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Around them it’s chaos. Buildings are collapsing and burning, the fire raging on as if personally offended by their presence. It’s swelteringly hot and uncomfortable. The sound of screams have become background noise, merely a buzz when paired with the crumbling rock and shouts of rage.
His palms burn. His wrists ache. His shoulders flood with pain whenever he twitches. He’s used too much, overexerted himself. Something he would do again and again and again if it meant he didn’t have to end up here.
He’d lose his hands, his quirk, if it meant keeping this.
Because his pain, his exhaustion, his blood, sweat and tears mean nothing.
After everything. It all means nothing.
“Kacchan,” Izuku breathes in front of him. He’s on his knees, blood pooling from his ribs staining his costume a vicious, vibrant red. Blood trickles from his temple down across a constellation of freckles, green hair pushed back with sweat, eyes wide but not scared. Never scared. Not of Katsuki. “Kacchan,” he repeats, cold hands grabbing Katsuki’s burning ones. “It’s time.”
“No!” Karsuki shouts, turning away, focusing his damaged hearing on the entrance of the alleyway.
Just a little more time.
Please, fuck, a little more time.
The Heroes can hold them off. Then he can rush Izuku to get medical attention. Then they can go home.
They can go home and cuddle on the couch and he’ll even let him put on his shitty documentaries. He’ll smell of antiseptic and hospital soap but Katsuki will still hold him close and none of their class will say a damn thing about it.
More screams. They both wince. He wonders who else they’ve lost.
“They can’t stop him, Kat,” Izuku whispers, hands pulling him back. Such strength in small hands. So gentle with him. “But we can.”
Katsuki shrugs off his hands halfheartedly. Turns his head away.
He can’t do this.
If they do this, he’ll break. And if he breaks, there will be no one to guard Izuku when he’s injured.
He may be All Might’s successor, may have a stockpiling quirk of strength and pure power, but he’s only human. Only a teenager.
Fuck, they’re all scared teenagers, fighting a War they aren’t prepared for.
Even some of the Pro Heroes have ran. Yet they remain. A class of twenty defying the odds. Constantly raising the stakes and pushing forward.
Back at the USJ, tensions were high and they were all fearful but not like this. Shigaraki was a man-child with an ego the size of the world. All For One was nothing but a whisper.
They had hope, back then.
Hope they could survive this.
But then Aoyama, a traitor none of them expected, told them about Shigaraki inheriting All For One, told them he now had the power to forcefully take One For All.
With that type of power, with his eagerness for bloodshed and destruction, they can’t risk him getting his hands on it.
Even at the cost of the holder of the quirk.
Katsuki remembers when they discussed their thoughts, the silence of the room, the paleness of his class’s faces. Izuku had smiled throughout, saying that if worse comes to worse, All For One should feel when the quirk goes, and will hesitate.
That moment could win them the War.
And now Katsuki will find out if Izuku’s theory is correct.
“Look at me,” Izuku says, gently and Katsuki can’t refuse him. He tilts his body, meets a beautiful green gaze, filled with determination. “We have to do this. We can stop this-“
“Don’t.” Katsuki snarls. He can’t do this. He fears he won’t survive it.
“Kacchan, please,” Izuku says and lifts himself up slightly, wincing at his wound pulling. Katsuki immediately steps closer so that he doesn’t fall. Once he’s within grabbing distance, Izuku simply grips him tighter, looks up at him.
The sound of shouting and screams increases. More burning. A sharp, shrill whining noise and then nothing.
They both freeze. That’s the sound someone makes when Shigaraki—
“We are out of time,” Izuku whispers, licking his lips, meeting Katsuki head-on.
He moves Katsuki’s hands so they grip his neck, fingertips touching, and then moves them down until they press at his chest, right over his heart. Through the material of his costume, Katsuki can feel the steady beat of his heart. Slower than usual, probably the blood-loss, but there.
A reminder of what he has.
A reminder of what he is going to lose.
“I can’t,” he wheezes out, breath lodged in his throat. There are tears in his eyes and he can’t stop them from escaping.
He can’t do this.
“Yes, you can.” Izuku says, softly. “You can. He can’t get my quirk, if he does, we’ll all die.”
“Izuku,” he whispers, heart pounding, and Izuku squeezes his hands. The bleeding at his temple has stopped. The bleeding at his ribs continues to pour out. “It’s not- I can’t.”
“It’s not fair,” Izuku agrees. Despite Katsuki’s own tears, for once, the Midoriya gene seems to be lacking. There are no tears in his beautiful green eyes. No fear. Just determination. “I wish we had more time. It shouldn’t be you, but it is.”
Katsuki chokes on a sob.
Izuku leans closer and Katsuki crumples down, their foreheads pressing together. They’re both soaked in sweat, in soot, in blood. And for once, Katsuki’s the one crying over Izuku.
“It’s all right,” Izuku soothes, one scarred hand raising to brush his wet cheek. “You could never hurt me.”
Katsuki sobs harder. “Really?” He whispers, begs, like a child.
And Izuku, his Izuku, strong and powerful and beautiful Izuku, nods, hoists himself up further to slot their mouths together. A gentle kiss. A loving one.
Their first one.
Their final one.
Their only one.
“You could never hurt me, Kacchan,” he repeats. “I love you. I have since we were kids. It’s always been you.”
Katsuki cries harder. Eyes scrunching up, breath coming fast and in short bursts.
“Please,” he begs but he can hear their approach.
The building opposite them falls. The ground beneath them rumbles and shakes. They don’t have any more time. If they don’t do this and Shigaraki breaks through their ranks, the War is lost.
Izuku sits back on his heels, hands pressing back against Katsuki’s, where his palms are placed on his chest. He can still feel the steady beat of his heart.
“It’s okay,” Izuku says with a small smile. There’s no hesitation on his face. Still no fear. “I just feel you.”
Katsuki bites at his lip and hisses out, “I love you too, shitty nerd. Whole reason I married you on the fucking playground when we were three.”
Izuku laughs. It’s a beautiful laugh, full of life and love and feeling. Katsuki smiles back through his tears and it must look like a grimace but Izuku’s smile only widens.
“It’s all right,” he repeats and Katsuki’s hands heat up. “I just feel you.”
Katsuki swallows, grits his teeth, memorises his expression. Big green eyes like polished emeralds, fluffy green hair like soft grass, freckles spattered across skin like constellations Katsuki had hoped to map one day, broad shoulders and slim waist and strong, scarred hands Katsuki wishes he had held more.
He wishes he could do a lot of things.
He regrets a lot, too.
He wants to hold him and cuddle him and be with him. He wants to hear him rant about Heroes and mutter again and scold him for always breaking his bones.
Katsuki pleads for it to be over before he has to do this.
But no shout of victory comes from either side.
Only the sound of maniacal laughter signifying Shigaraki’s approach.
Katsuki has no choice. Not when Izuku is smiling at him, soft and sweet and accepting. No fear. Just trust. Only them.
The sweat from the continuous fight has built up and with his new gauntlets, the immediate blast area will be catastrophic. Katsuki will survive: he’s built to handle explosions.
But anyone within a fifty foot radius will be blown apart.
Katsuki stares into Izuku’s eyes.
“I just feel you,” Izuku repeats, voice a low murmur and Katsuki sobs as he lets his hands spark.
A moment of stillness.
The eye of the storm.
Silence.
And then he’s propelled back, shoulders rolling, wrists breaking under the strength, palms burning and shredding.
He’s thrown into another building, so fucking glad when his head smacks against concrete, engulfing him in darkness. He doesn’t fight unconsciousness. He welcomes it.
He hopes it kills him so he can be with Izuku.
When he wakes, five days later in intensive care, he’s told they’ve won the war.
They’ve won.
But at what cost?
If Katsuki could go back, before UA, before All Might, before the dream of being Heroes, he knows he would take Izuku and demand they run away together.
The world could be ending and Katsuki wouldn’t care. Not when he could have Izuku.
They’ve won.
But Izuku isn’t here to see it.
All Katsuki has left is the green grass beneath his hands and the stars in the sky he connects into familiar constellations.