aizawa for years now that he was taller than him (even though Aizawa could literally not care less), but he’s still not satisfied that he’s shorter than All Might. Even though everyone is shorter than All Might, especially Izuku.

He still hasn’t gotten past 5’10” yet and he hasn’t grown with any sort of consistency as soon as he made it to his twenty’s. Izuku had hoped with One For All he’d get some of All Might’s height along with all the quirks he got from it, but apparently his own short parents’ genes are stronger than whatever the heck One For All did to them.

“Yeah, yeah, you fucking tree, get in the damned car,” Kacchan grumbles, guiding Izuku past a chuckling All Might to the right side and opening the back door for him. “You too, nerd, get in.”

“I can’t sit in the front?” Izuku asks, bending to sit anyways. Next to you? he doesn’t voice, but Kacchan understands.

“The seatbelt is on the left side, dumbass,” Kacchan tells him, palms resting on the hood so he can bend down and watch Izuku. “And All Might wanted to sit with you so we gotta boost the passenger seat forwards.”

“I hope you don’t mind, Young Izuku,” All Might says, folding his long legs in front of him as steps into the car.

Even with the passenger seat pushed all the way forwards, he looks cramped. He’s hunching his back so his head doesn’t bump the roof of the car and his knees are bunched up in front of him. Despite this, his expression is happy, like it’s the best part of his day to contort himself into a ball in his former student’s car.

“No, no, of course not, that’s perfectly fine- wait,” Izuku says, stopping while in the middle of buckling himself up and turning to look at where Kacchan is watching him. “Where’s Ms. Mitsuki?”

“Already left. She’s bringing most of your shit to your apartment, so we gotta hurry up if you don’t wanna make her wait outside,” Kacchan tells him. He leans in the car to finish buckling Izuku in, impatiently but lightly tugging at the strap to make sure it’s secured. “But, eh, she can wait. She’s got nothing better to do.”

Izuku gets a trace of Kacchan’s natural scent as he leans in front of him, his skin briefly bared where the hoodie gapes around his neck. It’s enough to make Izuku go a little lightheaded, the familiar and slightly addicting smell inciting some Pavlovian response from him as he catches himself leaning in.

It’s just- it smells exactly like the hoodie Kacchan had given him.

The hoodie Izuku had basically huffed every night in the hospital to help him fall asleep when everybody left.

Oh no. This has the potential to cause Izuku, uh, problems.

He hopes Kacchan didn’t notice, but he does linger in front of Izuku, making sure All Might is also settled in with a quick question before ducking back out from the car and closing the door.

“Of course not,” Izuku says, a little dazed. He misses the slight smirk on Kacchan’s face as he buckles himself in, peeking at Izuku from the rear-view mirror.

As Kacchan exits the hospital parking lot (with surprisingly minimal under-the-breath cursing), Izuku takes in the shining sun and bustling life of Ōta Ward, smiling a little.

He settles in for the long ride, watching the buildings pass by them and subconsciously relaxing when Kacchan turns on the radio to his preferred and familiar station, the one he always plays low in the background whenever he takes Izuku home after a particularly rough mission.

The streets and buildings they pass don’t look too damaged from the earthquakes, but Izuku doesn’t know if that’s because they weren’t hit as hard in this area or if everything was repaired quickly. It reminds him that he doesn’t really know much of what happened after the building had fallen and Kacchan carried him out.

“Hey, Kacchan,” he starts, turning his head back to the front. “What happened to the villain Aizawa caught?”

Kacchan meets his gaze in the mirror, an eyebrow raising. “You didn’t get briefed yet?”

Izuku shakes his head, humming a little. “No, it never really came up.”

“Well, Aizawa beat the shit out of him,” Kacchan says bluntly, continuing over All Might’s light chuckle. “He was hiding in one of the other buildings in the center, just a few down from the Yamanaka building. An extra sniffed his ass out and Aizawa went straight for him.”

“A hero? Was it Koda’s animals?” Izuku asks.

“Nah, some 8-bit nobody.”

“I believe it was an interning hero student from one of the local hero’s agency,” All Might clarifies for him.

Izuku turns towards him, perking up. An intern! How exciting! What school are they from, he wonders. Maybe they could send an offer when the next round of internships start.

He urges them to keep talking, eager to hear what happened after everything.

All Might offers him a smile as he easily acquiesces, and Kacchan scoffs, but they still fill him in on the details he missed while he was out. Izuku doesn’t offer up much conversation, content to listen to both his heroes’ voices as they drive back home.

-

By the time they get to Izuku’s apartment, he’s started to lag, crashing from being awake so early and all the excitement of finally leaving the hospital.

A gentle hand to his knee rouses him from his dozing state.

“Wah?” he asks, blinking the sleep away.

He slowly lifts his head from where it’d been leaning against the car door, struggling to keep his eyes open as he turns to his left.

“We’re here, Izuku,” All Might says, patting Izuku’s knee again.

“Oh. Right.”

Izuku sits there, slowly blinking and not moving. He sniffs, once, still staring sleepily at All Might.

All Might sighs, fond and a touch amused.

“My boy, that means we need to get out of the car.”

Izuku doesn’t get time to process that because his door opens and Kacchan is ducking his head inside.

“What’s taking so long?” he asks, looking between All Might’s smiling face and Izuku’s slow blinking.

“Kacchan?” Izuku mumbles.

He wants to go back to sleep. He’s tired, and his shoulder is throbbing gently underneath his flannel.

His head feels heavy.

It starts to slip without his permission, resting against his right shoulder without the car door to lean against. He starts to lean forward as well, the weight of his head bringing his torso with him.

Izuku is content to let it fall, trusting his seatbelt will probably, maybe, hopefully catch him before he faceplants on the seat in front of him.

God, he’s so tired.

I haven’t even done anything, he complains to himself, completely forgetting about all the walking and moving and signing and practice stretches and changing and everything he did this morning when he was getting discharged, as well as the many hours he woke up before he was supposed to, overthinking instead of sleeping.

The seatbelt does not stop him, instead stretching with him slowly as Izuku succumbs to gravity.

“Ah,” Kacchan says. He carefully catches Izuku’s face with his hand, stopping the rest of his body from falling.

“Hrnk,” Izuku grunts, and doesn’t move, content to faceplant into Kacchan’s big hand.

All Kacchan does is sigh when Izuku sniffs, just once, then sighs happily. Here’s the main source of his scent, pure and concentrated Kacchan.

Izuku sniffs again, happy.

“Yes, ah,” All Might responds. “Would you like to…?”

“I’ve got him.”

All Might unbuckles his seat belt, passing it to Kacchan who brings it back across Izuku’s body with care. He shifts his hand behind Izuku’s head and puts his other above his right elbow, gripping firmly as he sits Izuku back up, turning him to face the door with steady hands.

“All right, nerd, up we go.” Kacchan pulls him forward, hauling him up and on his feet.

He keeps his hand on Izuku’s head as he pulls, forcefully pushing it down when he stands so he doesn’t brain himself on the doorframe. Izuku groans, squinting his eyes at the bright sun. His back cracks as he straightens it, a little series of pops straight down his spine, and faintly hears the disgusted sound Kacchan makes.

He wobbles a little, still groggy and feet feeling like lead weights as he takes his first few steps out of the car. He fails to walk in a straight line, sleep and the fading meds from the hospital clouding his mind.

Also clouding his physical abilities, apparently. He groans again.

His knee isn’t even injured anymore so he doesn’t have a proper excuse for walking like he’s just drunk his body weight in alcohol.

“Stop whining,” Kacchan says. “Can you walk on your own?”

“M’not a kid,” Izuku grumbles, leaning into Kacchan anyways when the next step he takes has him going right instead of left for some reason. “I can walk.”

Kacchan settles his left arm around Izuku’s waist wordlessly, careful to tuck his hand between his bound left arm and side without jostling him. His fingers splay across Izuku’s ribs and chest, pressing lightly for just a moment like he’s trying to count the spaces in between his heartbeat.

In turn, Izuku leans more of his weight against Kacchan, comforted by the solid hold he has Izuku in. He wraps his own arm around him, stretching it around Kacchan’s large upper back and gripping the hood of Kacchan’s hoodie as he blindly follows where he leads them.

Izuku knows where to go, of course – this is his apartment building, after all – but this is much nicer: being held by Kacchan and told where to go without needing to worry or do everything by himself. If they had waited a few minutes for Izuku to get his bearings, he could have definitely, maybe, probably walked perfectly on his own.

Izuku chooses to keep silent, tightening his grip on Kacchan.

Instead, he fixes his eyes to the ground and their shoes, watching as his Cellophane slides and shin high All Might socks walk in tandem with Kacchan’s loafers. He concentrates on every step, smiling once his footing does gradually come back to him. It feels less like Kacchan is carrying him and more like they’re walking together now.

Their shoes look a little odd together, not the most likely pair to walk side-by-side with Izuku’s comfort over style clothes and Kacchan’s usual ‘if he can’t sweat in it then it looks like it belongs in a high-end fashion show’ style, but Izuku likes the way they look anyways.

His neck starts to hurt from staring down for so long, so he lifts it to rest on Kacchan’s shoulder. He is very unsuccessful, head slipping forward with every step. With the way they’re holding each other and Kacchan’s height, he can’t quite reach the comfortable spot he’s going for.

“Why are you so tall?” Izuku grumbles.

If he stands straighter, he’d reach the spot he wants to rest on, but he can’t muster up the energy to do so. His hand can barely keep hold of the back of Kacchan’s hood as is.

“Why are you so fucking short?” Kacchan retorts.

“Mom. And dad. Not enough milk. Dr. Bones took all my bones. Not wearing my shoes,” Izuku rambles off.

“I knew you wore them for the height.”

“I’m only a couple of inches shorter than you.”

“Four inches is not a couple.”

“’Kay, but my shoes give me two of them.”

“One.”

“One of them.”

“So, you’re still short.”

“Shut up.”

Their banter carries through the elevator and down the hallway to Izuku’s door, only stopping once they see Mitsuki.

She’s waiting like Kacchan said she would be, leaning against the wall and talking on her phone. The bags Izuku recognizes as the ones Mitsuki had brought to the hospital lay around her feet, filled with his things. The only thing not in a bag is the large bear Uraraka had given him, and Mitsuki holds that underneath one of her arms.

She still looks as regal as ever in her usual blouse-skirt-heels combo despite the bulky item and awkward hold.

Ah, the Bakugous, he sighs to himself wistfully. Unfairly attractive in everything they do.

A few weeks ago, when Izuku was visiting his mom and Kacchan’s parents on a free weekend, Masaru had been cooking dinner. He had made deliberate, direct eye contact with Izuku, flipped the food in the pan with an expert hand, and then winked at him.

Kacchan had to drag Izuku away from where he was standing rooted to the floor. He was a little red in the face and his eyes were wide, stunned by the sudden revelation that, yes, Kacchan did in fact get his genes from both his parents, as is natural and normal when biologically conceiving a child, and yes, Masaru must have passed his suave cooking skills onto Kacchan because wow.

He didn’t know why Kacchan had seemed so worked up, though, not letting Izuku sit next to Masaru as he normally did at these occasional get togethers the Bakugous hosted, and forcefully turning Izuku’s face away whenever he made eye-contact with his dad without explaining why.

Izuku has a bit of a better idea why now, he thinks with a slightly bashful smile. Good teasing material for whenever he gets the courage to spontaneously make fun of Kacchan or when he gets annoyed enough at him to bring it up.

“Hello,” Izuku groggily greets. “We are here!”

Kacchan snorts at his side, muttering what’s most definitely an insult under his breath.

Mitsuki waves at him, smiling widely. “Morning, Izuku. Glad to see you traveled safely. You, too, Katsuki.”

She looks back and forth between them, eyebrows slowly raising and her smile getting bigger.

“Shut up,” Kacchan tells her preemptively. He pulls Izuku closer to his side. “He’s being dumb so don’t start shit.”

“Can’t start shit you’ve already started, brat,” she says, going back to her conversation on her phone with a smug smirk.

“Where are my keys?” Izuku mutters, looking down at his gym shorts with a frown. “And where’s All Might?”

Also, where’s his wallet? He can feel the weight of his phone in his pocket, but that’s it. He doesn’t remember grabbing anything else, which could be a problem.

“Right here, my boy,” comes a deep voice from behind him, and Izuku yelps, jumping a little. All Might comes around into Izuku’s peripheral, dropping a hand onto his head. “And, I have your keys. Young Bakugou gave them to me from when he had cleared your locker earlier this week.”

“That was you?” Izuku asks, looking up at Kacchan.

He had called Todoroki the other day, asking if he wouldn’t mind getting Izuku’s bag from his locker and meeting Izuku at his apartment when he got discharged. His wallet, keys, and the rest of his personal belongings were still in there from when he had first changed for the mission, and he would need them once he got back home.

Kacchan and Todoroki both know the code, but Kacchan was with him, staying at the hospital every day and at a hotel every night. The travel time was too long for Izuku to justify asking him to drive or take the train there and back. He didn’t want to ask Kacchan to go all the way back to their ward just for keys he wouldn’t immediately need.

But Todoroki had called him back, said his locker had already been cleared out and that everything he needed was either already with Izuku at the hospital or put away in his apartment.

Izuku had been touched at the kind, anonymous gesture, but his last session with Dr. Bones was after that call and it had effectively driven the conversation from his mind. He had forgotten to ask afterwards who had cleared it and wasn’t reminded until now.

“Did you not realize he was following us?” Kacchan asks the same time Izuku asks his question, distracting him from Kacchan’s super-secret, super-thoughtful, super-kind actions that are going to make Izuku cry when he’s alone later and has time to process it.

What else has Kacchan done for Izuku to make things easier for him without him knowing?

Instead, with his mocking tone and sharp, red eyes, he sidetracks Izuku. He smirks down at him, looking like he’s barely a breath away from insulting Izuku’s observational skills for the nth time.

Why is Kacchan so pretty when he’s making ugly faces at him?

“Kacchan?”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

“Yeah, it’s nap time for you.”

“Inko will be here in a little while with Masaru,” Mitsuki cuts in, “but for now, let’s get you settled, kid.”

“Mom’s coming?” Izuku asks, smiling.

“Yeah, she had some things she wanted to pick up first, said for you to get into your apartment,” Mitsuki answers, somewhat cryptically.

Izuku cocks his head in question, but then All Might steps up to Izuku’s door, pushing the key into the lock.

“Brace yourself,” Izuku warns, his laugh tired and embarrassingly obvious in how fake it sounds. “I didn’t plan on going to the hospital, so the trash and my food are probably rotting away right now. I apologize for the mess.”

He winces when All Might turns the key without hesitation.

Ah, he really should have come home alone so he could have at least gotten things mildly clean for his guests.

He shuffles in place a little, anxious to get to the door first, but he doesn’t pull away when Kacchan’s hand soothes down his side, keeping him tucked right against him.

“I wouldn’t worry,” All Might reassures, pushing the door open. He steps back, picking up the bags around Mitsuki, and motions for Izuku to go first.

Well, at least he’ll get the first whiff of how bad everything is instead of All Might. He really wouldn’t want him to faint or anything like that.

Izuku will need to open some windows, air out two weeks’ worth of rotting air. Did he close the blinds before he left? Because the closed environment added with the sun…

He winces again, hesitating a little.

“C’mon,” Kacchan pushes, “let’s go.”

Izuku looks up at him, with furrowed brows and wide eyes.

“But Kacchan,” he tries to whisper. “It’s a mess!”

He doesn’t want them to see his home like this, especially when it will take Izuku so long to clean everything up.

He’s normally very clean and meticulous, especially when he has guests as important as their parents and his mentor. He at least wants to go in by himself first and analyze the damage.

Kacchan just squeezes his waist in answer, encouraging them both towards his door. He takes a step forward, and Izuku is helpless but to follow his confident stride. He trusts at the very least that Kacchan won’t make fun of him right now for his messy home.

But when Izuku steps into his genkan, Kacchan watching his face intently, he sees why he's so confident, why he's urging Izuku to enter his apartment faster.

It’s clean. Everything he can see from the entry hall is clean.

Izuku feels his composure break a little.

There are no funky smells coming from the kitchen. The mess of clothes he had left on the couch from his last load of laundry after getting the emergency summon more than a week ago are gone, as is the basket of dirty laundry he had been planning to do. His mail is stacked on the small table in the genkan, and everything even looks freshly dusted.

He brings his arm down from Kacchan’s back, making his way to his kitchen and fridge with wide, wet eyes. He only vaguely notices a single pair of footsteps following him, shoes still on just like him.

Izuku opens it, and nothing comes spilling out. All the food that should’ve gone bad is cleared out. He turns to the counter as he closes the fridge, and all the fruit that should be rotting isn’t there.

The few dishes that were in the sink are gone, the ones in the dish rack put away. The trashcan has been replaced with a clean lining. Even the dishwasher is empty.

Izuku slowly closes its door as he tries to get a hold of himself, gripping the handle tightly.

“What?” he asks, voice thick. He has to swallow roughly so he can speak. “Did… did someone…?”

“Hey, why are you crying?” Kacchan asks from behind. His voice is soft, almost unbearably so. “Did I fuck up your some of your things?”

Izuku turns around to face him.

It’s just him and Kacchan in the kitchen. He can hear Mitsuki and All Might talking in the other room.

It’s not resoundingly quiet like he’s used to when he comes back from the hospital. No bloated silence for him to get lost in.

“I hate coming home after the hospital,” Izuku confesses, voice wavering.

“I know,” Kacchan says, stepping into Izuku’s space.

“It’s always messy and dirty,” Izuku says. He can feel the tears falling steadily. “I can never clean it right away. It usually smells. It takes me days to get things back in order.”

“I know,” Kacchan repeats. His hands come up, carefully wiping the tears off his face. He’s looking down at Izuku, face set in an emotion Izuku can only describe as tender.

“I hate coming back home alone,” Izuku whispers.

“I know,” Kacchan whispers back, and he pulls Izuku into his chest as his face crumples, breath hitching into the fabric of Kacchan’s hoodie and his free hand gripping the hem. He rests his cheek on Izuku’s head, pressing his mouth into his hair in a long, firm kiss. “I know.”

Izuku’s not alone now.

-

Izuku wakes up from his nap feeling like he just traveled through thirty dimensions in five minutes.

He wheezes quietly, decompressing against his bed until it feels like he’s almost merged with it. God, that’d be so nice, to become one with his bed.

He squints blearily at the barely illuminated wall in front of him, eyes blinking slowly.

He doesn’t know why he woke up in the first place but he’s so disoriented that it takes him a second to even remember that he’s in his bed at home and not at the hospital.

For one, he’s sleeping on his stomach, which he usually never does at a hospital, and two, it’s very, very dark, just the way Izuku likes to sleep. His blackout curtains are drawn over the window, so he can’t tell what time of day it is, and he doesn’t know where his phone has ended up so he can’t check his clock, but there’s light in his room, somehow.

He smacks his lips together a couple of times, tonguing the dry spots in his mouth as he takes stock of his body.

His eyes and head are sore, and it takes him an embarrassingly long moment to remember why.

(Too much crying is bad for one’s neighborhood’s local Midoriya, not just their eyes but also their floors. Izuku knows this well. His extended family on his mom’s side knows this well. Everybody who knows a Midoriya knows this well.

Does this information stop either him or his mom? No.

Do they, in fact, cry harder? Yes.

Is this now Kacchan’s issue? Also, yes.)

His body still has an overall ache that hasn’t quite gone away, and his shoulder really hurts, but Kacchan is saying his name, so things are probably okay.

Izuku has to rethink that last one.

Kacchan’s saying his name?

“Deku, wake up,” he hears, and Izuku turns his head up from where he more or less faceplanted into his pillow earlier.

(He hadn’t sneezed at first touch, which was surprising, and then he remembered why his pillows were dust free and oh man, Izuku just might cry again.)

There’s a blanket covering him that he doesn’t remember putting there, and his shoes are off, of which he also doesn’t remember kicking off.

He does remember taking his sling off before he fell into bed, though, which is turning out to be a big mistake as even the slight movements from breathing aches gently. But it was fine at the time because he had a large, warm hand in his hair as he drifted off with eyes rimmed red but his heart settled.

“Kacchan?” he groans.

Kacchan is sitting on his bed, the hand that Izuku realizes had shook him awake still resting heavy on the middle of his back. His hip is near Izuku’s ribs, his knee by Izuku’s chin, and his other leg on the floor. He looks cozy in the dim lighting and his dark hoodie, no expression save the miniscule upturn at the corner of his lips.

“You slept past lunch. It’s dinner time.”

“I missed lunch?”

“Yeah, you seemed tired. Your ma wanted you to sleep.”

Izuku hums, still waking up.

He turns over onto his right side and grabs Kacchan’s hand when it falls off his back from the turn. He links their fingers, slotting them together slowly. Kacchan immediately tightens their hold, and Izuku can’t help the next content hum that spills from him.

It feels so easy to simply be with Kacchan and Izuku never wants to let go.

“Is Kacchan cooking?” he rasps, clearing his throat afterwards. He plays with Kacchan’s fingers with his other hand, lifting them up then letting them drop back down onto his knuckles.

“Nah.”

Izuku pouts a little, disappointed.

Kacchan raises an unimpressed eyebrow, eyes dancing in the low lighting, before Izuku feels a hand start to card through his hair. It gets tangled the first couple of passes – he really needs to take a shower – but goes through easily the next few times, almost lulling Izuku back to sleep.

“Someone better is cooking,” Kacchan says.

“No one is better than Kacchan,” Izuku denies.

“You’re right. Someone as good, though. I’m helping them.”

Izuku perks up.

“But you gotta get up if you wanna know what’s for dinner.”

Izuku slumps back down, groaning.

“Now?” he asks.

“Yes. Get up, shithead. You gotta take your meds.”

As if right on cue, Izuku’s phone blares with the alarm he set to remind himself of the medication he needs to take for the next week or so.

He groans again, the sharp ringing sounds making him wince.

“Okay, okay,” he sighs. He sits up with a slight heave, blankets pooling around his waist as he crosses his legs.

He slaps his hand around on the bed behind him a couple of times, finding his phone and turning off the alarm with fumbling fingers.

Izuku yawns, wide and deep, suppressing a shiver when Kacchan’s hand goes from his hair to his bare knee.

He doesn’t say anything, his burning gaze watching Izuku’s every move without expression.

The silence between them is only broken by the soft murmuring of voices Izuku can hear through his open bedroom door, the clanking of dishes coming from his kitchen letting him know where everybody else is.

It’s not awkward but rather soothing as Izuku takes his time to fully come back online, very aware of how close Kacchan is sitting and how his thumb hasn’t stopped rubbing back and forth on his knee.

He looks back up, meeting Kacchan’s gaze. He’s lit softly from the light spilling in through the hallway, edges smoothed in the dim yellow.

“Hi,” Izuku whispers after a moment, smiling. He doesn’t dare speak too loudly.

“Hey,” Kacchan says back, just as quiet, even though he rolls his eyes while doing it.

Izuku’s smile gets bigger.

He looks at Izuku, studying his face. He moves closer, shifting slowly.

Kacchan’s free hand comes up to his face, hesitating for just a second before pressing his fingers to his chin and lifting Izuku’s face up further to properly meet his eyes. Izuku lets him, biting his tongue when the fingers slide back to cup his jaw, a thumb smoothing over his cheek as it goes.

His hand is warm, fingertips soft where they press into Izuku’s skin.

“You sleep well?”

Izuku hums, leaning into Kacchan’s hold. He nods carefully in answer, keeping still when Kacchan adjusts his grip so it’s firmer, more confident.

“Good,” Kacchan rasps, and he leans forward again, tugging gently to make Izuku help close the distance. He presses their foreheads together, Kacchan as ever mindful of his still healing face.

“You feeling all right? Your shoulder?”

Izuku hums again, smiling as he closes his eyes. “Hurts, but not too bad. I’ve had worse.”

Kacchan grunts, dissatisfied with his answer. Izuku just presses closer, brushes their noses together.

They’re close enough that he can feel every one of Kacchan’s breaths on his lips.

His own breath hitches, and one of them presses even closer.

Kacchan’s fingers have tightened, but it doesn’t hurt. It feels good, feels right to be held so intimately, so tight like he’s something worth keeping close and safe.

Like Kacchan wants Izuku as near as possible.

“Your head?” Kacchan asks, and Izuku can feels his lips brush his, just for a moment.

Izuku’s breath hitches, this time his for sure because when he opens his eyes, Kacchan’s shoulders are still rising and falling, albeit faster than normal.

“S’fine,” he murmurs, barely speaking. His eyes close again when Kacchan’s thumb stills, and he feels the breaths against his lips halt for just a moment.

He wants to press forward, find out what Kacchan feels like, tastes like, to see if kissing Kacchan will be as breathtaking as he’s thought about.

He starts to lean forward, intent on removing the scant few centimeters he needs to close the distance. He can feel Kacchan move with him, pressing more of his weight on Izuku’s knee the closer he gets.

A sudden knock on the doorway startles them, and Izuku jerks back in surprise.

His eyes fly open, and Kacchan is staring straight at him, eyes burning into Izuku’s. His hold on Izuku’s jaw doesn’t let him stray more than a few inches back, keeps him within breathing distance.

“Time to eat, kiddos,” calls All Might. His lengthy shadow breaks through the partially open door, but he doesn’t step into the room, respectful of the privacy of Izuku’s bedroom.

“We’ll be right out,” Kacchan calls out, his voice a little hoarse.

He doesn’t look away from Izuku as he speaks, doesn’t let go, doesn’t move.

Kacchan holds him, quiet, unmoving, his gaze catching Izuku’s breath and holding it as hostage as his body is in the wide grip of his hands, in the insistent touch of his fingers, demanding everything from Izuku without needing to say a word.

All Might’s shadow disappears, and still Izuku doesn’t breathe, doesn’t look away, because Kacchan still hasn’t let go. Izuku doesn’t want him to.

“Kacchan?” he asks, and his words invade the space between them, breaks the intensity with gentle force.

Kacchan breathes out shakily, dilated pupils refocusing, and Izuku breathes with him, taking in air like he’s gone without it for years rather than just the seconds it was.

His hand finally falls, but it doesn’t leave Izuku completely, smoothing down his neck with burning fingers before easing out of his space entirely.

“Get me if you need help with your sling,” Kacchan says, pushing up from the bed so he stands over Izuku.

He slides a hand behind Izuku’s neck and uses his other hand to smooth his sleep-mussed hair off his face. He leans down, plants a rough, quick kiss to Izuku’s bare forehead directly left of his bandaged cut, then walks out without another word, hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants.

Izuku has to take a moment, staring blankly at the wall as he catches his breath in the new silence.

That was… intense.

He presses a hand to his neck where Kacchan’s fingers had briefly engraved themselves and ducks down a little. He keeps going, keening quietly as he hides his face in his elbow.

He almost kissed Kacchan. Kacchan almost kissed him.

Izuku smiles, biting his lip when it threatens to overwhelm his entire face.

They almost kissed.

-

Izuku walks into his dining room after quickly relieving himself in the bathroom and putting his sling back on with only a little hassle.

He’s getting quicker at it, even when it hurts to move his shoulder too much, which is a good sign. It means he’s finally healing faster.

The living area is lively and bright compared to the quiet environment of his bedroom, and he can’t help but smile when he sees Mitsuki ordering All Might around. He doesn’t fight it, setting down plates on the table and taking the stack of cups she immediately hands him afterwards without question.

“Izuku!” his mom calls from the kitchen, looking over the counter that separates it from the dining area with a big smile. “You’re up! How are you feeling?”

“Mom! I’m good, just need to take my meds real quick,” he answers.

He walks into the kitchen to her side, giving her a side hug. She stops her stirring to return it enthusiastically, laughing when Izuku squeezes her tighter to him and gently chins the top of her head.

He grins down at her, happy to see that the tired circles under her eyes seem mostly gone now as she smiles back up at him.

“You can take them with dinner, Izuku,” he hears, and turns to see Masaru at the stove. He looks up with a smile, deftly moving around Izuku’s kitchen like it was his own. His glasses are a little fogged from the heat of the stove, so he pushes them down to wink playfully at Izuku. “We’re almost done, anyways.”

“Mn, all right then.” Izuku smiles, fighting back a faint blush once Masaru looks away. He looks around at the spread of dishes they’ve prepared, breathing in deeply. “Hmm, karaage. It smells great. Did you both cook?”

The hearty scent of fried chicken and garlic permeates the air, and he sighs a little. Home cooked meals are honestly just the best.

“Oh, Katsuki helped us, too! In fact, he did most of it, insisted on it, really, but he had us finish the last few things so he could go wake you up,” Inko answers. “He just left a moment ago, I think. Said he forgot something in his car, but he’ll be right back.”

“Is everybody staying for dinner? I didn’t think I’d have enough room at the table to fit everyone.”

“We can squish,” Mitsuki answers, coming up to the counter. “Didn’t think you boys would mind sitting next to each other, hm? I was planning on shoving your chairs together and then pull up your office chair, if you don’t mind.”

Izuku’s cheeks flush a little, but he answers honestly, shaking his head. “No, you’re right, I don’t mind. We can squish.”

His mom ribs him gently, laughing. “Izuku, you’re too good. We can also take one of the stools and pull it up so there’s more room.”

“Mom, I’m not going to make you sit on my crappy kitchen stool.”

“I could-” All Might starts to volunteer.

“No,” Izuku immediately denies, and hears it echoed by Kacchan, who had just walked through the front door.

“You’re decrepit, old man. Sit on the chair or get fucked,” Kacchan says, locking the door behind him while toeing his shoes off. He straightens them against the genkan’s step, right next to Izuku’s own pair, and walks past the dining room in just his socks, waving a dismissive hand their way.

“I got it,” he calls back, leaving Izuku’s sight.

He’s not used to this many people in his apartment, so Izuku doesn’t have that many slippers available to wear. He’s happy his mom got a pair, at least, especially if she's cooking.

But, if anything, it makes Kacchan look more comfortable in Izuku’s home, walking around in just his lounge pants and shirt, sliding around in his socks carefully. He had taken his hoodie off in the warmth of Izuku’s apartment, and he catches himself staring at the dark green shirt Kacchan is wearing, tight around his arms and shoulders.

Izuku can’t remember Kacchan wearing such a specific shade of dark green before.

“Hi, Kacchan,” Izuku greets, blushing when Kacchan comes back into the room hauling Izuku’s office chair with one hand.

“Show-off,” Mitsuki scoffs under breath, moving back to the table to help place some of the side dishes down. “Look at him, strutting around for Izuku. Never seen him so excited to carry shit before today.”

“Oh, hush, let them have their fun,” Inko says, smiling at Izuku’s red face. “Izuku hasn’t stopped smiling since he woke up.”

“Hey, nerd,” Kacchan says, smirking back at him. His arm flexes when he drops the chair down, and Izuku has to manually force his gaze back up to Kacchan’s smug face in a hurry, oblivious to the other conversations happening around him. “You take your meds yet?”

“He will, as soon as we start eating,” Masaru cuts in, and places a hand on both Izuku’s and Inko’s back to gently push them out of the kitchen. “So, let’s all get seated, yes?”

It’s the slightest bit chaotic, getting everybody seated and all the dishes onto the table without spilling or bumping into anything. Nobody accepts Izuku’s help with carrying anything, forcing him away and back to the table.

He at least makes sure he gets his mom seated in her chair at one end of the table and All Might on the other end before feeling Kacchan’s hand wrap around his wrist. He drags Izuku to one of the kitchen chairs without a word, sitting down into the office chair next to him.

Kacchan hooks his foot around the leg of the kitchen chair, forcing them to sit as close as possible as he drags Izuku towards him with ease.

No one else seems to care for the loud squeak against the floor it made, but Izuku winces at the loud noise.

“Ouch, Kacchan. Please don’t destroy my floors.”

“This is a shitty apartment, Deku. One more scrape means nothing.”

“Hey, it’s still my apartment,” Izuku protests, fighting against a grin. “You can’t just destroy things and decide it fits in with the décor.”

“What, you gonna stop me?” Kacchan asks, leaning in with a competitive smirk. “Like you can.”

“I’ll stop you and make sure you fix everything,” Izuku promises, leaning in and just as competitive.

“I’ll beat you and then drag you over to my place so you stop worrying about this shithole. Your crippled ass can’t handle me right now, though, nerd.”

“I can take you,” Izuku says fiercely, just a second before he realizes how it can be interpreted and freezes.

The biggest leer Izuku has ever seen crosses over Kacchan’s face, and he can see him tonguing a sharp canine, extremely smug. “Oh?”

“Wait-” Izuku suddenly protests, waving a hand in front of him to stop it from escalating, but it’s too late.

Kacchan has leaned in, chest pressing against Izuku’s fluttering hand and forcing him back into his own chair. His red eyes are piercing, too knowing, and Izuku can’t look away, even as Kacchan leans further and further into his personal space.

He’s so close!

“You sure you can take me?” His voice is low, gets lower with every word.

“Well- I-” Izuku stutters.

“All of me?”

“Yes, I could- wait, no, that’s not what I meant, Kacchan! I-”

“Want to show me just how good you can-”

“No,” Mitsuki says, slapping Kacchan’s head with a wooden spoon and then Izuku’s in quick succession as she passes behind them. “Flirt later and not when we’re eating. Izuku, can you pass Masaru the water? Spray Katsuki with it first if you need to.”

Kacchan curses, leaning back out of Izuku’s space to rub a hand against his head petulantly. Izuku blushes so hard he can feel the heat radiating from his face, also rubbing the new sore spot on his head.

“R-right, sorry,” he says, refusing to look anybody in the eyes as he moves the pitcher across the table.

“Ah, youth,” All Might says, and Izuku wants to die.

“Cockblocker,” Kacchan mumbles, and then curses immediately after when Mitsuki chucks the spoon at him from across the room, hitting him directly in the forehead.

“What the fuck, hag?!”

“I heard that!”

“You were supposed to! And stop throwing shit at me!”

“Learn to catch and it won’t be a problem!”

“What the hell kind of advice is that?!”

“Oh, so you want my slipper instead?”

“Let’s start eating, shall we?” Masaru asks with a smile, far too used to the commotion. “Don’t forget your prescriptions, Izuku. Yagi, would you mind passing the gyoza?”

Izuku, eager to completely forget about that entire conversation and suddenly ravenous, swallows down his meds quickly and tucks into his food.

He had missed lunch, and the small breakfast the hospital had provided him with before he left wasn’t nearly enough. That, combined with eating food made by his mom, Masaru, and Kacchan? He's in heaven.

“Mom, guys,” he mumbles, mouth full, “this is so good. Thank you for the food.”

“It wasn’t all me, but I’m glad you like it,” she says, eating at a much calmer pace than Izuku. Kacchan is eating just as eagerly at his side, biting at Mitsuki’s hand when she tries to scoot his plate away from him in a futile attempt to make him slow down.

“Katsuki,” Masaru sighs. “At least sit up and stop hunching over your plate. You’re almost 25.”

“Get a metabolism like mine, and then we can talk,” he says, stuffing more chicken into his mouth.

“Don’t choke,” All Might teases, nudging Izuku’s glass of water closer to him. “There’s more than enough, my boy.”

“There’s two other heroes in the room,” Izuku says, swallowing his mouthful but pulling back a bit anyways. “I think I’ll be fine. Plus, I know how to Heimlich myself.”

“Izuku,” Inko says, trying not to laugh. “I’m not sure that’s the right mindset to have, but that’s good to know!”

“I ain’t doing shit if you start choking,” Kacchan says, turning in his seat to glare at Izuku. He jabs his chopsticks at him, a sliced cucumber hanging precariously from the tips as he emphasizes his point. “If you die choking on fucking chicken, I’ll kill you.”

“That’s a bit counter-intuitive,” Masaru chuckles.

Kacchan just shrugs. “His own fault if he wants to go out in such a lame way.”

“And I assume you’ll go out in an explosion?” Mitsuki mocks.

“Hell yeah. No other way,” Kacchan answers, completely serious. Izuku laughs at that, unable to stop even when Kacchan glares at him.

“If you die to an explosion, I’ll make fun of you at your funeral,” Izuku says, nudging Kacchan with his knee under the table. “King of explosions but gets bested by them? Not the greatest legacy, Kacchan. Here lies Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight. Death: Explosions. May he rest in his explosive fury for all eternity.”

“Oi, like you could do any better, cock-choker.”

“Katsuki,” Masaru sighs.

“Katsuki,” Mitsuki calls, a wide, mischievous grin slowly spreading while Izuku attempts to stomp on his foot under the table and misses. “A bit hypocritical, eh?”

Inko chokes, Masaru takes his glasses off, rubbing his temples, and All Might freezes for all of a single second before trying and failing to hide a smile behind his hand.

“You motherfucker-” Kacchan starts, shooting up from his seat. Mitsuki cackles, leaning against Masaru for balance while Izuku covers his face with his hand, dropping it onto the table to hide it even further.

“Ms. Mitsuki,” Izuku groans, muffled and barely heard under Kacchan’s swear.

“How about you both live to my age, hm?” All Might cuts in, laughing at them both.

Kacchan sits back down with a huff and throws his right arm over Izuku’s chair, slumping a bit.

“That’s boring as hell,” he grumbles, tugging Izuku’s red face up from the table and forcing his chopsticks into his hand. “I’ll kill anyone who tries to put me into a retirement home. Face off the table, idiot, and eat.”

“But the jell-o,” All Might jokingly protests, despite not being in a retirement home himself.

“Kacchan,” Izuku hisses, face still extremely red as he refuses to make eye contact with anybody at the table.

Kacchan just ignores him, grabbing his chopsticks with his left hand. He starts eating with too much ease considering he hasn’t had to practice eating with only one hand after breaking all the bones in either one of his hands repeatedly.

Izuku is ambidextrous by force, but Kacchan is probably ambidextrous because he saw Izuku do it one day and decided to do it better.

Which he did.

Jerk.

“Boring, maybe, but a better legacy than either of the ones you suggested,” Mitsuki says. She laughs when Kacchan sneers at her, sending a wink Izuku’s way. “Sorry boys.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kacchan grumbles, putting more food in his mouth so he doesn’t have to talk to his mom. Izuku does the same with a smile, but mostly just because he’s still hungry and Mitsuki’s already turned away.

“Speaking of legacies,” Mitsuki says, looking to All Might. “They said there’s another hero legacy starting at UA? Will we be seeing them at the sports festival? Last one was Todoroki, but that was a decade ago.”

“Ah, Young Kota! Yes, he applied for the hero course and was accepted! Young Izuku here knows him very well.”

“Kota made it in? That’s great!” Izuku exclaims, a wide grin taking over his face. He doesn’t catch himself leaning into Kacchan’s arm still atop his chair or the smile his mom sends his way at the movement.

“Oh? You know him, Izuku?” Mitsuki asks, turning towards him instead. Izuku eagerly answers, enjoying the good food and even better company surrounding him.

Kacchan cuts in sometimes, snarking answers here and there, but he mostly sits by Izuku’s side, quietly eating and occasionally filling Izuku’s plate with more food. He makes sure Izuku remembers to eat when he gets too distracted with talking.

Izuku can’t touch him with his left arm tied up and his right holding his chopsticks, so in exchange, Izuku hooks his ankle with Kacchan’s under the table, a bit nervous. Kacchan just tugs him closer, as if that’s anymore possible with their chairs lined up and thighs pressed together.

Kacchan keeps shoveling food into his mouth like nothing happened, but he looks calmer, content, and he occasionally tugs at their linked feet whenever Izuku says something he finds particularly interesting.

Izuku can’t stop smiling, even when it makes eating a little more difficult.

The conversation continues well into the evening until All Might concedes to the late hour first and then everyone else politely excuses themselves afterwards.

Izuku says goodbye and thanks to each of them one by one. He says goodbye to his mom last, softly closing the door after a heartfelt hug.

It’s late and Izuku is once again tired (he’s starting to notice a pattern), but he has one more person to tell goodnight.

He turns around and Kacchan is there watching him.

“You’re leaving, too, right?” Izuku asks.

He moves out of the entryway, stepping up from the genkan. It evens out their heights a little bit with Kacchan still standing on the lower floor, shoes back on.

He has his phone in his pocket and keys in hand, but no hoodie. Izuku doesn’t know where he put it, but he’s distracted from asking by the way Kacchan is looking at him.

It’s like he can’t, won’t look away from Izuku.

Kacchan hums in answer, tracing his eyes over him slowly, thoroughly. It feels like he’s devouring every inch he sees, and Izuku suppresses the smallest of shivers at the heated gaze.

“Did you have a good day?” Kacchan asks him.

“The best,” Izuku answers honestly, a wide smile taking over his face. This is the first time that coming home from the hospital has felt so smooth or so easy, let alone made him feel so light and happy as he is right now.

“Yeah?” Kacchan asks, finally smiling a little.

“Yeah.”

“Did you check your fridge?”

Izuku shakes his head. Kacchan steps closer to him, feet bumping the ledge but not stepping up.

“Your ma bought you groceries for the week. We made you some meals, too, for the first couple days. You should be set for food until you can handle moving around more.”

“Kacchan is amazing,” Izuku whispers, chest warm as he steps towards the edge, socked feet toeing the lip of the step. He reminds himself to call his mom later and to give her another big hug as soon as he can.

He has to tilt his head up now, just a touch, to keep eye contact with Kacchan.

“I know,” Kacchan answers back automatically, but the praise makes him a little bolder. “Can’t help it with you.”

Izuku doesn’t have to tilt his head as much. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Kacchan,” he breathes, feeling light as air and curling his toes on nothing.

Kacchan’s mouth twitches, like he’s holding back a wide smile.

“Deku,” he says, voice soft in the space between them. Their noses brush.

“Yeah?”

“You’re floating.”

“Oh,” Izuku says.

A beat, and then, “Oh,” as he realizes what Kacchan meant.

He drops back to the floor with a small thump, just barely wobbling on his feet.

Kacchan catches him, an arm around his waist that pulls him close to his chest. His hands slide down to grip Izuku’s hips, keeping him there once he steadies.

They’re close, just like before in his bedroom.

Izuku’s breath hitches. His right hand comes up, clutching the fabric at Kacchan’s waist, keeping him close just as much as Kacchan is to him.

“Sorry,” he whispers, unable to look away from Kacchan, eyes wide.

“S’cute,” Kacchan murmurs with a little shake of his head.

Izuku blushes.

“That’s cute, too,” Kacchan says, grin widening when Izuku makes a small sound, muffled behind his lips.

Izuku can feel his breath, soft puffs of air against his skin. Except now, in the stark light of the hallway and not the dimness of his bedroom, he can see the way Kacchan is staring at his lips, pupils blown wide despite the light. His gaze is unwavering, red eyes piercing.

He wets them, and Kacchan’s throat bobs.

“Deku,” he says, leaning in. “Izuku.”

“Yes?”

“Izuku,” he says again, a rough whisper of a sound, and Izuku closes his eyes.

Kacchan brushes the tips of their noses together. Izuku holds his breath, waiting.

Kacchan sighs, a little shaky, and Izuku can feel the heat radiating from him, feel him as he moves close, closer, not close enough.

“Izuku.”

A sudden, shrill sound and Izuku’s eyes fly open, meeting Kacchan’s own surprised ones.

Kacchan’s phone is ringing.

It stops for a moment, then keeps ringing.

Izuku’s chest deflates, all the tension seeping out of him with a tinge of disappointment. Kacchan sighs again, but this time it’s long and a little aggravated as he brings a hand up to rub between his eyebrows.

“Goddamn fucking cockblocking assholes,” Kacchan hisses, dropping his forehead onto Izuku’s and blowing out a harsh breath.

Izuku laughs, more of a wheeze than a sound, out of breath for some reason and entirely too conscious of how Kacchan’s hand had dropped immediately back to his waist. His other hand has wormed its way underneath the hem of his flannel, a thumb rubbing back and forth on bare skin and creating entirely too much and not enough friction.

Kacchan’s phone stops ringing, plunging them into silence, but after a few seconds it starts back up for another round.

“Fucking Christ.” He lightly rubs his forehead back and forth on Izuku’s, grinding them together in frustration. “I just want-”

He cuts himself off with grit teeth and a small growl, breathing in deeply.

“You should answer that,” Izuku says, smiling when Kacchan grumbles and squeezes his hands tighter.

He doesn’t look like he’s planning on stepping away or letting go anytime soon, resolutely ignoring the shrill sound of his phone.

So, Izuku presses up on his toes to take advantage of Kacchan’s lowered head. He brings his hand up, moving the blond hair back and pressing a quick, gentle kiss to his forehead, savoring the warmth he feels.

Izuku lingers for only a second, eyes closing when Kacchan sucks in a quick breath of air.

He steps back, eyes open and delighted to see that Kacchan has gone a little pink.

“Goodnight, Kacchan,” he says, and takes one of Kacchan’s hands in his as he completely steps back. He can’t look completely at Kacchan, going a little pink himself.

It's just a forehead kiss, one that Kacchan has given him every time he left the hospital at night. It was what Izuku found out was Kacchan’s way of promising to be there the next day because he would come back in the morning and kiss the exact same spot in greeting, whether Izuku was awake yet or not.

He thought he could return the affection smoothly, but alas, Izuku’s heart is trying its best to achieve the world record at fastest on command cardiac arrest. It’s not just Izuku affected by it, refusing eye contact, but also Kacchan who’s breathing just a bit too fast.

“Fuck,” Kacchan whispers, still staring at Izuku, hand clenching around Izuku’s just a little too tight. “Fuck.”

He shakes his head a little and straightens up.

“I’ll call you later,” Kacchan promises him, fingers coming up to grip Izuku’s jaw and force eye contact. “And I’m coming by tomorrow.”

Kacchan brings Izuku’s hand up to his mouth, kissing the palm with dry, smooth lips and not looking away. He does it once, twice, and then turns to the door and swings it open without another word. He walks out briskly, cursing under his breath as he fishes his phone out of his pocket with impatient, angry hands, so different from the way he had held Izuku.

The door shuts behind him, leaving Izuku alone in his entryway. The apartment is quiet now, not even Kacchan’s voice lingering behind.

“Okay, Kacchan,” Izuku whispers to himself, light as a feather and an even lighter smile crossing his face.

It takes a bit for Izuku to realize his feet aren’t touching the ground, giddily floating in the air as he replays those few minutes in his mind over and over again. It takes even longer for him to get back on the ground.

What is Kacchan doing to him?

-

Kacchan shows up the next day around noon like he had promised, insisting on eating lunch with Izuku. They’re at his small table, eating some of the food his mom made when Izuku notices Kacchan has stopped eating.

Curious, Izuku looks up at his next bite and then freezes, hand hanging in the air in front of his open mouth.

Kacchan is staring at him. Unabashedly staring. The ‘eyes narrowed and leaning forward’ kind of staring.

Izuku clears his throat, lowering his hand a little. “Um, yes?”

“You look like shit,” he says bluntly, leaning back but still squinting his eyes at Izuku. “But you’re… clean. Even your hair.”

“Thanks, Kacchan.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I know.”

“You showered?” Kacchan asks, resuming eating.

“Yeah, after my stretches. Wanted to finally wash the hospital off.”

Kacchan grunts, staring at him again. “So that’s why you’re tired? The stretches and then showering immediately after.”

Izuku pauses, lowers his hand all the way.

Kacchan has been here for maybe ten minutes? And he noticed that Izuku already feels worn out?

He didn’t even completely notice it himself until Kacchan said that, that he’s been a little quieter, a little slower while eating. He’s leaning more against the table than he usually does, holding his left arm tighter to his body.

And Kacchan noticed, just like that.

“Uh, yeah, actually. Or I guess it is,” Izuku says softly, letting go of his chopsticks so he can rub the back of his neck. “I was more tired than I realized I would be after stretching, and showering took… a long time. It was kind of a hassle.”

Kacchan looks at him, doesn’t say anything.

“It was harder than I thought it’d be to wash myself. Just, the areas by my shoulder, I guess,” Izuku admits after the silence stretches a bit too long, laughing awkwardly. He drops his hand back down into his lap, fingering the fraying hem of his shorts. “I had to take breaks when I was washing my hair, but it was alright. I’ll get used to it.”

His shoulder is still aching after all that, and he’s feeling the exhaustion Dr. Nakamura had warned him about, but he just has to keep doing it until he gets better. It sucks for now, but it’ll be better in the future.

Kacchan grunts, resumes eating. “Okay. You want me to wash your back next time?”

Izuku’s mouth drops open. “Wha- Kacchan, you can’t just offer something like that!”

“Why not?”

“Because- showering!”

Kacchan rolls his eyes at him, cutting him off. “It’s not that big of a deal, Deku. If you don’t want it, just tell me.”

Izuku frowns, a weird feeling squirming in his gut.

They had public baths at UA, so Izuku’s not embarrassed about being somewhat naked in front of Kacchan (or at least, he won’t admit to the small kernel of it, the embarrassment or the excitement of that idea). It’s only that Kacchan offered after he heard Izuku was having some trouble, and he’s not sure how that makes him feel.

“I can do it myself. I already did,” Izuku reminds, somewhat needlessly. “I’m not- I’m not helpless. I’m mostly healed; it’s just my shoulder.”

“I know that, dipshit.”

“So why-”

“I doubt you’d believe me if I said I’d shower with you if you weren’t injured, huh,” Kacchan muses to himself, pursing his lips when Izuku flushes a little.

“Well, maybe,” he concedes, face hot.

It’s hard to deny that, especially after everything Kacchan has done for him recently, but that’s the thing.

Kacchan has been doing so much for him lately, and it’s so different from how they normally were before everything that Izuku feels like he’s been left scrambling trying to catch up.

It doesn’t even feel as if all the things Kacchan is offering is because he doesn’t think Izuku can’t do it. It doesn’t feel like he’s invalidating or undermining what Izuku can and can’t do in consideration of his injuries.

In fact, Izuku is delighted that Kacchan is here, to have lunch with him, to spend time with him.

He just-

Izuku doesn’t completely get it, that Kacchan can be so quick to adjust himself and change how he acts around him when Izuku’s still reeling at the fact that he can hold hands with Kacchan. Just last night, it took him five minutes to hook his ankle with Kacchan’s under the table, and kissing Kacchan on the forehead almost felt like too much.

Everything Kacchan had said to him at the hospital feels more like a dream than something that actually happened. It feels so far removed from Izuku’s normal day-to-day experiences that he’s afraid he’ll blink awake and whatever it is they’ve become will vanish between breaths, become the remnants of a well-worn dream.

Izuku knows that when Kacchan looks at him now, grabs him to pull him closer, it’s for the same reason Izuku wants to hold his hand and stay by his side. He knows that but making himself believe it is incredibly difficult.

It just doesn’t feel real, tangible, like Izuku can reach out and Kacchan will really reach back, that even though before all this Kacchan would pick up at the first ring if it was Izuku calling him, would force Izuku to treat himself better, to work harder, would help bandage his wounds and make him meals, that Kacchan will do the same things now.

Except he is, and more.

And it feels too good, too unbearably close to things Izuku has wanted for years now. Maybe Kacchan is doing it because he thinks he owes Izuku, or because it’s what he thinks he should do. And Izuku would rather have none of this than to find out Kacchan is making himself stay with Izuku because he ‘owes’ him.

He feels so unbearably new at this, and he doesn’t want to make any mistakes, doesn’t want Kacchan to change his mind or decide Izuku isn’t worth the effort. He doesn’t want Kacchan to get tired of him when it’s so early in their relationship.

He doesn’t want Kacchan to regret everything he said and did for Izuku, to regret them.

“I’m not- You don’t have to stay and do all this, make yourself help me or- I don’t-”

Izuku huffs, frustrated he can’t find the right way to explain himself.

“I know you’re being put back on patrol tonight and that you’re busy and stuff. I can take care of myself,” he finally says. “I can handle a shower.”

“Oi, oi, oi, where the hell is all this coming from?” Kacchan asks, eyes wide and tone incredulous. He seems a little offended. “What, you don’t want me around?”

Izuku shakes his head, lips pressed tightly together.

“Then what’s the issue?”

Izuku stares down at his lap, clenching his fist under the table.

These are worries he’s always had, even before, when he could only imagine being with Kacchan, but they feel heavier, real, especially now that Izuku is going to spend most of his time healing and getting back to his normal strength instead of focusing on their new relationship like he wants to.

“Deku,” Kacchan calls for his attention.

Izuku peeks up at him, grimacing. This probably came out of left field to Kacchan considering how straightforward he is when approaching anything.

He raises an eyebrow, waiting, and Izuku gives him an awkward shrug of his shoulders back.

It’s silent, only the distant sounds of the refrigerator humming and his small air purifier at work padding the space between them as Kacchan stares him down.

Finally, he sighs, briefly closing his eyes before opening them back up to give Izuku a strange look.

Kacchan deliberately sets his chopsticks down with forced patience and shoves his chair back. Placing his hands on the sides of his seat, he starts to scoot his chair across the room and around the table by jerking forwards with his shoulders and digging his heels into the floor.

In the quiet, the sound of the chair legs squeaking and scratching against the floor is excruciatingly loud.

Izuku has to suppress a twitch of his lips.

“You’re a moron, you know that?” Kacchan says, like he’s making normal conversation and not doing whatever it is he’s doing.

He’s moving at a decent pace, but he looks so, so- absurd, that all the thoughts in Izuku’s head are slowly slipping away the harder he tries to suppress his laughter.

Since they became Pros, even since high school, Kacchan has moved with what seemed like innate grace blessing every step. This is anything but that and Izuku can’t quite handle it.

“Got a head as big as your ass and you use it for shit like this,” he mutters, eyes narrowing when Izuku winces at the sounds. He scoots even more obnoxiously loud at that, swinging his legs to propel him forward faster instead of using them to drag himself forward like a normal person.

“My floor,” Izuku protests, but he’s smiling now because that is exactly the kind of pettiness he would expect from Kacchan.

“Shut up.”

Another squeak, and the chair skids a little this time.

They make eye contact.

Kacchan scoots forward again, and the sound is even louder, the legs jumping against the floor.

Izuku breaks first.

“Kacchan,” Izuku laughs. “My floor.”

“I said shut up,” Kacchan insists, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Kacchan, you can walk, you have legs.”

His half-hearted protest is drowned out by the squeaking noise. Kacchan is just an arm’s length away now, and Izuku laughs harder.

“Shut. Up.” He glares at Izuku, face twisting into a scowl. “I know what I’m doing.”

But he’s still gripping the undersides of the chair, staring at Izuku with the kind of concentration he usually reserves for the field, and Izuku can’t stop laughing at the awkward sounds combined with the ridiculous movements.

Kacchan finally gets to where Izuku is still sitting in front of his food, and the sounds finally stop.

He can’t smother his snickers, even when Kacchan forcibly scoots Izuku’s chair out from under the table and turns it to face him. He pulls until Izuku’s knees are pressed against Kacchan’s chair and Kacchan’s legs are spread to bracket the sides of Izuku’s and his chair.

“Kacchan,” he says, a little wheezy, completely forgetting what he was worrying about before. “What are you doing?”

Kacchan doesn’t hesitate to show him, grabbing Izuku’s face in his hands and yanking him forwards until he’s leaning in. He demands Izuku’s undivided attention and Izuku gives it, unable to deny him.

“I’m not making myself stay here out of some weird civic duty, polite manners, or whatever other weird shit you’ve thought of in your head. And I’m not saying or doing this shit because I think I have to make up for all the shit that happened when the fucking building fell on us. I’m here for all the same reasons I told you when you first woke up. I’m here because I want to be. I’m here because I want to take care of you. You need me to say it again?”

Izuku’s mirth vanishes in an instant, mouth working soundlessly at the sudden reminder of their conversation and this blunt declaration.

At Izuku’s lack of reaction, Kacchan clicks his tongue against his teeth, pressing his palms into Izuku’s cheeks until they’re squishing together and puckering his mouth.

“I want to take care of you,” he says loudly, shaking Izuku’s head back and forth on each word and enunciating them slowly to let them sink in. Kacchan stops and loosens the pressure of his palms, but he keeps Izuku’s face up, not letting him look away. “So lemme take care of you.”

“But-”

“No. Listen.”

“Kacchan-”

“Shut up.”

“But I-”

“I. Want. To. Take. Care. Of. You. You. Ass. Hole.”

He lets it sit, eyes bouncing around Izuku’s face to watch for his reaction. When his eyes widen as the words finally register, Kacchan sits back a little, hands pressing less forcefully.

“Kacchan,” Izuku says, voice warbly.

“No crying,” Kacchan says immediately, squishing Izuku’s face again until he’s having a little trouble breathing. “You can’t cry, you already spilled over your crying quota yesterday.”

“But that’s not fair,” Izuku whines, his hand coming up to hold Kacchan’s wrist. “Kacchan is being so nice, I can’t help it.”

“Suck it up, loser.”

Izuku scrunches his nose, preparing to take a big breath in through his nostrils. Kacchan immediately squishes his cheeks again.

“Not like that, you degenerate ,” he scolds, wrinkling his own nose in disgust. “I hear for even a second any suckage from your nose, I'll blast your head off."

Izuku drops the act, laughing wetly.

“Kacchan is too good to me.”

“Who said that? I’ll beat their ass.”

“I said that – think that.”

“I’ll beat your ass, then.”

“Kacchan!”

“You’re not safe from these hands, Deku.”

But Izuku immediately shakes his head at that, softly to not dislodge Kacchan. He smiles, leaning into one of his palms and cupping the back of Kacchan’s hand to hold it against his cheek even tighter. “I think this is the safest I’ll ever be, actually.”

One of his favorite places to be, as Izuku came to learn over his stay at the hospital.

“You fucker,” Kacchan says, eyes widening and pupils dilating before he narrows them, as if to hide his reaction. “Just for that, I’m stealing your flannel.”

“Hey! You can’t just take my clothes!” Izuku protests, back straightening. “And it won’t even fit you, you’ll pop all the buttons and stretch the shoulders!”

“Like hell I can’t, you damned hypocrite,” Kacchan says, sliding his free hand back to tug meanly at Izuku’s hair. Fair, since Izuku is literally wearing the hoodie Kacchan forgot last night. “What’s yours is mine and all that. I’ll wear it if I want.”

His mouth gapes, voice becoming a little high. “That’s- that’s for marriage!”

“So?”

Izuku stares at him, unable to handle the implication.

“Close your mouth.”

His mouth snaps shut.

“Deku,” Kacchan says, increasing the pressure of his palm until Izuku leans forward and Kacchan can press their foreheads together. “You can get help even when you don’t need it, especially from me. You deserve to rest. You deserve to be taken care of until you’re back out there.”

“Only until I’m back on shift? Until I’m back to normal?” Izuku asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Kacchan shakes his head, rubbing against Izuku’s.

“For as long as I can. Until you get annoyed by how fucking great I am, and even then, I’ll be on your ass like white on rice.”

“I might want you around for a long time.”

“So?”

“You’ll get tired of me. I’ve never done this before. I need a lot of work and care.”

“I’ve never done this shit either, Deku, but I’ve been putting up with your ass since we were kids. Ain’t nothing new, numbnuts.”

“I want you with me all the time, Kacchan. I feel selfish,” Izuku confesses, quietly, but he just snorts at his words.

“And? Be selfish because I know I’m doing everything to make you mine. This isn’t one-sided, Deku. I want you with me all the time, too, so you better make sure you don’t let go of me either.”

“I-”

Izuku hesitates. His eyes dart down and away, and Kacchan immediately shakes his face until Izuku’s looking back at him.

“Stop trying to run me off, Deku,” he says, frowning. “It’s never gonna fuckin’ happen.”

Izuku leans back as far as Kacchan allows him, taking in a sharp breath.

Is that what he’s doing? Trying to convince Kacchan to leave?

He hadn’t even realized, but with these protests it’s basically all he’s doing.

His stomach churns, guilt immediately setting in. Everything feels so unfamiliar right now, like it’s too good to be true to the point that he can’t help but push and see if it actually is too good, but he doesn’t want to at the risk of losing Kacchan; never at the risk of losing him.

He shakes his head, hand moving until he can grip Kacchan’s wrist tight.

“No,” Izuku says, voice firm as he shakes his head again. “I don’t want you to go.”

“Then I won’t. There. Problem solved.”

Hands tug at Izuku’s jaw, pulling him back in. Kacchan is smirking, staring down at him with all the confidence in the world, red eyes glinting. “You looking down on me, nerd? Think I can’t handle your whiny ass?”

“Never.”

“Good. I’ll take care of you, you’ll see. It’s only been a few days. Don’t rush.”

“But Kacchan is going so fast,” Izuku admits, shifting a little nervously in his chair. “It doesn’t feel real.”

“Then tell me when I go too fast. Tell me when you need to think or to sit or if you wanna talk out every big-ass thought in that big-ass head of yours,” Kacchan demands, his confidence reassuring. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay,” Izuku promises. “Can you slow down? Everything?”

“Yeah.”

“Not for long, just until…”

Izuku needs to sit with this a little more. And with the way Kacchan is acting, is treating Izuku, he doesn’t think it’ll take much longer for his mind to catch up with his heart and see that just because he’s not in the hospital anymore that this will all vanish like smoke.

“Until you realize this isn’t some nerdy wet dream?” Kacchan offers, smirking at him. “I know, I’m so fucking great and hot and everything you ever dreamed of.”

“Kacchan,” Izuku whines, leaning forward and dropping his forehead onto his chest. He, very noticeably, does not deny anything Kacchan said. “You’re mean.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismisses. He slips his hand into Izuku’s hair, resting it firmly against his head and holding him tighter. "Get fucking used to it."

Izuku hums, shoulders relaxing.

“Sorry for interrupting lunch,” he says against Kacchan’s chest, words muffled.

He presses deeper, humming again. God, Kacchan’s chest is so soft and comfortable. Izuku thinks he wants to take his post-lunch nap just like this.

“Stop trying to suffocate yourself and I’ll consider accepting that dumb apology,” Kacchan says, a little disgruntled.

“But Kacchan’s chest is the best.”

“You’re a fucking weirdo, you know that?”

“You tell me all the time, so yeah.”

“Good.”

“Very good,” Izuku agrees. Kacchan still smells so good, and his other arm has come up to rest gently on Izuku’s back, so now he can’t be bothered to even try and think of leaving.

“Hey,” Kacchan says.

“Hm?”

“Your hair’s turning white.”

“What?!”

Izuku shoots up, smacking his head against Kacchan’s chin. Pain blooms immediately and he groans, dropping back down against his chest.

Kacchan swears above him, removing his hand from Izuku’s hair to rub against his jaw.

“Deku, what the fuck!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Izuku apologizes, sitting up more carefully this time. “It’s just- you said- white?”

“Yeah,” Kacchan grumbles, glowering at him and still rubbing at his chin. Izuku winces, reaching for him.

“Here, let me see,” he says, bringing his hand up to replace Kacchan’s, rubbing against the red mark on his chin in apology.

His skin is soft, stubbly; Kacchan hasn’t shaved in a bit, it seems. Izuku hasn’t even bothered to try with as tired as he was after showering, but his facial hair also doesn’t grow as fast as Kacchan’s does.

Izuku gets so lost in rubbing his hand back and forth against his jaw that when Kacchan suddenly dives forward, snapping his teeth at him, he shrieks, flinching back.

“Kacchan!” he exclaims, pressing his hand against his heart as if he can stop the sudden galloping pace it took up.

Kacchan cackles, grabbing Izuku’s hand and prying it away from his chest. He boldly places it back on his jaw, smirking down at him.

“You were feeling me up so confidently before, nerd, what’s stopping you?” he asks, harshly rubbing Izuku’s hand back and forth against the coarse hairs.

“Ow, ow, ow, okay, okay, I’m sorry!” Izuku concedes when he can feel his hand start to burn.

Kacchan stops once Izuku takes his hand away with a glare, but he doesn’t look apologetic in the slightest. He matches it with a smug grin, not letting go of his hand even when he rests it back on his lap.

“What, you don’t like it?”

“My hair, Kacchan. What did you mean by my hair,” Izuku sighs, settling their hands more comfortably against his legs.

Kacchan just shrugs, moving his free hand back to Izuku’s hair, pressing his fingertips to the hairline and slowly sliding them back. “Exactly what I said. A lot of your roots are coming in white. Check for yourself if you want.”

“White? Really?” Izuku asks, more from the absurdity than the belief that Kacchan would lie about this.

He can’t help the slight shudder that travels down his spine at the slow feel of Kacchan’s fingernails gliding over his scalp, or the wave of goosebumps over his arms. Kacchan sends him an unreadable look before doing it again, moving his hand over to scratch a different part.

Izuku melts into the motion, putty in his hands.

“Yeah. Looks kinda sick, actually.”

Izuku hums, looking up Kacchan with lidded eyes. He is extremely content with their current arrangement, and he leans further into the soothing touch.

Kacchan is still studying his hair, eyes trained to where his fingers move back and forth. That’s where it is, Izuku assumes, his new white hair.

“Stress hairs from talking to you?” he teases.

“No,” Kacchan immediately rebukes, bonking Izuku’s head and ruining the trance he had put him in. “The stress from holding the building, dweeb. I’m the greatest thing to happen to you and it better stay that way. You get stress hairs from me, I’ll kill you.”

“Of course,” Izuku laughs.

Kacchan makes a dismissive sound, putting his hands back into his hair. It’s almost like he can’t stop touching it.

Izuku really does wonder what it looks like now, what it’ll look like in a few weeks when it’s more pronounced. Of all the things that happened to Izuku from holding the building, this one is the most harmless yet weirdest one by far.

White hair, huh? Maybe it’s permanent, or maybe it’ll fade out in a few months.

“Think this is my quirk, finally manifesting? My extra toe joint was just a ruse all along.” Izuku wiggles his eyebrows conspiratorially.

Kacchan snickers, dropping his eyes down to meet Izuku’s. They crinkle at the corners, his teeth glinting from his smile. “If it is, it has the stupidest activation requirements ever.”

“Yeah,” Izuku says quietly, struck dumb by the sight. “It’d be pretty stupid.”

Kacchan looks back up, going silent. His hands have stilled, and he’s staring too hard at Izuku’s head for him to be contemplating his fake “real” quirk.

“What is it?” Izuku asks, back straightening.

Kacchan’s eyebrows raise at the quiet question, before sighing deeply out his nose. His hand moves to trace around the healing cut on Izuku’s face, light as a feather as he drags two fingers around the scabs and tight skin.

“You have another thing to remind you. I’ve got nothing. My costume is already repaired, and I got my new gauntlets yesterday. Not even that bitch of a head wound left something.”

“Not true,” Izuku denies, letting go of Kacchan’s hand to reach up and run it through pale blond hair to the shaved back.

It’s not as short as it was when he first woke up and Kacchan was still wearing his bandages. Now, the hairs are long enough to hide the tone of Kacchan’s scalp but still short enough that it feels extremely satisfying to run his hand back and forth across them.

“Your hair is much shorter now. That’s something,” he offers. And Izuku likes it a lot. A little too much, really.

They had cut the back of Kacchan’s hair to get better access to the wound, Masaru had told him when he asked about the new hairstyle. Mitsuki had evened everything out afterwards so Kacchan wouldn’t have a big bald spot on the back of his head.

Now his hair is closer to an undercut than what it was before with the undersides shorn and the rest cut to match. The top is maybe an inch, one and a half inches long, but even this short it doesn’t stop Kacchan’s hair from sticking up everywhere, spikes reaching in every direction.

Gone is the explosive blond halo of hair from before, and in its place a much more mature looking Kacchan, his forehead and ears visible, every expression available for Izuku’s pleasure.

He’s never seen Kacchan with this hairstyle, not even when they were little.

Kacchan is a very consistent person: when he finds something he likes, he sticks with it until he either can’t, or he finds something better.

He’s sort of excited to see what Kacchan looks like in his costume now.

Izuku rubs his hand back and forth, enjoying the smooth glide between his calloused fingers. He can just only feel the slight raise of a scar, small and inconspicuous enough to not be seen from a distance.

Izuku’s glad.

Kacchan rolls his eyes, scoffing as he drops both hands to Izuku’s knees, warm fingers sneaking past where the hem of his shorts rest before stilling. “Not what I meant.”

Izuku hums, studying his face. This is bothering Kacchan more than it seems.

“Kacchan,” Izuku says, tugging until Kacchan looks at him. “If you had any more reminders than your hair or this small scar, it would mean I had failed.”

“Deku-”

“I held up everything to protect you, even though I know you don’t like being reminded,” Izuku interrupts, adamant Kacchan understands this. “I held it up for you. For you, Kacchan. Who else would I hold a building for?”

Kacchan gives him a look, voice coming out deadpan as he starts listing names.

“Your ma, All Might, my parents, Sensei, Eri, fucking Half and Half, Glasses, Round Face, Shitty Hair, Wonder Boy Tin-Tin, that fucking weirdo on the corner of the street that stares at you whenever we get ramen, the fucking feral cat you’re always trying to feed, that one grandma at the store, fucking Ms. Kiryu or whatever the fuck her name is, even the fucking-”

“Okay, okay,” Izuku laughs, moving to cover Kacchan’s mouth with his palm.

He glares at Izuku for interrupting him, so he shifts to cup Kacchan’s face instead, sliding back just enough for his fingertips to rest in his hair.

“That’s true, and I won’t lie and say I wouldn’t because we both know better,” Izuku starts. Kacchan just scoffs, muttering something under his breath that Izuku decides to ignore. “But Kacchan, I could never have survived if I didn’t catch the ceiling when it first fell. It would hurt, undeniably and excruciatingly if any of those people and more were injured, but you?”

Izuku can only shake his head, voice caught in his throat at being reminded of the fact that he did have to face that possibility, that for a good couple of minutes Izuku lived with the uncertainty and the pressing weight that he had failed to protect Kacchan.

His eyes burn, but he sniffs and holds them back so he can get it into Kacchan’s head that he’s just as important to Izuku as he seems to be to Kacchan.

“Kacchan, I would have died right there with you. Don’t you understand? They may be worth my life, but you’re worth it and more. Losing you would break me like nothing else. A reality without you is not one that I’m willing to consider. I just want you. I know it might be selfish, but I just want to spend all my time with you, and no one else. So, I’m glad this is all you have as reminder because it’s more than enough for me.”

Kacchan stares back at him, red eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. His hands spasm where they hold Izuku and then squeeze tighter, like he’s quelling an urge.

It’s quiet apart from their breaths echoing back and forth between them before Kacchan suddenly groans, dropping his head to Izuku’s uninjured shoulder and sliding his hands up to grip at Izuku’s hips fiercely.

He presses almost too tight, as if he needs an anchor, and digs his forehead in hard like he’s trying to meld them both together.

“No,” Kacchan says, words muffled but strong. “You deserve to be selfish, but you’re not selfish for that because I’m already here with you, Deku. You can’t be selfish for something you already have. Like I said: this isn’t one sided, Deku.”

“I’m starting to really realize that, now.”

“Fucking finally.”

“Sorry.”

“Hmph.”

Izuku slows the motion of his hand until he’s resting it on the back of Kacchan’s neck. He holds him steady against his shoulder, thumb rubbing back and forth on warm skin.

“Still,” Kacchan mutters, petulant, after a length. “Not enough.”

“I like it,” Izuku easily admits, smiling to himself.

“I know. You haven’t stopped petting me like a goddamn dog.”

He’s touching Kacchan just like he was touching Izuku, but he doesn’t mention the parallel.

“You want me to stop?” he offers.

Kacchan grunts, but decidedly says nothing.

Izuku bends down, hiding his smile as he presses his own forehead to Kacchan’s shoulder.

“Okay,” he whispers. “And I’ll call you if the next time I shower I feel more tired than usual, but only if you’re free, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Kacchan’s hands loosen, sliding back to grip more comfortably on the outside of Izuku’s thighs, and Izuku tugs at Kacchan’s head until his face is pressed firmly against his neck, each breath slightly tickling his skin.

They don’t move away or readjust further. They sit there, long enough for their food to go cold and their backs to ache, for the sun to get closer to the horizon and for their breaths to match completely, a time made inestimable by simply holding each other.

Eventually, Izuku grows tired, thumb slowing to a stop and chest expanding deeply with each breath, so Kacchan moves them to his small couch, arranging them both so Izuku can sleep uninterrupted on his chest.

Not once does he let go of Izuku.

It’s a good sleep.

-

Izuku can’t sleep.

He doesn’t know if it’s a side-effect of his medications, the lingering feelings of a nightmare he can’t recall, or the restlessness from having too much energy gone unused, but Izuku can’t sleep.

He was, before, but not nearly long enough for it to count more than a very tiny, very miniscule, and ineffective nap.

It’s extremely late, or extremely early, depending on how he looks at it. Late enough that as he walks in a slow circuit around his living room and checks his phone periodically to watch how slow time ticks past, he’s less surprised than he should be to realize he’s been pacing for an hour already.

That doesn’t even take into account the time he spent staring at his ceiling in his bed, decidedly not sleeping.

Crap.

Izuku drops down onto his couch with a sigh, leaning his head back against the cushions and pulling the drawstrings to Kacchan’s hoodie tighter until only his nose and mouth are uncovered.

Maybe if his eyes don’t have the option of opening, he’ll pass out sooner than later.

He sighs again, letting his hand hang from the strings and pull them tighter.

He’s so tired, but no matter what he tries, he can’t sleep. He’s given up on it, at this point. At least the sunrise will be pretty.

Izuku wishes that whatever spirit possessed him the other night that allowed him to pass out as soon as his head touched his pillow would come back. Or maybe he should ask his mom if she has melatonin instead of a possession.

His phone buzzes, interrupting his thoughts.

He stretches the hood to uncover his face and look at it without removing it completely from his head. Dropping his chin down into the collar, he breathes in the lingering, familiar scent of sweet smoke and faint cologne, relaxing the slightest bit as he looks at the notification with heavy eyes.

Too bad he can’t bottle this scent for whenever he needs it.

The notification is nothing important, but as Izuku swipes it away, it does draw his attention back to the time. Barely ten minutes have passed.

He groans quietly, staring blankly as the numbers turn over into a new hour.

Wait.

Izuku sits up a little, bringing his phone closer to his face so he can squint at the numbers to actually read them this time and then slumps back against his couch, groaning louder than before.

Kacchan should be just about done with his shift, getting ready to go home, which means Izuku has truly been up for so long that at this point Kacchan will likely go to sleep before him.

All Might help him.

He looks back down at where his phone rests in his hand on his lap, brain whirring far too fast considering the hour. He stares at the messaging icon, thumbing a crack in the screen as a truly bad idea gets louder and louder the longer he stares.

It wouldn’t hurt, right?

It’s not like Kacchan checks his phone until he gets home, and he should still be at the agency right now. He blames the sleep deprivation for the speed in which he opens the app and pulls up the chat.

Izuku
Have a safe trip home, Kacchan!
Thank you for all your hard work today!

Maybe Iida will be awake, Izuku muses, exiting their chat to thumb through his recent messages. As far as he remembers, Iida still gets up absurdly early to get a run in before his day starts. He’ll probably be available to talk a little.

But before Izuku even gets a chance to scroll past the first few names, his phone buzzes.

Kacchan
oi
why tf are you awake

Oh.

Kacchan replied. Immediately.

Izuku stares at his phone, more shocked than he should be. He accidentally hits the home button and jumps a little when his phone buzzes twice in quick succession. Kacchan’s name glares at him from the screen.

Kacchan
answer me
Deku

There’s no point in telling Kacchan anything but the truth. He can usually tell when Izuku’s hiding something, even over text.

Izuku
Sorry, Kacchan
Can’t sleep

Kacchan
how long

Izuku
?

Kacchan
how long have you been awake

Izuku
A few hours
But just a few

Kacchan
alright
I’m heading over

Izuku stares at his phone, bug-eyed.

Heading over? As in to Izuku’s place?

Now?!

It’s four in the morning and Kacchan is working tomorrow, too!

Izuku
Kacchan, you don’t need to!

Kacchan
Deku

Izuku
I’ll be fine

Kacchan
oi

Izuku
And you have a late shift tmrw, too!

Kacchan
hey

Izuku
Yeah?

Kacchan
do you want me to come over

Izuku
What

Kacchan
do you want
me
to come
over

Izuku
…
Please

Kacchan
omw

What feels like barely a few minutes later Izuku is opening his door, still partially surprised to see Kacchan standing before him in his stripped down suit.

He stands under the porch light, mask pushed up to his forehead, and (Izuku notes this with hidden delight) a flannel stretching over the tired slump to his shoulders, unbuttoned and open over his torso. It’s undeniably Izuku’s because the second to last button is missing and the collar has the permanent wrinkle on the right side still.

Kacchan has taken off all his gear, leaving him in his tank-top under the flannel and baggy pants, a few belts still attached. His boots are undone and slack at the top, a duffel bag held loosely in gloveless hands bumping gently against them.

Izuku was right. Kacchan’s short hair looks good (more than good) with his costume, incomplete as it is.

Even tired and disassembled, Dynamight is still a sight.

Kacchan raises an eyebrow, smirking a little.

“Gonna let me in?” he asks. His voice is low, mindful of the hour, the slightest bit raspy from all the yelling Izuku knows he’s done for the past couple of hours.

“Right, yeah, come in,” Izuku says, moving to the side and ducking his chin a little as he realizes he had opened the door and stared at Kacchan without saying anything.

Kacchan kicks off his shoes as soon as Izuku closes the door. His bag drops with a quiet thump to the floor and his mask soon follows, landing lightly on top of the handles.

When Izuku turns back around, he realizes Kacchan is waiting for him, one slipper-less foot resting on the step up from the genkan.

“C’mere, nerd,” he says, reaching a hand out.

Izuku takes it, following as Kacchan pulls him closer.

His other hand comes up to drag his thumb across the bags under Izuku’s eyes. He follows the motion through to thumb gently up and over the bandage Izuku had put over his cut when he first got ready for bed.

It’s been hours, and Izuku probably should’ve taken it off to let the wound breathe since he wasn’t going to be rolling around on his face in his sleep like he thought he would, but he’s too lazy to do it now.

Kacchan’s nail catches on the edge of the adhesive, lightly picking at it for a second as he studies Izuku’s face, before moving back to rest his palm firmly over his cheek. He makes a low sound in his throat, dissatisfied.

“Alright. Couch,” Kacchan finally says, dropping his hand and turning around.

“Couch?” Izuku repeats.

“Yeah,” is all he answers with, leading Izuku to his own living room with slightly dragging steps, sweaty hand still holding his.

Kacchan is tired, more tired than he seems, but his hold is firm.

Once they stop in front of the couch, he lightly pushes at Izuku’s shoulders until he’s falling backwards and letting go of Kacchan’s hand, dropping with a slight oomph onto the left corner cushions.

Kacchan drops onto the other end of the couch, and Izuku wants to protest the distance between them when he suddenly tips over, heavy head landing in Izuku’s lap.

With a deep, satisfying sigh, he deflates, adjusting a little so he can look up at Izuku, shoulders pressing against his thigh. Kacchan has one foot on the floor for support, too big and too tall to fit completely on Izuku’s couch without rolling off, and his other leg stretches over the other end, big hands settled on his torso.

“Hey,” Kacchan says, gaze tired but keen.

Izuku blinks down at him, hand hovering in the air for a second as he takes in the new seating arrangement.

Well, then.

He ignores the slow-spreading warmth in his chest at the trust Kacchan is displaying to instead shift his thighs so that he’s settled more easily against him.

“Hi,” Izuku whispers with a small smile. He haltingly, slowly, moves his right arm across Kacchan’s chest to place his hand on the side of his head, pressing the curve of his skull into his palm and holding the weight.

The strands are still a little sweaty, but Izuku couldn't care less, his fingers moving back and forth through them. They’ve both seen each other covered in vomit, blood, weird quirk substances, and other bodily fluids more times than he can count.

Sweaty Kacchan is a normal Kacchan.

“Tired?” Izuku asks, still whispering.

Kacchan shrugs, sighing again. He moves his hand to hold Izuku’s forearm to his chest tighter, thumb moving idly. “Eh, it’s the shitty nightshift. Ends next week. You?”

Izuku shrugs back, unable to stop his hand from moving to Kacchan’s somewhat dirty temple and brushing back hair that no longer needs to be brushed back given the shorter length. Kacchan deflates even more, shoulders relaxing.

Kacchan’s eyes close for a long second, letting Izuku’s touch settle him, before opening to stare up at him.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks.

Izuku shrugs again, leaning a little farther over Kacchan and shaking his head to clear his face of the few strands of hair that had fallen with his movement. He smiles when the loose drawstrings dance over Kacchan’s face and his nose scrunches up at the light, teasing brushes.

“Don’t know,” Izuku answers, shaking his head again but on purpose this time.

Kacchan scowls and let’s go of Izuku’s arm to reach up. He grabs the drawstrings and yanks them, pulling until Izuku’s hoodie is drawn too tight and too far over his face. He pulls until it’s covering everything but his nose and mouth, thankfully without catching onto his bandage.

“Wha-?!” Izuku yelps, vision going dark and head jerking down with how hard Kacchan is yanking on the drawstrings.

“Dickhead,” Kacchan insults, unprompted and still tugging.

“Kacchan,” Izuku laughs, pulling backwards. It only draws tighter, the hoodie digging against the bridge of his nose and under his chin. “What are you doing?”

“Are you tired?”

“I can’t see,” Izuku says instead, still laughing. If he was any bit tired before, he’s definitely not now.

“Stop dodging the question. Forget how to use your mouth?”

“No?”

“Is that a question?”

“Kacchan!”

“What.”

“Can I please see now?”

“Can you talk?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“Kacchan.”

“Dodging the question.”

“I’m not dodging anyth-”

“Is that an answer?”

“Kaccha-”

“Are you tired?”

Izuku stops pulling back, sighing heavily.

He moves his hand from Kacchan’s forehead to his eyes, ignoring the annoyed sound Kacchan lets out now that he can’t see either.

“Now we’re even,” Izuku says.

“No, now we look like two fucking idiots covering each other’s eyes in the dark. Dumbass.”

That startles a laugh out of Izuku, and he bends over Kacchan’s head until he can feel it pressed against his stomach. He moves his hand away so he can press his covered forehead to Kacchan’s temple instead, lightly grinding them together with each bounce of his shoulders.

The hoodie digs into his smiling cheeks, and even through the fabric, he can feel the heat of Kacchan’s forehead on his own.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“I’m always right. Idiot,” Kacchan mutters back, finally letting go of the drawstrings so Izuku can pull the hoodie from over his face as he moves back.

He opens his eyes, and his vision is filled with red – red and red and only red staring right back up at him.

Izuku can count the individual lashes on Kacchan’s eyes, can see the faint veins at the corner of his eyes that belies his exhaustion, can see his own wide eyes and flushed cheeks reflected dimly in Kacchan’s pupil.

His breaths pass with centuries living in between, his only focus on Kacchan, his Kacchan, in his lap, looking up at him with eyes Izuku has known since he was a child.

“-ku? Don’t ignore me, fucker,” he hears.

Izuku shakes his head, trying to hide the tremble of anticipation in his fingers by pressing them tighter to Kacchan’s head, clenching his other fist in the sling and pressing it closer against his ribs. He can feel his heart hammering away at his ribcage, as eager as the rest of Izuku to get closer.

“Yeah?” he asks, clearing his throat when it comes out too breathless.

Izuku hasn’t blinked yet, focusing on the furrow in Kacchan’s brow and the curl of a sneer shaping his lips.

He wants to lean even closer.

“I asked if you had shitty dreams, but just for that-” Kacchan starts, and then he abruptly pulls the drawstrings again. This time he uses both hands and draws the hoodie completely over Izuku’s face until there’s only a small opening left.

Izuku yelps as his vision suddenly goes dark for a second time.

The harsh tug jerks both Izuku’s head and his thoughts from the path they were taking, distracting him completely. He can feel a weird, fluttering pressure on his face, especially over his nose and mouth, before he has a chance to properly react.

“Kacchan!” Izuku protests, blindly flinging his hand out to grab ahold of one of Kacchan’s forearms and then following it up to pull futilely at his wrist. “I just got out!”

Kacchan’s fingers move deftly while avoiding Izuku’s grasping hand, doing something with the drawstrings. It’s not until Kacchan exhales a satisfied, Keh, under his breath and draws his hands away that Izuku realizes what he’s done.

“Kacchan!” Izuku gasps again, voice muffled and feeling his own breath warm his face. He gets barely a second to feel at the weird shape made with the drawstrings before calloused fingers are grabbing his hand and wrist, trapping them between two large hands. “Kacchan, did you tie it?!”

Kacchan cackles at him, completely, wholly, and remorselessly unapologetic for his actions or the satisfaction he’s taking from Izuku’s suffering.

“Kacchaaaannnnnn,” Izuku draws out in a slight whine, straining back into the couch for leverage as he tries to pull his hand away from Kacchan’s. His thighs lift up from the couch while he plants his feet, but that just makes Kacchan dig his head in, forcing Izuku to stay seated. “Kacchan, seriously?! You tied it?! Why!”

“You look good like this,” Kacchan mocks in between wheezes, adjusting his grip so that Izuku’s hand is now pressed to the firm muscles of Kacchan’s stomach, trapping it there. “With a bag over your head and a semi-functioning muzzle. Should make this your everyday look.”

Izuku stops struggling, gasping again but with great offense this time.

He sits back up to stare down at where Kacchan should still be in his lap, and digs his fingers into his stomach, feeling petty satisfaction at the reflexive jerk of Kacchan’s shoulders in his lap.

“Oi, don’t fucking poke me.”

“Are you saying I need a bag over my head? That I’m ugly, Kacchan?”

“Yes,” Kacchan replies immediately, and Izuku can hear the smug smirk he knows is on his face.

“Rude.”

He digs his fingers in harder, inching his way to Kacchan’s bellybutton with the intent on jabbing it hard enough that Kacchan regrets being born.

“No, honest.”

Kacchan’s hand snatches his, trying to pull it away.

“No, you’re a jerk.”

Izuku gets a few centimeters closer.

“It’s okay if you can’t handle the truth, Deku. Not everybody is as great as me. Especially not you.”

Kacchan has taken their hands off his stomach completely, but Izuku gasps again, temporarily thwarted both physically and verbally with an unwanted smile pulling at cheeks.

The audacity to slander Izuku in his own home on his own couch.

(Thank goodness Kacchan can’t see his face right now; he’s already having too much fun tormenting Izuku as is.)

He still can’t see anything through the hoodie, and Kacchan has locked his hands with Izuku’s, sliding their fingers together so Izuku can’t jab at his stomach anymore.

Unfair, to use handholding against him – it’s already become one of Izuku’s weaknesses. He tries escaping even as Kacchan presses their joined hands against his stomach again, clutching tightly.

He grunts as he pulls. Kacchan’s palm is still sweaty, but not enough that it can help him get his hand back to untie himself.

“Kacchan, as soon as I’m out of here-” Izuku starts, teeth gritting as he pulls with all his might.

“What?” Kacchan interrupts, voice only slightly strained with the effort to keep their linked hands on his stomach and stop Izuku from lifting his thighs off the couch. His other hand comes up and grabs a fistful of the knot and some of the fabric around the miniscule opening of the hoodie, jerking Izuku’s head side to side again in wide movements. “You’re gonna cover my eyes again?”

“Ahck- ah, Kacchan-”

“Gonna bite my ankles?”

Izuku gasps again, this time more offended than he was before. “I’m not even short! I’m taller than the average height for a guy!”

“Still short compared to me, shitnerd. Better start filing those teeth down, maybe ask Shitty Hair for advice.”

“Kacchan, I’m-”

“If you ain’t biting, what can you even do?”

Izuku growls half-heartedly, his laughter poorly hidden in the sound.

“Exactly, nothing,” Kacchan declares, stupidly smug.

“I’m going to use your boots’ shoelaces to tie Sir Basil IV to his support stick when I water him later-”

“Weak.”

“And then I’m going to shave off only half of one eyebrow when you’re sleeping-”

“You do know that’s an aesthetic, right?”

“But it won’t be the outside, it’ll be the inner part of your eyebrow, the part closest to your nose.”

“Not bad, but still kind of lame.”

“And then I’m going to tell All Might that you’re using the basket from the fruit basket he brought for your first overnight stay as a Pro in the hospital as part of your All Might collection-”

“Hey,” Kacchan cuts in, suddenly serious.

“And that on your desk at the agency you have the picture you took with him and me at graduation framed-”

“Deku,” he warns, tugging harshly at the knot and shifting restlessly on Izuku’s lap.

“And that you hide it whenever he comes to visit, and-”

“Alright, you little shit,” Kacchan finally growls, using his grip to shake Izuku’s head back and forth to shut him up. “You want me to put you back into a coma?”

“Please, maybe then I’ll get some actual sleep,” Izuku manages as his head is yanked around.

“You’re a gigantic pain in the ass,” Kacchan hisses, voice jumping like he’s holding back a laugh.

He lets go of Izuku’s hand to untie the drawstrings and shove the hoodie back, revealing Izuku’s triumphant smile as he finally sees Kacchan’s narrowed eyes and sneering lips.

“Yes, Kacchan?” he asks innocently, blinking from the sudden light, even low as it is.

He’s not prepared for how quickly Kacchan shoves the hood off Izuku’s head altogether, his left, burning hand clamping down on Izuku’s bare neck and yanking him down until their noses are practically touching. He yelps, going cross-eyed before his vision adjusts.

“You wanna play dirty? Did you forget all the blackmail I have on you, user @GEMGBestPics?”

Izuku pales.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh?” Kacchan asks, smirking up at Izuku.

His thumb moves back and forth just at the bottom of his hairline, slow and steady. Izuku is entirely too aware of the brush of it along baby hairs and bare, bare skin. (Another one of Izuku’s new weaknesses, Kacchan, no!)

Kacchan pulls down until their noses are touching, and Izuku is utterly incapable of finding the will to stop him, especially with Kacchan’s voice dropping low, going rough.

“Then you don’t know about the trending but since deleted tweet where in the caption of a picture zoomed in on my hands, the user referred to me as ‘Kacchan’ instead ‘Dynamight’?”

“It’s a nice name,” Izuku weakly defends, admitting to nothing, and yet his breath still catches at Kacchan’s raised eyebrow and his ever-growing smirk.

Since the moment Kacchan arrived on his doorstep and Izuku welcomed him in, he’s been taking consecutive KOs to the heart.

Whatever defenses Izuku may have had, conscious or otherwise, have been steadily whittled down to the point that not even splinters remain for Kacchan to get caught on.

“Mm-hm,” Kacchan hums, not breaking eye contact. His hand is like a hot iron on Izuku’s neck, each finger its own searing brand, and heavy in the most pleasant way possible, undeterred from claiming its spot on his body. “And what was it, again?”

“What was what?”

“The name, Deku. Tell me.”

That same tingling anticipation from before builds in Izuku’s chest, his newly freed hand shifting restlessly where it had fallen and gripping the loose fabric of his shorts at his thigh.

“Kacchan,” he calls in all but a whisper.

“Louder, Izuku.”

“Kacchan,” he repeats, and his lips speak it onto Kacchan’s, brushing for an unbearable syllable. “Kacchan, I-”

Izuku cuts himself off, unable to say it out loud. Every breath is echoed by Kacchan’s, their hushed voices the loudest noise in the room, and Kacchan’s ever-emanating warmth draws Izuku in like a moth to a flame.

“Yeah, I know,” Kacchan rasps, smirk falling away. His eyes dart around Izuku’s face and land on his mouth. “I know.”

And then he pulls Izuku down all the way, lips finally, finally touching.

He’s warm, the press of his lips soft and unyielding, and he’s kissing Izuku.

He’s kissing Izuku.

His eyes slam shut.

Izuku takes in a sharp breath of air through his nose, fist straining his shorts with how hard he’s clenching them.

The hand on his neck squeezes and pulls even more, as if Izuku isn’t already trying to mold himself to Kacchan’s face in this sideways kiss, as if he isn’t hyper-aware of the shape and feel of his lips.

It’s a simple press held for only a few seconds but already Izuku feels like he’s been staring at the sun for too long, like he hasn’t gotten enough air, like he’s been swimming through the cosmos without a suit because Kacchan is warm and he’s holding Izuku close like it’s all he’s ever wanted.

His eyes stay closed when Kacchan pulls back. He doesn’t move from where he’s still leaned over his lap, doesn’t unclench his fist from his thigh.

Izuku waits, breathes as it settles in. His face is warm, his lips straining as he tries to contain his smile, and he’s twitching with the urge to do it again.

“Izuku,” he hears, and then he feels a soft press against the corner of his lips, feels that hand tugging him down more to make it easier.

Another, on the bow of his lips, the slightest bit wet.

Another, on the other corner, purposefully avoiding his lips. He can feel Kacchan’s stubble scratching pleasantly against his skin as his lips travel across Izuku’s face, never completely pulling away.

Another one, lower, to his chin, then his jaw, and he can briefly feel the moment Kacchan picks his shoulders up off Izuku’s thighs to mouth at his neck gently before moving back to Izuku’s red, red cheeks.

“Izuku,” he murmurs again, thumb moving slowly, leisurely, and Izuku’s eyes finally open.

Kacchan is staring at him, gaze heavy as his hand, looking so incredibly pleased and satisfied with himself that Izuku wants to kiss him until he forgets about anything else but this moment.

And he can, he realizes with a little jolt, focusing first on the pale pink of his lips. The soft edge of shadows frame Kacchan’s face in his dim living room, pale blond hair outlined by the dark of Izuku’s shorts. His shoulders, too broad and too big to fit fully on Izuku’s legs and the couch, are as relaxed as his expression, the slow rise and fall of his chest as he watches Izuku with his all-consuming eyes almost hypnotizing.

“Kacchan,” he whispers, straining down a little.

Kacchan doesn’t move; he keeps watching, waiting, fingertips digging into Izuku’s skin.

So Izuku moves the rest of the way himself.

This kiss is longer, languid, their mouths moving slowly and exploring over each other’s.

Izuku moves his hand to wrap around Kacchan’s raised arm, gripping at the firm muscles for an anchor as he gets lost in the new push and pull of their lips.

Kacchan is relentless, his touch not forgiving but neither is it bruising – for now. It hooks Izuku into the movement, keeps him there.

This time, when they both pull back breathless, Izuku can’t stop smiling.

Kacchan sighs deep in his chest, content, and slumps against Izuku’s thighs again. But his eyes never leave his face, nor does his hand let go. He keeps Izuku bent over and close to his face – easier access, Izuku realizes with sharp delight.

“Shitty nerd,” Kacchan murmurs, licking his lips.

Izuku copies the action right before Kacchan leans back up, and he’s near obsessed with the discovery that Kacchan’s lips are soft and warm and just the slightest bit fuller than his own. They’re pliant under his, but unrelenting as he sets the pace, forces Izuku to move with him until he’s settled into a rhythm that he finds himself quickly becoming addicted to.

“Kacchan,” he whispers again when they pull apart, already leaning down.

He presses his forehead to Kacchan’s, trying to catch his breath, thighs shifting restlessly under his heavy body. He wants to be closer, doesn’t want to breathe when he could instead have Kacchan’s mouth on his own.

“What,” Kacchan says, not whispering, never whispering, but voice low and open and everything Izuku has never heard at four in the morning but has already ingrained into the core of his soul.

“One more?” he asks, fingers clenching, breath coming quicker.

Kacchan hums low in his throat, lips curling up in an honest, open smile.

“Just one,” he allows, and pulls Izuku back in.

Lips against his again, for longer this time, moving languidly, ardent and adoring. Kacchan’s fingers twitch, squeezing tighter for just a second, and Izuku is unable to stop the breathy sound he makes when they separate.

“One more?” Izuku mumbles against Kacchan’s sharp cheekbones, feeling his stubble with his lips.

“Just one,” Kacchan answers with a breathy quality, light, pleased laughter suffusing the words Izuku is waiting to hear.

Kacchan’s other hand comes up to wrap around Izuku’s head, anchoring his hand into his hair and slightly pulling, inciting that same breathy sound as before.

Longer, and longer, and longer before they pull away.

Each kiss a tender execution, and here Izuku is, willingly placing his neck on the block just for the chance of another. There is no going back for him now and it is a joyous realization that the only path forward is with Kacchan.

“One more?”

“Just one.”

Kacchan biting at his lower lip, soothing it with his tongue.

“One more?”

“Just one.”

Izuku moving his hand to cup the side of Kacchan’s face, to hold him longer, to kiss him longer.

“One more?”

“Just one.”

Again and again, Izuku asks, and Kacchan never refuses him.

Sometimes, before the words can even leave him, Kacchan is already pulling him back in, stealing his breath, pushing insistently.

His arms must be tired from holding Izuku in place, his neck must be strained from pressing up to kiss Izuku’s throat, to outline his mouth with small, extremely important presses of his lips, but he doesn’t move from his spot in Izuku’s lap.

Izuku doesn’t move from how he’s curled over him despite the ache in his lower back either. It’d be impossible for him to move right now anyway because he has a pressing, burning question that only Kacchan has the answer to.

“One more?”

“Just one.”

“Heads up,” he hears Kirishima say, tossing a water bottle his way once he looks over.

Katsuki grunts his thanks, catching it in one hand and tugging his mask to his forehead with his thumb.

“How’s Midoriya doing?” Kirishima asks, sitting down a respectable distance away and then practically drowning himself with his water bottle, water spilling everywhere. He alternates between pouring it into his mouth and over his head, shaking it like a dog.

Katsuki fake gags, disgusted at the sight and moving further away from the splash zone before taking a drink himself.

“Fine,” he grunts, taking a moment to breathe and calm his pulse.

His entire morning was full of bullshit chases from shitty villains who thought they could outrun him. Fuckers should just sit down and die.

At least it’s finally spring weather and he won’t freeze his balls off taking his breaks outside.

“Just fine?” Kirishima asks, finally coming up for air and already shoving his lunch into his mouth. “He’s scheduled back onto patrol next week, right?”

Katsuki grunts through his mouthful of water. “Monday. He wanted to start tomorrow but they insisted he have one more weekend so his physical therapist could give him complete approval to come back.”

“He must be pretty bummed, huh,” Kirishima laughs, chewing with big, loud motions. “I know I’d be bored out my mind being off duty for that long.”

“Fucking heathen. Close your mouth.”

Kirishima swallows, eyeing Katsuki with critical eyes. Nosy bastard. “And how are you doing?”

Katsuki drops his water bottle by the tree and starts patting his pockets as he looks for his phone.

“I’ve been back for weeks now. I’m not waiting for anything to heal.” He finds his phone, pulling it out and checking the screen. Blank, for now.

“Nah, I mean with Midoriya. Did you at least enjoy your break with him and talk things out before you came back?”

“It wasn’t a break, it was medical leave, Shitty Hair,” he grumbles flipping his phone in his hands as he waits. “And fuck off, we talked when he woke up.”

Kirishima perks up, sniffing out the chance for details like a bloodhound. “Wait, that early? You mean when we all visited, you had already told him? What’d he say? He’d have to have said yes, considering you didn’t go crying to anybody anytime last month. Unless you did with somebody else and not me. In that case: Not cool, man.”

“You motherfucker-”

Just as he’s about to turn around and murder Kirishima, his phone vibrates softly in his hand.

It’s Deku texting him. Finally. He tries to catch Katsuki whenever he’s on break, which is the only reason he brought his phone out.

“Die,” he tells Kirishima, attention drawn to his phone.

“Is that him?”

Katsuki ignores him, thumbing in his passcode and opening Deku’s message.

It’s going to be another shitty good luck text, telling Katsuki to ‘do his best’ and all that bullshit. His messages get longer every day, and Katsuki’s started timing his breaks better so he can read them.

But when the chat loads, what he sees is not, in fact, a good luck text as he’s been coming to expect, but something else that takes him a few seconds to comprehend.

Deku
Kacchan, we need to talk

Katsuki stops breathing, staring at his phone and watching three little bubbles pop up over and over underneath the text message.

The hell did Deku just text him? We need to talk?

Katsuki’s been subjected to enough torture from his friend’s unfortunately shared dating lives that he knows that talk won’t be a good one.

But the hell is Deku doing, trying and texting Katsuki that like it’ll work?

Nah, he’s shutting this shit down right now. Deku can fail to convince him to his face; he’s not doing this shit over text, and especially not while on patrol.

Katsuki
tf kind of cryptic texting is this?
you’re not breaking up with me, asshole
our asses are stuck together until death
try a fucking gain

Katsuki fumes, hands squeezing his phone a bit too tight.

He knows Deku has had some reservations, but he thought they sorted all this shit out.

Why didn’t he say anything?

Like hell are they breaking up – Katsuki will just convince him until he either agrees or dies.

Right as he sends his text, Deku’s next one comes in.

Deku
about the new special they had on Gang Orca!
You were there in the back of some of his footage from last year and you got a special mention!

What.

He looks up, blinks at Kirishima’s annoying face, blinks back down at his phone. What.

Katsuki
what.

Deku
What.

Nothing else is sent, no matter how hard he glares at the screen.

Katsuki closes his eyes, smacking his phone against his forehead. This fucking dumbass.

“Hey, you good?” he hears Kirishima ask after he’s smashed his phone at least a dozen times into his forehead.

“Fuckin’ peachy,” he grits out, staring down at this stupid fucking conversation.

Katsuki
you motherfucker

Deku
Kacchan w hatt
Kaccchan d id ypu rhink I wsd ttrying to breakt up wth youu?!!???

Katsuki
WHY THE FUCK ELSE WOULD YOU USE THAT WORDING THEN

Deku
I just wanted to talk about how cool it is to see you mentioned in another hero’s special!!

Fuck this, he’s not typing everything out.

He presses the call button, pushing up from under the tree to pace away from Kirishima’s nosy ass. He looks way too excited considering it’s none of his goddamn business.

Deku picks up on the first ring – good, or else Katsuki would have beat his ass later.

“Deku,” he growls immediately, drawing out each syllable. He hand flexes at his side, trying to control his breathing.

“Wait! Wait, wait wait, Kacchan! I just accidentally pressed send while I was typing! You normally take forever to read or respond to my texts anyways!”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault you don’t know how to talk like a normal fucking person!”

“Kacchan, no! That’s not what I meant! And that wasn’t what I meant in the text, either! I would never break up with Kacchan!”

“You better not even think about it or else I’ll explode your ass so hard they’ll be finding pieces of you in the US!”

Deku squawks. “In the US?!”

“Deku!”

“Kacchan, I swear I didn’t mean it to sound like that, I was just excited…” Deku trails off, sounding pitiful.

Katsuki can see the pout of his lower lip in his mind, his big ass eyes lowered in guilt.

He sighs, deep and pained as he massages his temple. Goddammit.

“Yeah, yeah. I got it. Just…” Katsuki sighs again. “Just watch yourself, dumbass.”

“Sorry, Kacchan.”

“Don’t apologize, because then I’ll have to, and I already used up my quota for this month.”

“Kacchan, you had to say sorry for exploding that girl’s Deku plushie at the beginning of the month.”

“Exactly.”

Deku laughs, the sound clear even over the speakers, and Katsuki’s shoulders finally drop, unaware of the smile he’s wearing as he listens to it.

“Okay, Kacchan. But still, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Fuck off, I wasn’t scared. I was doing damage control.” How dare he insult him, thinking Katsuki was scared.

“Damage control.”

“Yeah, ready to knock your ass out for trying to pull that shit over text, while I was on patrol, and without talking about it to me first.”

“Ah,” Deku says softly, and Katsuki can practically hear his wince. “Yeah.”

“Yeah, numbnuts. Pull this shit again and I’m burning my hoodies.”

“Kacchan!” he hears Deku gasp, scandalized. “Noooo, they’re the only things helping me sleep right now!”

“What the fuck am I, then, huh?”

“You’re my boyfriend, I can’t wear you.”

“Boyfriend!” he hears Kirishima gasp behind him.

Katsuki whirls around, flipping him off with a scowl. How the hell did he hear that?

Kirishima ignores him to get busy on his phone, thumbs flying as he chews on a piece of chicken still hanging half out of his mouth.

Great. Katsuki reminds himself to start blocking half his contact list once he’s done talking to Deku.

“I’ll kill you.”

Deku laughs, too fond considering the very real threat of violence, and Katsuki starts walking back to the tree.

Kirishima perks up when he sees him walking back, waving a hand at him. Katsuki flips him off again.

“I’m coming over later, so you better be ready, nerd,” he says, briefly taking the phone away from his face to check the time. He’s still got ten minutes to eat, he’s good.

“Ready?” Deku asks.

“Yeah,” Katsuki confirms, a large leer curling his lips. “Ready for me to destroy your ass with my d-”

“Okay! Okay, I get it,” Deku interrupts, shout trailing off to bashful yet still hissed whisper at the end. “You’re in public, don’t shout it!”

Kirishima drops his phone to cover his ears with his hands, glaring at Katsuki.

He smirks back, unrepentant. Bastard was so eager to know what was going on earlier but now he suddenly can’t handle Katsuki teasing the nerd? Coward.

He leans against the tree and starts idly kicking Kirishima’s leg. He gets a couple of satisfying kicks in before Kirishima gives him a look, scooting over a bit.

Katsuki kicks him harder, stuffing his free hand into his pocket.

It’s silent except for Deku’s soft breathing on the other line. His phone doesn’t pick up most of his noises, but the ones he does hear sound uneven, a little fast – nervousness or something else, he’s not sure.

His brows furrow when Deku doesn’t offer anything else and the silence continues to build.

Damn it, he can’t tell what the hell the nerd is feeling over the phone if he doesn’t fucking speak up, especially with his protesting earlier. Maybe he’s not feeling too into it today.

“You don’t sound excited. If you’re tired today, just tell me,” Katsuki says, lowering his voice. “Don’t gotta do nothing if you don’t wanna.”

“No, no that’s not it, I promise,” Deku suddenly protests. He’s quiet for another second, and Katsuki’s about to tell him to forget it and that he’ll just come over to cook dinner when Deku speaks up, a smile heard in his soft confession. “I miss Kacchan. I want to.”

Fuck.

Katsuki slams a fist against his chest, quelling his reaction.

Kirishima gives him an odd look, so he moves close enough to kick him again, ignoring the glare he gets. Fuckers who advertise themselves as unbreakable punching bags should get used to being punching bags.

“Yeah?” Katsuki asks.

“Yeah,” Deku confirms.

“Alright, then. Don’t break anything.”

“Like my bones?”

“Like our relationship.”

“You’re never going to let that go, will you?”

“Never.”

“Of course.”

Kirishima has scooted completely out of his range, so he turns around and starts kicking the base of the tree instead, more focused on Deku’s laughter than anything else.

“I gotta go, nerd,” he says, checking the time again. “Gotta eat.”

“Okay, Kacchan,” Deku says, the consonants of his nickname rolling softly through the speakers. “Be safe! I’ll see you later!”

“Sure, sure. I’ll text you when I’m leaving. I’ll get food.”

“Okay,” Deku repeats, voice as unbearably soft as when he asks Katsuki for ‘just one more.’ Katsuki really fucking wants to kiss him quiet right now. “Bye, Kacchan.”

“Bye, Deku.”

Katsuki stares at his phone after the call ends, watching as the screen fades and eventually turns off. He pockets it and drops onto the ground, taking out his food and shoving half of it into his mouth. He’s got maybe five more minutes to eat and he’s fucking starving for dessert.

“Bro, why do you suddenly look scary, I don’t like that face,” he faintly hears. Kirishima has come back now that Katsuki isn’t kicking anything, looking at him with narrowed eyes. “And why are you eating so fast?”

He’s going to destroy that damned nerd.

-

“-ninety-eight, hundred-ninety-nine, two-hundred,” Deku huffs out.

He stills on his last one-handed push-up, holding his position cleanly as he waits for Katsuki get up from his seated position on his back.

“Good,” Katsuki praises simply, uncrossing his legs and setting both feet on the floor of each side of Deku’s bare back as he stands up.

Deku lowers to a single elbow as Katsuki’s phone beeps, the timer for five minutes starting its countdown for his very last rep.

One-handed planks are usually where Deku gets distracted, mind wandering and form slipping, but all month his focus has been honed to a knife’s edge, never once off point. Even now, at the very end of the workout, his attention hasn’t wavered once.

Katsuki stares down, unmoving from where he stands over Deku, quietly noting the few moments where his sides occasionally brushes against his calves as he breathes through his plank.

Deku has worked hard, and fast, already having gained back almost all of his muscle mass prior to the earthquake.

He didn’t lose too much, even considering the level of his injuries, and it’s mostly thanks to the doctors and nurses that were assigned to Deku. They were very proactive in offsetting any muscle atrophy, especially when he was bed bound after his surgery and his knee was still casted.

That along with the pace Deku has been keeping? In a few weeks he’ll be stronger than he was before the earthquake.

At least this time he’s working with Katsuki, so he won’t be left behind while Deku barrels his way forward.

He stares down at the scar on his back, moving with Deku’s breaths and barely trembling shoulders.

Katsuki won’t calcify. He refuses.

“Three minutes,” he calls out.

Deku grunts his acknowledgement, beads of sweat dripping down his face and onto the mat beneath him.

His injuries are good now, very good, Katsuki notes as he rakes his eyes over Deku’s bunched-up shoulders down to the muscles lining the ridge of his spine and landing on the two dimples of his lower back that Katsuki was delighted to discover were very capable of holding his thumbs perfectly.

The scar isn’t as big as the wound first was after surgery, darker and thicker than the surrounding skin, but it’s still half as wide as Katsuki’s palm is.

There’s no more pain, or so Deku tells him, despite how it looks. With how careful Deku was the first few weeks out of the hospital, Katsuki is for once inclined to believe him.

He leans down, pressing his palm firmly to the scar, pleased when Deku holds his position against his added weight.

The shape is different, but it reminds him absently of his own scars on his shoulder.

Both marked up for each other, despite the almost decade in between the two incidents.

Save to win, huh.

First year UA student Katsuki would not be able to completely recognize the hero or man Katsuki is today and thank fuck for that.

He doesn’t lift his hand as he moves it to the center of Deku’s back, right between his shoulder blades. He’s slick with sweat, and burning hot, even to the thick skin of Katsuki’s palm.

He leaves it there, pressed from the edge of his palm to his fingertips on Deku’s skin, eyeing his phone as the numbers tick down.

“Two minutes left,” Katsuki murmurs, and only starts to press down with his body weight when Deku grunts his affirmative.

He adds his weight slowly, bending over and lifting on his tiptoes so that Deku is the only thing holding him up.

“One thirty.”

Deku grunts again, so Katsuki presses a knee to his back, right foot off the floor and adding more weight.

He leans down, lips brushing the edge of Deku’s ear.

“One minute.”

“’M good,” Deku confirms, with a small, sharp gasp, so Katsuki presses down fully, lifting his other leg and letting Deku hold his weight completely. He doesn’t add his knee to his back, keeps it hovering over the floor in case he needs to remove his weight quickly.

But Deku’s got this. He’s good.

“Thirty seconds.”

Deku’s barely shaking now, but his breath is still even. Hm.

“Twenty,” he says, and carefully leans down.

His chest brushes Deku’s back with every breath as he presses his lips to the side of Deku’s throat. Katsuki doesn’t move, doesn’t kiss him, but he stays there, breathing in Deku’s sweat and the faint, almost unnoticeable scent of his quirk.

“Kacchan!” Deku gasps, body buckling for a brief second.

“Hold it,” Katsuki orders, lips brushing his skin as he speaks.

“But you’re-”

“Hold it.”

Deku’s heavy breathing, his pulse thundering under Katsuki’s lips, then, finally, “’Kay.”

“Good.”

Deku’s shaking, but not because he’s too tired. No, Katsuki knows intimately well how much stamina Deku has. He could hold this pose for another thirty minutes if Katsuki asked him to.

“Ten.”

Deku makes a cut-off sound, lifting his head up from where he's staring at the floor to knock it against Katsuki’s.

He hides his smirk, moves back to Deku’s ear to start his countdown. “Five, four, three, two, one. You’re done.”

And then he sucks on the spot right behind Deku’s ear.

Deku all but collapses onto his face, gasping in pure offense and poorly hidden pleasure.

“Kacchan,” he groans into the floor when Katsuki stands up. “So unfair.”

“But you held it all the way,” Katsuki reminds him, stepping over his sprawled limbs so he can crouch by Deku’s face, hands hanging between his bent knees. He tilts his head, catching Deku’s eyes. “Good job.”

Deku’s red face gets pinker, but he mumbles back his appreciation before turning to hide it completely in his arm.

“Kacchan is bad for my health,” he mumbles as Katsuki stands back up. “I can feel my blood pressure rising.”

“Oh, I can help you make it rise in another way, baby. Just say the word,” he calls back as he moves to the kitchen to grab water for them both, grinning when he hears Deku’s muffled groan.

“Kacchan, no.”

“What? It was a genuine offer.”

“This is what I mean!”

“I just wanna see how far that blush go-”

“Kacchan!”

He leans around the doorway of the kitchen to where Deku is still lying on his stomach on the floor but has now picked his head up to glare at Katsuki.

It’s very unconvincing considering the way Deku is practically steaming, unable to fully hide how wide he’s smiling.

“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki dismisses, rolling his eyes and adding more ice to his bottle. “Not how you were yelling it earlier,” he mutters to himself.

“I heard that,” Deku calls.

“Get off the fucking floor already,” Katsuki says, chucking Deku’s bottle across the room and hitting him directly in the forehead. “And do your stretches.”

Deku groans, reaching out a hand to stop the bottle from rolling away from him. “Only if Kacchan does them with me.”

“You’re a baby,” he insults, but he moves across Deku’s apartment to sit next to him regardless, leaning into a leg stretch and counting in his head.

“I’m excited,” Deku says, pushing his hair back as they move to the other leg in long practiced synchronicity.

The stretch and bunch of his muscles as he moves is getting more familiar every single day, but as Katsuki’s eyes inevitably drift up to Deku’s smiling face, his attention is caught once again by the different colors held between Deku’s fingers.

Katsuki stares for a second at the still somewhat unfamiliar white roots, fighting the urge to reach over and pull Deku’s hair and force his attention, to card his fingers through until the white becomes familiar. He’ll have time for that later.

“To shower? You should be, you fucking stink,” he quips back, grunting at the pull in his hamstrings.

He needs to add more varied leg stretches to his routine because it doesn’t even look like Deku is feeling anything with these ones and that pisses him off. He doesn’t normally slack off on his leg stretches, but Katsuki’s been a little preoccupied with a different, more vigorous and green kind of stretching lately.

“No, Kacchan.” Deku rolls his eyes. “To patrol again! It’s been so long and tomorrow it’s finally happening!”

Katsuki hums, moving into the butterfly pose and pressing his forehead against the floor with a slight wince.

“I know our agency has been releasing updates, but I’ve been too nervous to check my hero account. What if they forgot about me?”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, voice muffled against the floor. “Yeah, right. If anything, both of our popularity has jumped the entire month you’ve been on leave. You didn’t have to deal with all those fuckers swarming me the first week I was back, even during the night shift. Extras wouldn’t stop asking about you.”

“Really?” Deku asks, a little bashful.

Katsuki sits up, turning so he can press the soles of his shoes to Deku’s, grabbing his wrists and tugging gently while Deku stretches over his toes. He hears a quiet crack that’s probably Deku’s back.

“Yeah, was fuckin’ annoying.”

“Sorry, Kacchan.”

“S’whatever. Not like I don’t get it.”

Deku looks up at that, bashfulness exchanged for confusion. “What do you mean?”

Katsuki shrugs, leaning back a little further and waiting for Deku to grunt at the stretch. “Means you’ve been MIA for almost two months now after you held up an entire building and nosy extras got even more annoying about shit. Don’t think you remember, but a lot of people were there watching.”

Deku blinks. “What.”

“Yeah. Whole crowd waiting outside, refused to evacuate any further out of the square.”

“That’s not good,” Deku says, frowning. “The villain could have been hiding there, or they could have been caught up in another shockwave again.”

“Yeah, I know,” Katsuki says, face twisting and barely hiding the bitterness in his voice. “Gave Aizawa a hard time when he was looking, kept us under longer.”

It added minutes to Deku’s body that added weeks to his recovery, agonizing seconds upon seconds where he had to watch Deku bleed out and get crushed in front of him.

The week they took Deku out of his medically induced coma and he still hadn’t woken up, after Katsuki was discharged and finally allowed to stay by his side and not in his own shitty hospital bed, their agency held a small press conference. They had invited Katsuki to speak on his and Deku’s behalf about the incident.

It was one of the few times Katsuki has ever willingly spoken in a conference or done so without shouting once. It was also his first time seeing a room full of adults look simultaneously so terrified and guilty after he ripped into them.

He got a call from their PR not even a minute after (and one from All Might, but he wasn’t reprimanding Katsuki, rather checking in, quietly offering his support – Katsuki was grateful for it, for all he didn’t express it out loud), and was talked about from hell to back by journalists who think their opinions matter, but if the public doesn’t listen to heroes or follow public safety regulations, then what’s the point?

He knows there’s this inherent trust civilians have in Pros to make sure they’re safe, but they don’t have to make their jobs harder. Some of the people Katsuki’s saved have the survival instincts of Deku and the intelligence of Kaminari during their first year.

Too many accidents or problems in heroics come from civilians who don’t know when to shut the fuck up, sit down, and listen to what a Pro is telling them, but of course it’s never the civilians’ fault.

It’s a Pro’s job to mitigate those situations, to come out on top, winning no matter what gets thrown at them.

Katsuki calls bullshit, even if he has learned to mitigate, to win no matter what.

It’s infuriating, but this time, when it was Deku on the line and Katsuki saw firsthand the consequences of every single infinite second piled on Deku’s shoulders-

He takes a deep breath in and releases it, letting the reminder go.

Katsuki has known anger, has known fear and irritation and resentment, but he has never felt such vehement fury on behalf of someone else before.

It’s not even a surprise anymore that it was all for, was all because of Deku, and will likely be for him in the future again.

Katsuki needs to talk with his therapist. Fuck.

“Apparently some civilian extra heard on another extra’s radio we were trapped and that you caught the entire goddamn building, and then told it to fucking everybody. I told them all to fuck off, though, so it’s fine.”

Deku’s stopped stretching, staring at Katsuki with wide eyes.

“I thought the public didn’t know the full details,” he says, quiet. “Or at least they’re only supposed to get the bare minimum when they do know, right?”

“Hard to hide when a top twenty hero successfully pulls something as insane as holding an entire building up during an active earthquake, especially for the sake of another top twenty hero,” Katsuki grumbles, yanking Deku back down into his stretch. “Ain’t exactly been big shows of heroism like that since All Might, Deku. You think the public just wasn’t going to pay attention?”

“I… I don’t know, it wasn’t exactly on my list of concerns,” Deku mumbles into the floor. “You’re more important than keeping up with the public opinion, and then I woke up in the hospital, so...”

He ignores the way his breath stutters from the blunt way Deku states how highly he views Katsuki, like it’s a fact of life for him. For some Pros, the public opinion could make or break their career. And for Deku to blatantly declare Katsuki above that?

It’s almost insufferable how completely unaware Deku is of how easily he expresses his affections.

“You’re so goddamn annoying,” he mutters.

Deku peeks cheekily up at him, grinning. “But you still like me?”

“Doesn’t make your ass any less annoying.” He rolls his eyes, squeezing Deku’s wrists just a little harder. “Switch.”

Deku grabs his wrists so Katsuki can stretch past his toes, leaning back to counterbalance the weight. His eyebrows are furrowed in thought, so Katsuki leaves him to it, breathing through the stretch in his calves.

“Do you think it’ll be as busy when I go back?” Deku finally speaks up, apparently coming to terms with whatever was going on in his head. He’ll eventually tell Katsuki if it’s important, so he doesn’t ask.

“It’s gonna be worse,” he grunts, letting out a deep breath. “They announced you coming back on damn near every platform of social media and we’re patrolling during the day. We won’t be able to do shit tomorrow.”

Deku hums, contemplative and quiet.

“You know,” Deku starts as they both stand up and move into their upper body stretches. “You don’t have to stay with me all day tomorrow.”

Katsuki raises an eyebrow, unamused at his proposal. “And why’s that?”

“Well, you’ve been back for a while now, and like you said, it’ll be more parading me around than patrolling. Even I can tell. They assigned us to only a five-mile radius surrounding the agency. You can actually get some work in, instead of bumming it with me.”

Katsuki scoffs, reaching behind his back to pull at his triceps.

“Yeah, well, tough shit, nerd. We’re patrolling together all week, and even next week we’re on and off until Tin-Tin comes back.”

“Mirio.”

“Whatever the fuck. So, there’s no point in me ditching your sorry ass the first day. Even if it’ll be boring as fuck, you’d be crying for me within an hour, anyways.”

“Yeah, probably,” Deku concedes with a warm smile, stepping closer to Katsuki’s side until his shoulder bumps his arm. “I’m glad, then. Tomorrow will be even better.”

Katsuki grunts, turning to hide the warmth in his ears. “Damn right it will be.”

They finish the rest of their stretches in easy silence, Katsuki helping Deku with the specialized ones he learned to check his shoulder’s mobility. He goes through them all without a hitched breath or a painful pause to his movements, so Katsuki kisses his shoulder as a reward, lingering only for a second.

“Alright, shower, let’s go,” Katsuki demands. He places a hand lightly on the small of Deku’s back to push him in the direction of his bathroom, letting it rest there when he doesn’t shrug him off.

Anybody else, and Deku would probably break their hand, but when Katsuki presses his palm firmly against his bare skin, unable to not test it, Deku still does nothing. If anything, he leans into his hand.

Fucking hell. Nerd really doesn’t seem to realize this ease he has when it comes to Katsuki.

“Can you help me with my shoulder, again?” Deku asks as he turns on the bathroom light, looking back at Katsuki. “Some of the scarring is still tender when I wash it.”

Katsuki lets his hand drop, holding that thought for later. He grunts his affirmative through the fabric of his singlet as he pulls it off, shaking his head once he’s free. He drops it to the floor, and notices Deku has moved away from him while he was temporarily blinded.

He’s pressed his hips against the counter, leaning in close to the mirror and tilting his face this way and that. His fingers lightly trace the now healed scar, smaller and tighter than it was a few weeks ago. It still cuts through his hair, the side of his forehead, and across the edge of his eyebrow to finish near his temple, right above the upper edge of his round cheeks.

“Hm,” he hums to himself, poking at the top. “Kaminari was right, it is kind of gnarly.” He trails his fingers down in curiosity, picking at the bottom.

“Knock it off,” Katsuki says, scowling. He grabs Deku’s wrist in his hand, pulling his twitchy fingers away from his face. “And stop fucking picking at it. That dumbass doesn’t know shit, or when to shut up. It’s still healing.”

“I know, I’m not worried,” Deku reassures, looking back up at Katsuki through the mirror with wide eyes and an easy smile.

He stares, eyes narrowed to make sure Deku’s not trying to pull some stupid shit like lying to him. It seems like he’s truly not, because he lets Katsuki take his time, not pulling his wrist back or hiding his face.

“Hmph,” Katsuki grunts, giving Deku his hand back.

“I just didn’t realize it was still this big. Most of the time it’s covered in a those weird moistening bandages they gave me, and I don’t exactly spend my time looking in a mirror. It’s my first time actually seeing how it looks, mostly healed and all,” Deku explains, leaning in close to the mirror again.

He pushes his hair back from his forehead, looking up curiously at the white roots before focusing back on the scar. He only looks away when Katsuki’s hand comes up to his face, watching as big fingers wrap around his chin.

He grips Deku’s jaw in an underhanded hold, forcefully turning his face until he’s looking back up at Katsuki.

He takes his time to truly look at Deku’s face, still mentally adding the scar to the face his memories hold. He looks older, more mature, although with every scar added and every year gone by, Deku gains more of that invisible weight he’s seen plenty of older Pros get.

But he has Katsuki to take some of that weight now, so he’s not too worried.

“Kacchan?” Deku asks, voice pitching up a little in his worry.

Katsuki suddenly smirks, giving into his urge and squeezing his fingers together as he shakes Deku’s face back and forth, watching as his hair flies everywhere.

“Eh, still ugly,” he declares.

Deku rolls his eyes, previous worry gone as he shoves Katsuki off him with a wide grin.

“Whatever,” he says while Katsuki snickers. He doesn’t fight it when Katsuki grabs his face again, only raises a single unimpressed eyebrow as he makes Deku look back up at him.

“Ugly, but my ugly,” Katsuki declares, leaning down to bite Deku’s cheek and work the flesh between his teeth until there’s a sizable mark left behind. “That’s my scar now.”

“Sure, Kacchan,” Deku acquiesces easily, unable to stop his pleased smile. “And to think it took me a whole decade to get my first face scar.”

“I beat you there.”

Deku laughs, turning around completely to reach up to Katsuki’s face. He places his hand on the side and thumbs Katsuki’s split eyebrow, a minor cut from a minor scuffle a few years ago. “Barely.”

Before Katsuki can get fired up over a goddamn technicality, because Deku knows how much those piss him off, he leans up on his tiptoes and kisses the scar lightly.

Katsuki tenses for a second before relaxing under Deku’s mouth, huffing out his annoyance.

“Damn nerd,” he mutters under his breath, setting his hands back on Deku’s hips. “I still win.”

Deku just smiles, leaning away and removing his hand from Katsuki’s face to touch his own, thumbing his forehead scar again. “Sure, Kacchan. Help me take care of it?”

“Yeah, after the shower,” he says after a few seconds. Of course, he doesn’t say. “Vaseline’s in the living room.”

Deku hums his assent, giving him another soft smile.

Katsuki stares down at him, studies his face.

Deku wouldn’t have asked for something as simple yet important as help in keeping his scars moisturized a few months ago, and yet here he is, casually asking and already assuming Katsuki will agree.

He’s not wrong, Katsuki will always agree to it because he can do it better than Deku can, but he doesn’t have to shove it in his face.

Katsuki brings his hand up to fist Deku’s hair, rocking his head side to side in exasperation and ignoring his fake whines of hurt. This damn shitty nerd.

He looks up, catching how relaxed his own face is in the mirror and how close he instinctually holds Deku to him, how good Deku looks tucked right up against him.

He sighs again.

Goddamn fucking shitnerd.

“Hey,” he calls, voice low.

Deku looks back up at him, green eyes a slightly different hue in the bathroom light and his smile just as big. “Yeah, Kacchan?”

“Go on a date with me,” Katsuki says, low and quiet.

There’s a moment of silence between them, but Katsuki’s not worried, hands still wrapped securely around Deku’s hip and in his hair.

“Okay,” Deku finally says, grinning so wide his eyes squint from the force.

“Good,” he murmurs. He leans down, pressing a kiss to Deku’s cheek, right at the bottom of his scar. “Next weekend. Saturday. Gonna take you somewhere.”

“Okay, Kacchan,” Deku says, quiet and content and happy. He turns his face, pressing a full but chaste kiss to his mouth, still smiling.

“No questions?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow. He ducks down to catch that smile against his lips again.

“No. It’s Kacchan, so it’ll be amazing,” he says with too much confidence and no shame at all, letting Katsuki walk his kisses up his cheek and across his brow, before returning to his mouth like always.

“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki sighs, and takes petty satisfaction in Deku’s screech when he yanks his gym shorts down and slaps his bare, pale ass. “Alright, in the water, move your ass. Don’t got all fucking day.”

-

He looks away for five seconds and Deku is already being swarmed by extras.

Five. Fucking. Seconds.

He’s handling himself well, but Katsuki can catch the slightly panicked widening of his eyes when the crowd starts to look less like a slightly larger than normal group of fans and more like the beginning of a mob.

He sighs, heading over to Deku.

It’s been barely four hours into their patrol and already this stop-and-go pattern is getting old. If their entire first week back is like this, Katsuki cannot and will not be held accountable for his actions. There are only so many times he can bail Deku out from talking too long with concerned citizens and excited fans.

And his fucking knees hurt from standing around doing nothing for too long.

Going radio-silent after such a huge event like Deku did usually means the Pro’s in real bad shape, so Katsuki can somewhat understand why everyone is so eager to see him and confirm their favorite hero is healthy and stronger than ever, but it doesn’t mean he has to fucking like it.

It was considerably less chaotic during Katsuki’s first week back, but considering he was out at the ass-crack of dawn and he doesn’t tolerate talking to extras on a good day when he has shit to do, he got off lucky.

He was also in a shit mood that first day back because it was the first time in over two weeks he hadn’t seen nor talked to Deku for a full twenty-four hours and instead spent half his time going back and forth between their PR team and their medical team, and then all the bullshit of patrolling at nighttime.

He survived a week of low-key, boring, and mandated graveyard shifts to prove he was back to full health and all he got out of it was a headache from too many pointless conversations, and then the best goddamn kiss of his life to cure it.

Well.

Kisses.

But he ain’t kissing Deku in front of a fucking mob to help abate the new headache brewing from this bullshit. They don’t deserve to see that side of Deku.

Katsuki frowns, hearing that awkward laugh Deku does when he can’t figure out how to politely exit a conversation because he can’t tell them to fuck off like a normal person.

Even though today is more just parading Deku around to show he’s alive and well than an actual patrol, they do have actual, important shit to do, and Deku being caught in a crowd for so long is less than ideal.

And all of them are too fucking handsy.

“Oi,” he calls out as he steps up behind Deku, shoving some of them out of the way. “Deku. Get your ass in gear, we gotta move.”

Deku tilts his head back, looking up at Katsuki, and his smile melts into something more natural, more personal. “Alright, let me just-”

“Wait, Deku, I have one more thing I need to ask!” some fucker interrupts, reaching out and grabbing Deku’s hands, insisting on his attention. They step closer, close enough that Deku’s hand is practically being cradled to their chest, long hair brushing over his fingers.

Yeah, fuck that noise.

Katsuki bends his knees until he’s a good couple of inches lower and at a height with Deku. He sticks his hands under Deku’s armpits, adjusts a little until he has a good grip and his feet are firmly placed, and then lifts, standing up and pulling Deku off the ground until he’s hanging from his hands like a limp cat.

Deku makes a strange, garbled sound at the sudden lift, jerking in his grasp and hands coming up to clutch at Katsuki’s hands.

“Wuh-huh?!” he says, turning his head until he makes eye contact with Katsuki, finally meeting eye-to-eye with him in the first time in his life. “Kacchan?!”

“Kacchan?” he hears one of the extras ask curiously. He scowls, unsettled by hearing that name out of some random ass person’s mouth.

Deku has stopped struggling, even if he is tense in Katsuki’s hands, feet swinging a little from where he dangles above the ground.

That’s agreement enough for Katsuki.

“Alright, fuck off,” he manages through grit teeth to the crowd surrounding them, then spins on his heel and marches away with Deku still hanging compliantly in his grasp.

He moves them away from the sidewalk and prying eyes to a small side street between two buildings, deciding he’ll put Deku down once he can no longer clearly hear the murmur of voices from that group. The disappointed cries from the fans rise up as he leaves, and if Katsuki wasn’t holding Deku, he’d have flipped them off. Annoying extras.

“I have more to ask,” he mocks under his breath, eye twitching. “Oh, Hero Deku, can you sign my tits? Can you suck my dick while you’re at it? Have my kids? Fuck off.”

His grumbles continue as he walks away, getting more and more mocking with each step while Deku only makes the occasional strange sound, still clutching at Katsuki’s fingers.

It’s more of an effort than he’d like to admit keeping Deku up and in the air like this, supported only by his own arm strength as he walks. Goddamn has Deku put on muscle quickly, but Katsuki’s not about to get outdone by a man almost five inches short than him, especially not in the middle of bulking season.

The day he can no longer pick Deku up is the day he dies.

Deku has been oddly quiet, even when Katsuki places him down in the alley. He’d thought he’d be kicking and squirming a little more, but after the initial few seconds of confusion and the tiniest bit of outrage at being manhandled, Deku had gone limp.

“Oi,” he calls, placing a hand on Deku’s shoulder to turn him around. “You good?”

And then he bursts out laughing, head tilting back and his voice echoing in the alley. All the annoyance from the wasted hours on patrol, from all the inane questions and grabby hands – gone as soon as he sees Deku’s face.

Deku is red, red to the point that he looks like he’s going to collapse.

“Kacchan!” Deku whines under his breath, immediately covering his face. He kicks a leg out and Katsuki’s knee is saved only because of his knee guards. “You can’t just do that!”

“Do what?” he asks between gasps of air. Oh, this is too good.

“Just-! Just pick me up like that! And walk like, like it’s nothing!”

Katsuki can’t breathe. He has to place a hand over the side of his ribs as he laughs, bending sideways and almost colliding with Deku.

“Deku,” he wheezes, “I can’t fucking believe-”

He can’t finish his sentence, breath stolen with how hard Deku punches him in the shoulder, shoving him away on already unsteady feet.

“No! No, we’re not talking about this!”

“Did you really just discover, on fucking patrol, a new kin-?”

“Kacchan, shut up!”

“This is too much, even for a shitty nerd like you but if that’s what you like-”

“Shut up!”

Katsuki continues cackling for a good couple seconds more, voice petering off as he stands up and takes in a deep breath. His stomach hurts, his ribs hurt, his fucking shoulder hurts, and worst of all, his cheeks hurt from how hard he’s grinning.

Deku has turned away, pouting towards the wall, but even under the long strands of his hair, his neck is pink, and he’s tapping his foot anxiously.

“Deku,” he calls, unable to hide the mirth from his voice.

He can’t control his face, can’t stop the ensuing laughter when he looks at Deku’s fit back and remembers the face he was making when Katsuki turned him around.

“What,” Deku responds, mulish and nervous under his pout.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Baby.”

“No.”

“Turn around.”

“You’re just going to be mean.”

“I’ll stop for now, but,” and here he pauses, crowding Deku’s space and forcing him to turn around again.

Deku fights him only a little, and he glares up at Katsuki, still red in the face.

“But what?”

“But,” Katsuki starts again, bringing a gloved hand up to grab Deku’s face and force eye contact, “I’m amenable to talking about this in detail later.”

Deku rolls his eyes, grabbing Katsuki’s wrist and using his not insignificant strength to pull Katsuki’s hand away from his face. “Whatever.”

But Katsuki is insistent on clearing this up with Deku before they go back out, so he wrenches his wrist out of Deku’s hands and brings both hands up to frame his face, leaning down until their noses are almost touching.

“Izuku,” he calls, and immediately gets his attention, green eyes wide and suddenly laser focused. “I like it, too. But we can discuss this when we’re off duty. Nothing’s wrong; it’s just not the right time, yeah?”

He offers him a smirk, unable to not find humor in this somewhat ridiculous situation.

Deku averts his eyes, again, instead of answering which is starting to get really fucking annoying and completely defeats the purpose of holding Deku’s face so close.

Katsuki takes in a deep breath through his nose and slams his forehead directly against Deku’s.

“Ah! Kacchan what the heck!”

“This ain’t an issue. In fact, I’m goddamn delighted,” he says, grinding their foreheads together. Deku whines pitifully, a mix of pain and embarrassment at Katsuki’s own admittance. “But I don’t want the five hundred horny fuckers out there with their right hands glued to their dicks and supplementing them happiness whenever they look at you to see this and think they can touch too, yeah?”

Deku stares when Katsuki finally moves his head away. He’s got a big, bright red spot in the middle of his forehead to match the pink of his cheeks, but he doesn’t look like he’s going to run away or dropkick Katsuki anymore, which is progress.

“So later,” he emphasizes, dropping his hands from Deku’s face. “I promise. And later when I’m destroying your ass-”

“Kacchan!”

“-you can let me know just how much you do and don’t like, alright?”

Deku glares at him, fighting a tiny smile. He’s blushing again, but for a different reason this time.

“Alright?” he asks again, clamping his hand on the top of Deku’s head and squeezing.

“Ow, ow, ow, okay, okay, later! Kacchan! Stop, you’re going to-”

He gets cut off by a faint tremble in the wall behind him, and a sudden shout from the main street. He whips his head to the alley’s opening, then back to Katsuki, already settling into his hero mantle.

Katsuki grins, wild and feral and entirely too pent up for some lowlife villains. Deku grins back up at him, excitement practically oozing out of him.

“And I thought we wouldn’t be doing anything today,” Deku says, dropping into a squat and stretching out his legs as he prepares to launch up to the top of the building.

Katsuki swings his arms back, purposefully hitting Deku when he bounces back up on excited feet. He rolls his shoulders, sets his palms face down behind him.

“And I guess I won’t just be looking at your ass all day, nerd. Shitty villains are still too stupid to give up.”

Deku bumps their shoulders before taking off, his laughter trailing after him when the kick Katsuki aims at him just barely misses the back of his knee.

It’s good to be back in full, finally, with Deku at his side again.

-

“Kacchan, get off.”

“No.”

“Kacchan, you’re too hot.”

“I have to touch you somehow.”

“No, you’re too hot.”

“But I have to touch you.”

“Kacchan, no! You’re too hot! And heavy!”

Deku laughs between his words, halfheartedly pushing Katsuki away from where he’s trying to lay down.

On Deku, of course, between his legs (which are still wrapped around Katsuki's waist so why the fuck is he trying to push Katsuki away if he won’t completely let go of him?) and his face as shoved into Deku’s neck as he can because it’s comfortable and he’s tired.

It’s raining too, the sound creating a pleasant background hum. The windows are open, and a cool breeze wafts through every now and then, bringing with it a smell that almost exclusively reminds him of Deku.

Rainy days make Katsuki drowsy when he has nothing important to do, and it’s not often that he’s allowed to indulge in the feeling. Holding Deku is important, but not life-threatening important (at least for now – if Deku keeps this up it will be), so Katsuki had plans on sinking into this mood and into Deku’s warmth.

Stupid fucking Deku.

“Shut up,” Katsuki grumbles, relaxing more of his body to let his deadweight pin Deku to the couch.

Deku could probably flip him off with his legs right now, even with all of Katsuki’s body resting on him, but their position will at least make it harder for him because Deku knows Katsuki won’t just let him flip either of them without it immediately becoming a wrestling showdown and Katsuki trying to make Deku cry uncle.

Katsuki’s coffee table is too new for that from their last impromptu wrestling match. He couldn’t give two shits if it were to break again, but Deku still feels guilty about it, and Katsuki feels no remorse over using that guilt against him to get what he wants.

Deku has shifted from pushing at his chest to his shoulders, trying to lift Katsuki’s face out of his neck. He giggles directly into Katsuki’s ear, which is just more incentive for him to not leave his spot.

He bears down harder, grinding his forehead against Deku and contemplating whether or not to bite the skin under his lips. Does he want to escalate it now, or wait for later?

“You are like a very handsy, very horny, and too warm weighted blanket Kacchan.”

“So?”

“So, it’s getting too hot!”

“It’s barely spring.”

“April is not barely spring.”

“And it’s raining.”

“That does not make you any less warm.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“Kacchan.”

“Stop moving.”

“Kacchan, get off.”

“Stop squirming. Stop- fucking- don’t do it more!”

“Kacchan! Get up! There’s more room on the other side of the couch!”

“I don’t want the other side of the couch!”

“Ow, no, Kacchan, don’t- stop biting me!”

“Then stop fucking moving!”

“Kacchan!”

“Just-”

Katsuki growls in frustration, capturing Deku’s wrists in his hands and pushing himself up a bit so he can glare at his stupid boyfriend.

They’ve been busy all fucking week with them both back to work fulltime, and this is the first time in that busy fucking week they’ve been able to spend time alone together. And Deku wants away? Wants space?

Fuck that noise.

“Let me fucking hold you!”

That stops Deku and his laughter in its tracks. He looks up at Katsuki with wide eyes and an open mouth, scar scrunching above his slowly raising eyebrows. Katsuki stares back with extreme satisfaction as Deku’s face steadily becomes as pink as his peeking tongue, contrasting nicely with the halo of green his hair is providing and highlighting the shocks of white at his roots.

Deku can be pretty when he wants to be. Especially when he’s all flushed because of him.

Katsuki’s not one for lying in general, but blunt honesty tends to make Deku compliant and extremely pink. Disregarding the nice view, it lets Katsuki get what he wants quicker, and because he wants everything when it comes to Deku, it’s tremendously useful.

“K-Kacchan,” Deku stutters, conscious thought rushing back to him as he turns his flushed face away, unable to hide in his arms as he’s prone to doing with his wrists still captured in Katsuki’s hands.

“So?”

“So, what?”

“Gonna let me hold you?”

After another second of quiet surprise, Deku nods, wobbly smile on his face.

Katsuki just sighs. Fucking finally.

Except, when he goes to collapse back on Deku, releasing his wrists so he can stuff his arms under and around Deku’s body, his hands are back on Katsuki’s shoulders, pushing him away again.

“Deku,” he growls, tired of this game already. “I swear to god, if you don’t-”

“Wait, wait, wait! Kacchan! I have to go to the bathroom!” Deku protests, cutting off the beginning of Katsuki’s tirade.

He narrows his eyes, pushing down and staring to make sure Deku’s not lying to him.

“Promise,” Deku says, offering him a smile.

He waits a few seconds more, let’s Deku sweat under his glare. He keeps awkwardly smiling, shifting restlessly under him.

“Fine,” Katsuki says, mulish and reluctant.

He pushes up until he’s sitting on the couch properly, grudgingly letting go of Deku’s warm thighs as they slip away from his waist when he goes to stand. Deku pushes his messy hair away from his face as he turns back to Katsuki with a smile, but then immediately starts laughing.

Bastard.

“Kacchan, don’t pout. I’m coming back,” Deku laughs, turning all the way back around to stand between Katsuki’s legs.

“Fuck you, I don’t pout,” he mutters, turning his head away.

“Sure, Kacchan,” Deku says.

“Die.”

Deku smiles down at him for a few seconds, then leans in to kiss his forehead. “Five minutes, okay?”

Katsuki practically snarls, hands lashing out but Deku dances out of his reach before he can grab him, laughing to himself as he runs to the bathroom.

Stupid fucking Deku with his stupid fucking face. His hands clench on empty air, slumping back into the couch with a huff, not willing to lie down with the lingering need to squeeze Deku thrumming through his veins.

He sits there like a fucking idiot, staring at nothing and faintly noting the sounds of water he can only just hear from down the hall.

He doesn’t want his phone, doesn’t want to watch anything, and he’s not hungry yet. He sits pathetically on his couch, unmoving from his spot, and realizes with quickly mounting disgust that he’s waiting like a goddamn dog, bored and uninterested in anything else except for his favorite toy which is currently out of his reach.

The fuck has Deku done to him?

Deku’s socked feet come padding back, steps slightly muffled against the wooden floor but his gait familiar.

Katsuki slumps further against the couch, pressing his clenched fists against his thighs as he watches him enter the room, looking cozy and comfortable and all too unaware over the hold he has on Katsuki. He scowls as Deku adjusts the sleeves on his arms, pushing them up to his elbows and exposing his muscled forearms, all while smiling at Katsuki without a care in the world.

Too hot his ass. If Deku is feeling too hot, then he should take off Katsuki’s sweatshirt and his sweatpants and his stupid All Might socks, not Katsuki.

Deku drops down next to him on the couch, turned slightly to face him with his right leg under him.

“Hey,” he says, voice quiet.

Katsuki rolls his eyes at the greeting but turns to face him. “What?”

He reaches out to pull him closer, drawing Deku’s free leg over his lap and wrapping his hand around his calf, fingers hooked into his knee. He lets the other drop onto Deku’s bent leg, fingers seeking the heat of his thigh hidden underneath the sweatpants. He squeezes for a few seconds, and then relaxes, both his hands and his body.

Much better.

Deku’s hair is in better order than when he left, and he looks refreshed, like the pleasant lethargy from the rainy day has been washed away.

Katsuki narrows his eyes. He thought Deku just had to take a piss.

“Nothing, just saying hi.” Deku grins cheekily, scooting closer and settling his leg farther up Katsuki’s lap, arms wrapping around Katsuki’s left with his shoulder pressed into the couch.

Oh, so he can cuddle, but when Katsuki wants to it’s ‘too hot’ and he’s ‘too heavy.’

He calls bullshit.

“Dweeb.”

Deku just smiles, leaning up to kiss Katsuki’s jaw in appeasement.

He turns his face down, pressing his mouth to Deku’s and headbutting him when he tries to pull away.

“You owe me,” he mutters between their mouths, squeezing the firm muscles in his hands. “At least three hours.”

“Three hours?” Deku asks, speaking easily between his insistent kisses. “Of what?”

Hm. Katsuki should fix that.

“Of you under me,” he says, pressing forward again. Deku’s lips are warm, a little chapped, pliant under his own. He presses harder.

“But we’re working tomorrow?” Breathy, taking unneeded breaks in between words to speak.

Better.

”Sleeping, idiot. Damn, didn’t think you had it in you, but we can do something else if you’re so eager.”

“Kacchan!” Deku pulls away, smiling. “I was just curious, but we can do whatever Kacchan wants.”

“Mark your words, Deku,” he warns and then moves to shut him up.

He uses his grip on Deku’s legs to pull them completely over his lap, settling Deku’s weight onto his legs and his hands around his waist under the sweatshirt, gripping warm skin.

Deku opens his mouth first, and at the touch of his tongue, Katsuki smirks. This shitty nerd.

Katsuki may have been acting like a dog, but at least he’s not so eager to please like a little puppy – like Deku.

“Hey,” he starts, nipping Deku’s lower lip and working his tongue over the bite. “Deku.”

“Yeah?” Deku asks, distracted, all rosy and pink. Katsuki has to stop himself from licking his cheeks.

“You brushed your teeth.”

The complete non sequitur stops Deku short. He tilts his head in question, staring at Katsuki while the words catch up to him.

Like he said: a puppy.

“Brushed… my teeth…?”

Deku is still distracted by Katsuki’s actions, hands curling around the straps of his singlet. He doesn’t say anything further, simply presses closer until he’s almost completely wrapped around Katsuki.

He hums, unable to stop his self-satisfied smile as he takes advantage of Deku’s bared neck and moves down from his mouth, dragging his teeth as he goes.

“We had egg and rice for breakfast. We haven’t had lunch yet. And your mouth tastes fresh, like your toothpaste, which it didn’t before you went to the bathroom,” Katsuki lists. “So, you are eager, but for what exactly, Deku?”

Deku suddenly jerks back, face red but not from Katsuki’s ministrations.

“No!” he immediately denies. He’s stopped kissing back, moving his neck out of Katsuki’s immediate access. “I just felt like it!”

Katsuki scowls, squeezing Deku’s hips and yanking him back. He said three hours, he’s going to get his three hours.

“Uh-huh,” Katsuki says, voice flat. “You brushed your teeth because you felt like it. Has nothing at all to do with the fact that you owe me three hours.”

“I’m serious! It doesn’t! And you told me that after I went to the bathroom!”

“Sure, sure.”

“Why would I- it wasn’t because of, of us kissing or-”

“Deku,” Katsuki interrupts.

“It’s good to brush your teeth three times a day! I don’t know why I’m defending myself to you-”

“Deku,” he interrupts again, to no use.

Katsuki rolls his eyes, and then moves a hand from Deku’s waist to his neck, pulling him in and kissing him until Deku has stopped trying to talk into the kiss.

There, that shut him up.

“Deku. Baby,” he says, smiling when Deku opens his eyes hesitantly, going red at the pet name. He smooths his fingers over soft skin, pressing his thumb to the hollow behind his jaw. “I didn’t say it was bad.”

“Oh.”

Katsuki leans back in, kissing Deku until he kisses back.

“Didn’t say to stop either,” he mutters, licking against the seam of Deku’s lips and waiting for him to open his mouth.

“Oh,” Deku whispers again, finally relaxing completely under Katsuki’s touch.

He rests all his weight against him, knees squeezing against Katsuki’s sides and hands clutching against his chest. Katsuki curls his arm around his waist, anchoring him to his spot, and uses his hand on Deku’s neck to tilt him where he wants him, to press him closer and to pull him away as he decides.

And Deku lets him, nervous energy from earlier gone.

Perfect.

“One more?” Deku murmurs, catching his breath.

Fuck, that question destroys Katsuki. His hands spasm around Deku’s body, grasps him tighter against him.

“Yeah, just one,” he says, head tilting as he catches his mouth again and again and again.

Deku’s hips shift, an involuntary move to get closer, but it’s enough to start something, for his hands to go from grasping to clawing, gripping Deku’s thighs and filling his palm as much as he can, for Deku to keep moving against him, chasing the friction and pleasure Katsuki is offering.

Which is why he’s going to kill whoever the fuck is calling Deku, and then kill Deku even harder for having his ringer on when it’s their day off.

It’s not even his work ringtone blaring, which means it’s not an emergency as far as they’re aware, so the interruption is pure bullshit.

Deku pulls back, lips wet and eyes dazed, his focus that was entirely on Katsuki now shifting away and his body stilling.

What will it take for him to keep that focus for the rest of the day, huh? Just one day, that’s all he wants.

“Kacchan,” Deku calls when Katsuki ignores the ringing phone and instead attaches his mouth to Deku’s neck. “Kacchan, it’s Uraraka, I gotta take it.”

“’M not stopping you,” he mutters under his breath, pissed at the fact that it’s fucking Round Face calling and not someone with something actually important to say.

He’s going to blow her head off next time he sees her. The fuck does she even want? She saw them both yesterday, she knows Deku’s doing good.

He bites harder, trying to focus on the weight in his lap and the body in his arms instead of his rising annoyance.

“Kacchan,” Deku protests, futilely trying to lift Katsuki’s head away from his neck.

He yanks Deku flush against him, refusing to move. He pulls back to bite Deku’s cheek for good measure, speaking around his bite.

“Answer the fucking phone and tell her to fuck off. I still have my three hours.”

“Okay, okay,” Deku laughs, still red in the face and breathless. He accepts the call, leaning against Katsuki’s chest and settling his free hand in his hair.

Katsuki puts his face back on Deku’s shoulder knowing full well they’ll be talking for a bit, and breathes in deeply, nosing at the warmth.

Deku starts talking, answering some inane shit Uraraka asked, but Katsuki can’t be assed to pay attention to their conversation when it doesn’t involve him.

He focuses on the vibrations coming from Deku’s throat instead. He turns his head, pressing his ear to Deku’s pulse, and closes his eyes at the proof of Deku’s existence, the warmth emanating from him. Deku hugs him tighter, tilts his head to make it more comfortable for Katsuki.

It’s still strange to think he’s allowed this now, that this level of intimacy is freely given to Katsuki after everything.

Because he can feel Deku’s fingers scratching at his scalp, can hear every subtle rise and fall of his voice reverberating in his own chest, can feel Deku’s lungs expand and the exact moment he adjusts his legs – not to move away from Katsuki, but to get closer, to get more comfortable and stay here, pressed thigh to thigh and chest to chest.

He can feel Deku’s breaths against the bare skin of his neck with every exhale, knows that Deku is watching his fingers move through blond hair. He’s focused on Katsuki even while he’s speaking to a close friend, a conversation that by all means he could have insisted on taking privately.

Katsuki has to close his eyes, hands flexing against Deku’s hips as he tries to curb his reaction from finally figuring out what this is, this feeling like a battering ram straight to his ribs that’s become more and more pronounced with every passing day, with every moment that Deku settled in next to Katsuki on the couch or asked Katsuki to come with him to his physical therapy. From the first time he called Katsuki after getting his stiches removed and sling permanently off to ask him to help him bathe, to all the times he visited his mom and demanded Katsuki come with him because where else would Katsuki be but by Deku’s side?

To Deku, he realizes, swallowing roughly as he digs his face into the fabric of what used to be his sweatshirt, Katsuki is his safe space, his moment of quiet and comfort for all that Katsuki likes to bite and yell and annoy him.

He had genuinely never thought that for all the years he’d been alive and all the years he had yet to live, all the years that he’d been alone (even with his family and friends and Izuku, always Izuku, at his side) that he’d be granted this kind of intimacy. That Deku would grant him this possibility.

Because fuck, he’s craved this – as soon as he got his shit together and realized, truly, truly realized what Deku is for him, who he could be to him, there’s been an immediate need he had long neglected for his own sanity.

A need to touch, to hold, a need for closeness only Deku could fulfill that he had viciously beaten down, even with every selfishly, quietly linked pinky finger or an arm thrown over a shoulder after battle.

All the times he became near-violent with the control needed to not run his hands over Deku after a spar, to not brush away his tears or clean up his blood when it wasn’t his place, to not take Deku into his arms in the locker room after an awful mission and hold him while he shook, or to be held after a shitty day with too many people – all those moments and urges deliberately ignored and brushed aside only for him to end up here.

Here, where Deku, tangible and real and in his arms, is seeking Katsuki’s warmth and wearing his clothes and asking for help even when it’s like pulling teeth, looking for Katsuki to stay with him, eager for Katsuki despite all his valid insecurities and worries about their new relationship.

He curls his arms tighter around Deku, burying his face into his neck and breathing in his musk and his soap as he tries to steady his breathing.

Here Deku is, alive and in his arms. His arms, in Katsuki’s hands, hands that have created more destruction than he will ever be able to quantify in his mind.

He’s here. Willingly.

Katsuki may know destruction and power and everything that burns, but with Deku, maybe he can learn something gentler.

Deku shifts, and Katsuki can just pick up Uraraka saying his name over the speakers. He tunes back into the sounds of their conversation, pressing a kiss to the base of his neck and lingering as he composes himself.

Deku doesn’t protest when Katsuki squeezes him tighter like he’s trying to fuse their fucking molecules together, and he gives his silent thanks once more.

“You’re so comfortable, now. Don’t get me wrong, you guys were close before, even to the point where I don’t think you realized how much you would orbit around him and he you. But now you’re so… content at his side. Even Bakugou seems calmer.”

Katsuki growls low and playful in his chest at that, just for Deku to hear.

Deku laughs, at him or Uraraka he doesn’t know, but he does feel Deku chin him gently, hand threading firmly through his hair.

“I don’t know about that, Uraraka.”

“No, I’m serious!” she insists. “There was always this look in his eyes, like he was mere seconds from either ripping you apart or blasting you away. He still looks like that, if I’m being honest, but it’s less…”

Uraraka trails off, and Deku sighs, breathing shaky. The skin under Katsuki’s mouth warms up.

He smirks, realizing Deku is flushed over the realization that yeah, Katsuki’s been trying to obliterate his ass this whole time, even if he himself couldn’t see it.

They’re both knocking down the last of the shutters over their eyes, but Deku being more embarrassed and flustered over these realizations than Katsuki is his reward for dealing with this phone call in the first place.

“It’s less painful, you know? For the both of you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I get it.”

“That violence is still there, though,” Uraraka laughs. “I think it’s just a you thing. He’s still antisocial to the point of exploding us, but he’s not trying to bite anybody else.”

Deku stifles a yelp at Katsuki’s sudden bite, less playful and more violent, like Uraraka is so insistent upon.

“Uh, yeah, I get that, too. I can handle it, though.”

He sucks on the bite mark until Deku stops yanking at Katsuki’s hair. He knows just how well Deku can handle it.

“I don’t think anyone was shocked hearing you two got together, but I was a little surprised at how quickly you guys seemed to settle in. It’s been, what, a few weeks at most? Month and a half?”

Katsuki feels Deku shrug under him. “I mean, he was my best friend before all this. He still is.”

He sounds content when he answers her, and randomly presses a kiss to the top of Katsuki’s head. He presses one back, right under Deku’s moving jaw.

He needs to shave. Maybe he’ll convince Deku to let Katsuki do it for him.

“Hey!” Uraraka yells, laughing a little. “What am I then?”

Katsuki smirks, and bites Deku’s pulse as a reward. Of course he’s Deku’s best friend – he’s number one in every part of Deku’s life.

Suck on that, nerd squad.

“Sorry, sorry,” Deku laughs back, his chuckles soothing something in Katsuki’s chest. “But it’s true. So with him, with us, once I really got used to it, it just felt right, you know? I was going to spend the rest of my life with Kacchan one way or another, in any way possible. I’m just glad it’s this way.”

Deku goes hushed near the end, curling closer around Katsuki as he lets his own head rest on Katsuki’s shoulder. He sounds bashful at his confession, but Katsuki can’t get over the elation rushing through him, the vindication that Deku is as in it for the long haul as he is.

He tugs him closer, let’s Deku take a moment and uses it to hide his smile.

Deku is his, and it feels good to know indelibly that he always was.

Uraraka sighs over the phone, fond and playfully irritated at the same time. “Yeah, yeah, ‘Kacchan sugoi’ or whatever. Do you even realize how sappy you sound when you talk about him? It’s even worse now that you’re together.”

Katsuki perks up, finally removing his head from Deku’s neck and pushing him back a little to look him in the eye.

“You talked about me?” Katsuki mouths with a slow growing smirk.

Deku covers his eyes with his free hand and leans back in embarrassment. It does absolutely nothing to hide the flush growing on Deku’s face or traveling down his neck, the pink skin blending with all the marks Katsuki has been leaving behind.

“Uraraka,” he groans. “Please.”

Katsuki snickers as he links his hands behind Deku’s back, letting him lean back as much as he wants without letting him fall off and onto the floor. He can try and run away all he likes, but he’s not leaving Katsuki’s lap.

“What! It’s true! Before it was all ‘Kacchan sugoi’ this and ‘Kacchan sugoi’ that but you were kind of mopey about it when you weren’t being horny, and now you’re happy and horny instead of mostly happy, somewhat sad, and horny.”

“Uraraka!”

Katsuki cackles, loud enough for Uraraka to hear through the phone, and yanks Deku back into his arms, kissing him quick and rough and full on the mouth, stealing his words.

This goddamn nerd.

“Wait, is that Bakugou? He’s there with you?” he hears Uraraka ask excitedly, voice maliciously gleeful. “Did he hear me?”

“Fuck off, Round Face,” he calls loudly as Deku is still trying to move the phone out of Katsuki’s hearing and lean away at the same time with little success. “And I heard everything!”

“No, it’s- he heard nothing! Uraraka, stop! Kacchan, don’t listen to her, everything she says is a lie!”

“Hi, Bakugou! Did you know that last Valentine’s Day, when you did that Calvin Klein shoot, Deku called me as soon as he picked up a copy and was screaming and super hor-”

“Okay, bye, lovely talking with you, see you never!” Deku suddenly says, ending the phone call then chucking his phone across the room.

He turns back to a laughing Katsuki with wide eyes. “Everything she said was a lie.”

“Oh?” Katsuki asks, humoring him. He leans in, intent on making use of Deku’s undivided attention. “So you don’t want the unused or behind the scene pictures of that shoot.”

Deku’s mouth gapes, panic taking over his face as he wrestles with his decision to confirm Uraraka’s words at the cost of his own pride or continue lying and lose the pictures.

“Um, well-” Deku starts, words quickly becoming lost under his breath.

He looks like his head is about to combust, pink-faced and eyes darting every which way, hands gripping Katsuki’s shirt with unyielding strength but fingers still restlessly moving as he mutters the pros and cons to himself.

Katsuki laughs low in his throat, unable to stop the swell of affection overcoming him.

“You shitty nerd,” Katsuki insults with a wide grin, leaning back in to shut him up.

Deku accepts the kiss, murmurs quieting down as he drifts back into Katsuki’s hold.

“Kacchan,” he whispers against his lips, sighing. “I’m so happy.”

For a moment, his world narrows down to this singular point in time, to this man Katsuki has unerringly and unavoidably devoted his own life to.

“Izuku,” he murmurs back, unable to articulate anything but his name. “Baby.”

The rain drones gently in the background. Petrichor and the sweetness of freshly watered flowers from both Deku and outside surrounds them. An encompassing warmth settles in his arms, immovable and enduring.

A kiss to his nose. Another to the bow of his lips. Another to the freckles dusting his cheeks, up his gentle cheekbone, and another to the middle of his scar.

He walks his kisses across Deku’s face until he can press him cheek to cheek and dig his fingers in hard enough that Deku makes a sharp sound.

Katsuki loosens his hold just a touch, keeping Deku pressed as tightly to him as possible.

He could’ve lost this, over and over and over again, this chance to exist so peacefully with Deku.

There’s been no shortage of moments from either of them where it had gotten close, too close, and under that building? Katsuki had been convinced for a good minute that that was the moment he was going to lose everything. But, if there’s one good thing about Deku’s stubborn ass, it’s that he never finds a reason to give up.

Deku saved himself and Katsuki that day, and it’s not a victory Katsuki will soon forget.

“Kacchan?” Deku asks, voice quiet, concerned, reading him like always. He hugs him back just as fiercely, gently moving his face up and down to rub their cheeks together, seeking and offering skinship when he’s not sure what to do.

“Never leave,” he breathes. “I’ll kill you.”

“Hm?” Deku asks, turning his head to press a kiss to Katsuki’s cheek. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear what you said.”

“Stay here and die,” Katsuki says louder, wrapping his arms around Deku tight enough that his hands grip his ribs on either side, finding the grooves his fingertips fit in and feeling every expansion of his lungs. “I’ll kill you if you leave, Izuku.”

Deku doesn’t laugh, doesn’t do anything but take him seriously.

He sits up so he can wrap his arms around Katsuki’s shoulders and head, settling his cheek on top and rubbing against his hair as he envelops Katsuki back just as completely.

“Kacchan,” Deku says, with so much adoration in his voice Katsuki’s breath hitches, his fingers tighten, that he can’t help but hide his face back in Deku’s neck. His words are soft, for Katsuki’s ears alone, even though it’s just the two of them. “Where else would I go?”

His fingers start a pattern at the base of Katsuki’s neck and up into his hair, scratching slow and tender until Katsuki’s grip on him eases, until he can leave Deku’s neck with a steady breath and catch him in a kiss again.

Truly, where would Deku go that Katsuki would not follow?

He takes advantage of his three hours and more, molds Deku against him and memorizes the feel of his mouth under his tongue – among other things.

Even when Deku complains about him being too hot again despite the lack of clothes, Katsuki refuses to let go.

-

“Oi, when’s the Tin-Tin fucker due back?”

An intern who had just walked in spins on the heel of her foot and walks back out the door as soon as she hears Katsuki’s booming voice.

Coward, he thinks, sneering a little before turning with an expectant eyebrow raised to Haruka, a rookie sidekick that started just before the Yamanaka earthquake.

Katsuki’s seen her maybe two, three times while on shift, and only realized she was a sidekick when Deku asked about her a few weeks into his mandatory month of medical leave. He doesn’t remember what the fuck her hero name is, and the only reason he remembers her name at all is because some other rookie had called it out just a few minutes before.

She startles at the direct address before looking down at her desk and shifting a few papers to check at a calendar.

“In about three days, sir,” she answers, looking back up at him. “Lemillion has already left the States and will be back in Japan tomorrow. He has a few mandatory rest days scheduled before he’ll be officially put back on rotation.”

Katsuki scowls, lifting his gallon jug up to drink and wiping away some of the water that spills. Over-working bastard. Worse than even Deku. Should just quit already and leave them alone.

He taps his foot, getting more pissed with every passing second.

Their lunch break started ten minutes ago, but Deku called him saying he’d be coming by a little late.

“Sorry, Kacchan,” he said, sounding genuinely contrite. “I’m, uh, a little caught up in this crowd right now, but I promise I won’t take more than five minutes, so please wait just a little longer for me!”

Liar. It’ll probably be another twenty minutes before Deku makes it back to the Tower. Despite his annoyance, Katsuki already expected this to happen (as it has been all week), which is why he’s in the communal room leaning against a sidekick’s desk with various employees making pleasant background noise around him and not on the rooftop where they usually eat listening to the wind howling in his ears.

It’s still cold as fuck all with the wind-temps up there despite being mid-April, and Katsuki is not going to freeze his balls off for nothing by waiting like a loser.

Deku can come down and get him when he’s here.

He’s idly drinking his water, bentos sat out next to him while he stares out the window and waits for his phone to buzz with confirmation of Deku’s arrival. It’s a sunny day, not quite as rainy as it was last year, which makes it easy to spot the faint plume of smoke in the distance.

Katsuki narrows his eyes, capping his jug and uncrossing his legs with the intent to push off the desk and move closer to the window, to see if it’s an issue he needs to take care of.

Right when he’s about to turn around and demand the radio in the back of the room be cranked up, he faintly hears Deku’s voice coming from the comm unit resting on his chest.

He jams it back in his ear and listens as Deku comes over the line again, crackling a bit.

Wind, which means Deku’s either flying somewhere fast or is high up in the sky.

“Kacchan!” he calls, voice breathless and strained.

Katsuki stands up, already turning towards the stairwell and the window inside it that’s optimal for leaving in short notice.

“Deku, what the fu-”

“Kacchan, I need back up!” Deku interrupts, words coming out in a rush. “There was an attack on the rail! If you can see smoke from the Tower, head in that direction, southwest of downtown, the tracks crossing through! I lost sight of the villain, and I can’t go after him because of the train; it’s not safe yet.”

“The train?” he repeats, and before he can get through the doorway or have Deku clarify what the fuck he’s talking about, Haruka calls his name.

“Dynamight, Sir!” She gestures to the T.V. mounted on the wall that cycles endlessly through news stations. The room hushes, faces blanching at what they see.

“What?” he growls, whipping around towards her. He doesn’t have time for this.

A faint sense of wrong buzzes at the back of his head, even as he turns to look.

It’s a live reporting from one of the Minato Ward’s local news’ helicopter crew, flying above the intersection of multiple trains.

It’s a somewhat rare sight, for a news crew to be circling around a situation in the air rather than on the ground, but then Katsuki sees what everybody was seeing, and hears the tail-end of the reporter’s words as Haruka finally turns it up loud enough to hear.

That faint buzz becomes a goddamn siren as Katsuki steps closer to the T.V., watching with wary eyes.

“-singlehandedly lifting every cart off the tracks with passengers still inside! Deku has been back for only two weeks, and now here he is, averting what could’ve been a devastating catastrophe in the blink of an eye!”

The camera zooms in on the scene and Katsuki can see where parts of the bridge and tracks that their public transport regularly travel over has collapsed. It’s the cause of the plume of smoke he had seen in the distance.

The camera stays there, panning over the mess of collapsed rubble and drifting smoke to look up above the tracks. The reporter continues to narrate the situation, talking over the footage.

“There’s reason to believe that this was not the collapse of infrastructure caused by the Yamanaka earthquake. Local authorities have confirmed signs of tampering on the pillars of the bridge where it is assumed explosives, or a quirk, were being used with intent to collapse those integral supports. As you can see, some of these attempts were successful, but thankfully, most seem to have failed. Even if those failed attempts had worked, there would still be no confirmed casualties due to Deku’s quick thinking!”

And the camera finally pans all the way up to where Deku floats like a burning star in the middle of the sky, the center of a mass of black, writhing strands that fan out around him and have attached to every single car on the train.

Blackwhip supports every connection between every car and holds the entire train aloft, completely level as if it were still running on the ground.

The passengers are pressed against the windows, craning their heads to look out and down, some trying to look up. Others have reached their hands out, touching various tendrils of Blackwhip in hushed awe or exuberant excitement.

Deku is shifting as the camera watches, has moved back and away from the collapse in the bridge until the back car of the train is now hovering over steady, unbroken tracks.

Deku seems to be waiting for something, and the camera very faintly picks out a man in a cap leaning out the window from the front of the train to shout something up at Deku and flash a thumbs up at him. At that signal, Deku starts to lower the end car, Blackwhip moving as he settles it back on the tracks with unerring accuracy and great care.

The news camera picks up the cheers that come from the train, the crowd that has started to form, and the news crew’s own excitement.

It’s just one train car out of a dozen, and Deku has already started on lowering the next one.

Katsuki is out the door before they even begin to zoom in on him.

-

Dressed in a rail worker’s uniform, tall, on the skinny side, and able to make explosive devices from his body like an extremely shittier and stupider version of Yaomomo and himself.

That was the (abridged) description Deku gave him. Katsuki blasts over to the plume of smoke he had seen from the windows and he easily spots the fucker, a tiny speck hiding among some of the rubble with his back towards Katsuki.

This extra, thinking he’s even close to Ponytail’s level or his own.

“There you are,” he grunts, angling his hands to make a direct beeline towards the villain. He’s going to take him out in one move.

“Kacchan, do you have eyes on him? I’m only halfway through the cars.”

“T-minus ten seconds, Deku. Leave this shitass to me and hurry up! If you’re not on the ground in five minutes, I’m gonna blast your ass to Australia!”

Deku laughs, breathless and tense and too reminiscent of not even two full months ago under that building, except the whole situation is reversed now.

Katsuki grits his teeth, focusing on his own task.

Deku’s not injured (as far as Katsuki is aware), and he’s stronger now, having trained with an almost unnerving intensity for specific situations like this where he’d need to pull off an impossible feat of strength.

He’s probably also having the kind of fun a Pro rarely gets to have in this kind of work, the type of fun Deku specifically has probably been having wet dreams about since he got One For All. It’s not every day Deku gets to use his quirks in such multifaceted ways like keeping a fucking train together and off the ground. He’s fine.

Katsuki looks to his left where he can see Deku moving the train back to the stable parts of the track one by one with an ease that makes Katsuki’s pulse pound, the desire to test that strength, to push it to its limit and make it submit tearing through his blood.

Last time, Deku had been a maelstrom of strength he could barely contain trapped in the dark, holding together a coffin of their own making with his blood, sweat, and tears framing his feet.

But now? Now, Deku’s another sun in the sky, a phenomenon no one can look away from. He’s brimming with power and control, completely unbridled as he pulls off what he does best: saving people.

Deku’s more than fine. He’s thriving.

“Alright, Kacchan! But if I finish before you, you’re buying dinner! If you finish first, I’ll buy dinner!”

“Fuck that! If you somehow finish before me, I’ll make dinner. But you won’t!”

“I’ll take you up on that! See you in three minutes!”

The line goes quiet, and Katsuki grins, eyeing the area he’s fast approaching. The blob that was the villain is becoming more and more defined the closer he gets.

There’s enough space, there’s no one close enough nearby to get caught in the crossfire, and this part of the rail is already destroyed.

He’ll finish it in three seconds.

“Oi!” he yells out, watching as the villain jerks up from where he’d been aiming at Deku’s unaware, unprotected back.

This villain fucked up thinking Deku is his only opponent and is even stupider than Katsuki had assumed. He thinks Deku is an easy target, especially with Katsuki in the area?

He’s about to teach him a valuable lesson.

“Focus on me, rat bastard!”

He continues looking around wildly before finally catching sight of Katsuki coming down on him like the hammer of Lucifer himself.

Katsuki can see his fear, can see the way he scrambles and starts pitching his quirk-made grenades at Katsuki like they’ll be of any use, like Katsuki isn’t a cataclysm made manifest, like he wasn’t born with destruction held in the palm of his hands.

He laughs, unrestrained and a little manic.

“You watching, Deku?” he yells, over the comm and across the empty air.

“Always, Kacchan,” Deku answers.

Katsuki can hear the smile and feels his own grow uncontrollably wide.

He flips his hands, focuses on the very center of his palms, and begins his descent.

“HOWITZER IMPACT!”

-

“Where the fuck is Deku’s room?” he asks for the second time, trying to keep a level voice. The receptionist raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him, and Katsuki swears his teeth are cracking from how hard he’s gritting them.

With all the bullshit of handing the villain over to the police, and before that, beating the whereabouts of the other explosives left on the rails out of the fucker, Deku had not only finished before him, he was carted off to the hospital before Katsuki could even make his way over to check on him.

Katsuki barely allowed himself time to grab his keys and Deku’s shit before busting his ass over to the hospital, dialing Deku’s number every five seconds.

Deku isn’t answering, they took his comm unit from him in the midst of Katsuki’s talk with the police, and this nurse is almost as unhelpful as the one Katsuki nearly started a fistfight with in the lobby at the hospital by Yamanaka Square, bare ass and all out with his IV stuck in his arm after he woke up and heard Deku was still in a goddamn coma and he wasn’t allowed to see him.

He fucking hates hospitals.

“Mr. Dynamight, Sir, as you’re not close family, I’m not authorized to give you detailed information about Mr. Deku’s status or his whereabouts,” she says, teeth gritting almost as hard as Katsuki’s. “However, if Mr. Deku gives an exception, then you can visit.”

“So fucking call his room up!”

“I can’t right now, Sir, like I told you before. They’re currently conducting an exam. His room will call the front desk when he’s ready.”

Katsuki fucking hates hospitals.

He just wants to know why the fuck Deku’s in the goddamn hospital when not half an hour ago he was lifting fucking train cars like they were volleyballs.

But he’s not family.

Bullshit.

He’s the closest person to Deku, and he still can’t fucking see him at the hospital.

It’s like the past two months never fucking happened and he’s back in that shitty lobby, having to wait for Inko to grant him access to Deku’s room, and for fucking Aizawa of all people to tell him Deku was still breathing.

He closes his eyes, forcefully breathes through his nose. He can’t stop his hands from gripping the edge of the counter, or the sweat filling his gloves, but yelling at the woman won’t help.

He opens his eyes, glaring at her. “I know every one of his Emergency Contacts. I know all of his medical information. I have authority on the field to act as his next of kin in the case of severe injury or death. So tell me his goddamn room number.”

She expression shifts, losing her annoyance. She stares at him quizzically for a few seconds, then looks back at her computer screen. “Sir, can I see your I.D.?”

Katsuki blinks. What.

“What? Why?” he says. He doesn’t have his wallet on him, only Deku’s bag sitting at his feet.

“Any I.D. will do, like your hero license, or driver’s license,” she prods, now staring at Katsuki with a different light in her eyes. Literally, a different light. Is she using her quirk on him?

Katsuki scowls, digging his hand through one of his belt’s pockets. The fuck does she need his I.D. for?

He slams it on the counter, and she’s quick to take it up, looking at his hero I.D. then up at Katsuki, then back to the computer.

“Eye mask, please,” she says, and Katsuki rips the damned thing down to hang around his neck, baring his teeth at her.

What next, she needs his shirt and shoes, too?

She stares at him for an uncomfortably long second, before releasing a deep sigh, the tension in her shoulders disappearing.

“Mr. Bakugou,” she starts, and Katsuki jerks slightly from the change in name address. “As you’re aware, when we’re housing heroes, we have to be very thorough in making sure no imposters or villains try and gain access to their rooms.”

“And?” he growls, impatient.

“And,” she says, sliding his I.D. back across the counter, “that means vetting any visitors, whether they claim they’re family or close friends, like yourself.”

“Get to the fucking poi-”

“My point is, Mr. Bakugou, if you had just told me you were one of Mr. Deku’s emergency contact’s and had shown me your I.D. immediately so I could confirm that fact, we wouldn’t have had this issue.”

That brings Katsuki up short, hand hovering over his card.

Emergency Contact?

“I’m not his Emergency Contact,” he tells her, pulse suddenly picking up.

“Well, it seems like his face sheet has been updated recently,” she says, turning back to her computer and clicking through pages on the screen. “Was this a change you were not informed about? Because it clearly says here that his first Emergency Contact is a Bakugou Katsuki, and unless my quirk is failing me, that is in fact you.”

She even turns the screen to him, zoomed in on the file so all Katsuki can see is his name, bold and incriminating, right above Midoriya Inko filling the second line.

“Room 1058,” she tells him, offering him her first smile. “If the door is closed, please knock and wait for the check-up to finish. Also please let Mr. Deku know that he should inform his Emergency Contacts that they are in fact his Emergency Contacts so we can avoid situations like these in the future.”

Katsuki stares at the monitor even when she turns it away, hand dropping limply to his side.

That second line used to be All Might’s spot, not Midoriya Inko’s. Hell, the first line was for Inko, not him.

Katsuki knows because Deku asked him when they were still at UA who he should put as his Emergency Contacts. He was floundering for adults he could trust to have his best medical interests in mind considering he only had his mom and he hadn’t seen Katsuki’s parents in more than a decade, so Katsuki flicked him on the forehead and told him to tell All Might he’s his new Emergency Contact, then to ask Aizawa.

Pros are urged to have at minimum four emergency contacts so there’d hopefully always be at least one person available, and Deku had been quietly disappointed during all of high school that he could never fill out that fourth line.

Katsuki had his family, Aizawa (that was one of the most uncomfortable and shortest conversations he ever had with his teacher during his time at UA), and his somehow not yet dead grandmother listed as his.

In the years since, he’d changed it to include Deku instead of his grandmother, putting him first on the list because he’d rather have another Pro make his medical decisions if he were ever indisposed, and there’s no other hero he trusts more than Deku.

But Deku only ever had three: his mother, Yagi Toshinori, and Aizawa Shouta. For years, it was those same three, no matter how much Katsuki hated it.

It had always been a little sign to him that despite Deku forgiving him, he still didn’t trust Katsuki with that one part of himself, didn’t trust Katsuki with his health or his future.

But now it’s Katsuki on that line.

Something is bursting in Katsuki’s chest, painful and overwhelming and too important considering he’s in a goddamn hospital lobby and still sweating through his suit, covered in ash, and smelling like the odd, lingering smell of the villain’s explosives.

He nods at the nurse in thanks, and heads to the elevators.

When he steps off and walks down the hall, the door to 1058 is slightly ajar. As Katsuki gets closer, he can hear voices, one distinctly Deku’s, the other unknown.

Knock, she advised.

Right.

He steps right up to the door, lifts his foot up, and kicks it open, the door flying open with a large bang and startling both Deku and the doctor he’s talking to.

Katsuki stands there, one hand gripping Deku’s shitty bag, and the other clenched in a fist at his side. He glares at Deku, eye twitching and chest rising just a little too fast.

Look at him, talking so genially with the doctor when Katsuki’s been trying to get into contact with him for the past half-hour and spent the other half reminding himself murder is frowned upon in hospitals.

He’ll kill him.

“Deku,” he growls.

Deku winces, offering him a sheepish smile. “Hi, Kacchan?”

Katsuki stomps into the room, right past the surprised doctor and directly to where Deku sits on the edge of his bed, iron soles swinging just a little above the floor.

Deku holds his hands up, pleading with him. His gloves are off, bare hands on display, and the rest of his suit looks intact, if dirty. “Now hold on, Kacchan-”

He slaps him right up the back of his head, just hard enough to make a firm sound. For all he knows Deku’s got a head injury, and he doesn’t want to make him even more stupid, but he still needs to make sure Deku knows he fucked up.

“Could’ve at least had the decency to let me know you needed to be taken to the fucking hospital, dumbass. Or tell me that I’m one of your Emergency Contacts!”

“Ow,” Deku complains, frowning. He peeks up at Katsuki with a pout. Idiot. “You’re not supposed to hit a person in the hospital, Kacchan, and they demanded I go just as a precaution. Also, I thought I told you?”

“No, fuckass, you didn’t. Be happy I’m not exploding your ass.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve been my Emergency Contact for a while, though.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“What, why?”

Katsuki runs a hand through his hair, aggravated. Deku doesn’t even fucking realize how momentous it was for him to find out he's his Emergency Contact.

So when the fuck did he change it?

Deku continues to stare at him in genuine confusion, and the doctor is giving him an awkward look, so he drops it, growling low in his chest. He jabs a finger at Deku’s face, watches him go cross-eyed.

“I am never letting you out of my sight ever again.”

“Never?” Deku questions, smiling a little too happily in Katsuki’s opinion.

“No, because next time you’ll decide to catch a fucking plane with your bare hands and then fuck off to Musutafu behind my back.”

Deku catches one of his hands, making him drop the bag to the floor so he can hold it and tug on it like Katsuki’s attention isn’t already on him. “I’m sorry, Kacchan, things were just happening really fast and I lost track of my phone. I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m fine, I swear.”

He does look fine, relatively speaking, if a little singed in some parts and sweat tracks muddling through a truly disgusting amount of dust. He’s almost as covered as Katsuki is.

But his face… again.

“I’ll give you a moment,” the doctor suddenly says, bowing shallowly to them both before quickly leaving. He closes the door behind him, leaving them in silence.

“Kacchan?” Deku asks, face tilting up to stare at where Katsuki still looms over him.

Katsuki motions with his chin to Deku’s face, looking at where Deku’s forehead scar is now cut diagonally across with another cut. “The hell happened there?”

“Just some shrapnel, I guess, from the first explosion before I floated up. A small scratch.”

Katsuki tugs one of his gloves off and leans over Deku to wipe his hand perfunctorily against the sheets of Deku’s bed. God willing, no one with a fire quirk will touch those anytime soon. Deku makes a weird sound when his chest bumps into his face, so he flicks him in the forehead.

“No,” he says, and Deku’s face goes red.

Katsuki grabs his face in his hand and tilts it. Deku lets him easily, entirely too used to the way Katsuki’s hands gravitate to his face.

The new cut rips through the old scar in an opposite slant, almost reaching Deku’s eyebrow again. That ain’t a small scratch to tear through a thick scar like that. It’s already held closed with a few butterfly bandages, and the surrounding area has been cleaned.

At least the docs here are competent.

“Can you stop catching rocks with your fucking face for once?” Katsuki asks, thumbing to the side of Deku’s scar, tugging the bandages covering it lightly. No blood wells up, and Deku only winces a little.

Good, a shallow cut than, not like the laceration that gave Deku his scar from the building.

“Ah-ha,” Deku laughs awkwardly, shifting his eyes away. “I’ll do my best.”

“Do better.”

“Better than my best?”

“Yeah, because your best is using your face to block.”

“…That’s fair.”

The unease that had been buzzing in the back of his head since he first saw that plume of smoke finally starts to drain away. Katsuki didn’t have time for it earlier, both he and Deku needing to focus and do their jobs, but with Deku warm under his hands and only slightly battered, he finds he doesn’t need to set time aside for it now, either.

“Were you worried, Kacchan?” Deku asks.

He tugs his other hand away from Deku, squishes his face in his hands. “I don’t feel shitty things like worry, Deku.”

“Sure,” Deku mumbles through the press of his cheeks. His hands come up, fingers curling through the loops on Katsuki’s belt. “I was worried, too, but I know Kacchan is the best.”

“Damn right,” he mutters, tilting Deku’s face up and stepping close enough to the bed his knees bump with Deku’s.

He leans down, presses a long kiss to Deku’s hairline, nosing away loose white strands. He smells like sweat and the outside, hair windblown and mussed from being up so high for so long.

“Doc’s verdict?” he asks, pulling back a little.

Deku hums, eyes closed. “Extremely minor concussion, so they said I can go home. I just need to be supervised for the next twenty-four hours to make sure it doesn’t get worse. I can work tomorrow, just no lengthy screen time.”

The corner of Katsuki’s eyes tightens. At least he didn’t slap Deku’s head harder. But that doc also saw it happen, and didn’t say anything, which means his concussion really is minor and his supervision is just a precaution. Still.

He leans down, kisses his forehead.

“So your brain did take a sabbatical,” Katsuki says against his skin, obliging Deku with another kiss to his cheek when he tilts his face up.

“Technically-”

“No, no technically. It did. It left you; it’s gone.”

“-it’s just on a run.”

Katsuki sighs, already tired.

“Deku-”

“Ask me.”

“No.”

“Ask me!”

“No.”

“Ask me why it’s on a run!”

Katsuki scowls, squishing Deku’s cheeks together. Deku kicks his shin in retaliation – well, tries to and misses. No fucking way is Katsuki letting those iron soles come anywhere close to him.

“C’mon! Ask!”

He lets up the pressure of his palms, already regretting it.

“Why is it on a run,” Katsuki asks completely deadpan, watching as Deku’s smile fights against his palms, too wide to be contained.

“To jog my memory.”

Deku waits for Katsuki’s verdict, grinning up at him.

Katsuki stares down at him, eyebrows raising. That was…

That was genuinely bad.

He distracts himself from the heavy thud of his heart against his ribs and the warmth in his ears from the smile Deku is giving him by squishing his face again, shaking his head back and forth.

Absolutely despicable.

“Wow, that was actual dogshit. You proud of that one?”

“No, it was kind of lame,” Deku agrees, laughing.

He snickers to himself over his shitty pun, staring up at Katsuki with too wide and too adoring eyes considering all Katsuki’s done since he walked in was insult Deku and give into his constant urge to squeeze Deku until he pops.

“I gotta finish my shift,” Katsuki says, dropping his hands as he steps back. He doesn’t get far, Deku still holding onto his belt and keeping Katsuki in his space. “You head back first. And don’t get your nasty suit anywhere near my couch. Take a fucking shower as soon as you’re in.”

“Need me to pick anything up? Also, I don’t have a key, Kacchan. How am I going to get in?”

Right, that reminds him. He stuffs his hands in his pocket rummaging around a bit. “No, she’s gonna take you straight there. I’m cooking, remember? So don’t eat too much, especially if she tries to feed you. She won’t stay too long, so kick her out if you feel like it. And, here, been meaning to give you this.”

He finally gets Deku’s clingy hands off him, grabbing one and forcing his fingers to uncurl. He drops it in his palm unceremoniously, the metal shining brightly under the sharp hospital lights. Katsuki curls Deku’s fingers around it, bringing his hand up to his mouth and kissing the scar running across the back before turning around.

“She? Is someone picking me up? And what are you giving… me…” Deku trails off, going quiet first from the distracting kiss, then from the object in his palm.

Katsuki smirks to himself as he heads to the door, tugging his mask back over his face.

“Kacchan,” he hears. “This is a key. Your key. This is your apartment key.”

“Later, nerd,” he calls over his shoulder, opening the door. Right on time, too. He had only texted her once he got to the hospital, but she’s always had uncannily good timing.

“Brat.”

“Hag.” He points over his shoulder with his thumb to where Deku sits, dumbstruck and staring at his palm with unblinking eyes. “He’s almost ready to go. He’ll let you in, so don’t fucking touch anything.”

Mitsuki peeks around him, a wide grin on her face as she looks at Deku. She whistles, sharp and quick. “Damn, you broke him, kid.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, brushing past his mom. “Yeah, yeah. I need to go – I’m still technically on duty.”

“Fuck them up,” she tells him, patting him on his shoulder as he passes by. “How’s two weekends from now?”

“Kacchan,” he faintly hears. He grins, turning around to walk backwards as he addresses his mom.

“Busy. We can do Friday, though,” he calls as he walks down the corridor and back to the elevators.

“Let me ask your dad!” she yells back, uncaring for the looks they both get from passing hospital employees and patients. “But it should be fine!”

“Good, now fucking leave me alone!”

“Yeah, yeah, piss off!” She flips him off with a wide grin, and he flips her off right back. He hits the button for the elevators with his fist, and steps in, only putting his finger down when she does.

“Kacchan!” he hears. Deku suddenly pops out of the doorway to his room with a red face. He looks like he’s going to cry, but he’s valiantly holding back his tears as he smiles, wide enough that Katsuki can see the shine of his teeth even from this far. “See you at home!”

The doors close at just the right time, hiding his smile. But he’s sure Deku knows, anyways.

-

Later, when he comes home, out of his hero suit and dressed in his civvies, he doesn’t get a moment to worry about not having a key because Deku flings the door open and tackles him, yanking off his sunglasses and mask to kiss him. He accidentally knocks his hat off too in his enthusiasm, but Katsuki couldn’t care less.

He drops his bag without a thought, lifts Deku up in his arms. He eagerly tugs Deku's thighs around his waist as he stumbles into the genkan, but Katsuki finds he hardly needs to exert any effort to hold him up. Deku is light as a feather, almost floating away from him, so Katsuki clutches him tighter to his body, kisses his smiles away.

“Kacchan,” Deku keeps calling, holding Katsuki’s face in his hands and peppering kisses around his face. “Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan.”

He’s warm, and loud, and he won’t stop kissing Katsuki, won’t stop smiling as he does it.

“I’m home, Izuku,” Katsuki manages, his chest hurting with an ache he only ever feels around Deku, with the weight of emotions so light Katsuki swears he’d drift away if Deku didn’t anchor him, too.

Deku pulls back just so he can kiss Katsuki on the mouth again, firm and warm and like he can transfer all of his elation directly to Katsuki just like this. His green eyes take in Katsuki’s smile and get brighter; his flushed face and round cheeks gives Katsuki’s heart palpitations.

He laughs, head tilting back as he trusts Katsuki to keep him from falling. The sound is so joyous, so carefree that Katsuki’s lungs stutter on his next breath, that his hands heat up involuntarily where they grip Deku’s leg and torso to him.

Deku presses his forehead to Katsuki’s, calloused, scarred hands warm on his face and his words soft, his voice content and quiet.

Above all, he sounds happy, so incredibly happy he’s almost reverential.

“Welcome home, Kacchan.”