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It’s not his day. It hasn’t been his day in a while. With gritted teeth, Izuku haphazardly muscles through the training exercise, willing a familiar ache in his fingers to subside. Icy rain plummets from the sky, further souring his disposition. By the end of the training, his scarred limbs lack any semblance of sensation.
Pain has never bothered him before. What bothers him now is how slow the world warps around him, like his body is stuck in stilled time while he tries to flex his fingers back to life.
Meanwhile, the shadows of Izuku’s classmates disappear, blurring beyond the edge of his vision.
Alone, he shuffles through the mud, hair clinging to the back of his neck. Something in his chest cracks open — a familiar but long-forgotten feeling that spirals outwards from his ribs.
It’s been building over the past few weeks, a sensation that Izuku had obsessively ignored. His coping mechanism normally works, as long as Izuku has something he needs to push through.
Now, he wonders what he’s training for.
Izuku deliberately waits until everyone clears from the locker room before entering, and the minutes pass without notice. When he finally strips off his clothes and stands under the hot stream of water beneath the shower head, Izuku shuts his eyes.
The realization that something is wrong continues to nag his troubled brain, but he can’t confront it. Staring acceptance in the face, he cowers.
Before Izuku adopted his poor coping mechanisms, these thoughts were crippling. Empty memories, only remembered by their hollow feeling, haunting him.
Twenty minutes pass before Izuku’s skin stings. He dresses sluggishly and slips out of the locker room to return to the dorms.
Outside, nighttime air has chilled from the concluded rainfall.
After a thoughtless stroll, the dormitory stares Izuku down: lights on inside, with several shadows dancing in the windows. His classmates enjoy leftover adrenaline from the training, while Izuku remains immobile, a weight in his chest anchoring him in place.
Intentionally straying behind, he has no right to feel bitter toward them. In fact, spoiling their mood with his uncharacteristically sullen presence feels evil.
Not to mention that interacting with anyone horrifies him. He can’t imagine explaining the inner workings of his traitorous mind to them.
Swiftly, Izuku hops up to the roof and kicks around gravel a bit before settling at the edge of the building. He searches for the warm feeling that normally stirs up when the skyline spreads before him. With climbing horror, he can’t find it.
It’s not fair. Nothing is wrong now, so why does he feel exhausted beyond measure? When did talking with his friends become a chore?
His mind wanders dangerously to Katsuki, and the ache in his chest suddenly grows hot. If I ever told Kacchan about this, it would be so embarrassing, Izuku thinks bitterly.
Scooting closer to the edge, Izuku closes his eyes and listens to the wind. He begs it to relieve the white noise buzzing in his mind, but nothing happens. A tear sneaks down his cheek, a betrayal he had no intention of allowing.
As quickly as it falls, Izuku wipes the tear away. He notices his hand shaking and with frustration squeezes his fingers as hard as he can. When the feeling in his muscles still fails to return, hairline fractures split across the walls of his self control.
“Calm down…calm down…” Izuku whispers to himself desperately. However, even as he chants these words, his fingers disobey, clenching and releasing without any relief.
The exercise becomes maddening, as if Izuku is galloping in circles at an unstoppable pace.
“Deku?”
The illusion shatters along with Izuku’s wall of self control. His brain immediately registers the voice, igniting a blaze of panic.
Trembling, Izuku twists around and faces Katsuki, who stands twenty feet away, his expression hidden in the shadows. While Izuku can’t read his childhood friend’s face, he can interpret his tone of voice. Hesitant…no, scared.
Izuku wills himself to calm down, which feels like trying to contain the vastness of the ocean in the palm of his hand. Something could be wrong. There could be an emergency. He needs to stay in control.
“What’s wrong?” Izuku manages in a less than stable voice.
Katsuki remains motionless, as if strategizing before speaking. Izuku waits, disconcerted by the critical silence.
“What are you doing?” The blonde finally questions in an unusually careful tone.
Izuku furrows his eyebrows.
“I-I just needed time to think.”
A pause.
“About what?”
Katsuki’s standing as stiff as a board.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Unable to maintain a neutral expression anymore, Izuku pivots back around. His fingers squeeze desperately again.
“Deku, come here.”
An unexpected tide of anger swells within Izuku.
“What? Why?” He snaps, gripping the edge of the building with numb muscles.
“D- Izuku. Don’t.”
“Don’t wh-?”
Before Izuku finishes, the back of his collar snags, and he tumbles into the gravel with Katsuki. Izuku tries to scramble away but Katsuki secures his wrist with a tight grip.
“What the hell, Kacchan?” Izuku demands, whipping around to face his friend.
His heart plummets when he sees Katsuki’s twisted expression. The blonde’s eyes are wild with fear, mouth turned downwards in an oddly unfamiliar scowl.
“K-Kacchan…”
“You weren’t…you wouldn’t…” Katsuki trails off with a strangled sound. He’s not crying but the frustrated noise at the back of his throat communicates more clearly than actual tears.
“It wasn’t what you were thinking,” Izuku promises, but was it?
Katsuki says nothing, staring at the gravel. Izuku’s eyes shift toward the fingers still wrapped tightly around his wrist. He can feel the sensation, a warm tingle.
“Something’s off,” Katsuki manages.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t fucking toy with me. You’ve been acting up for a while now.”
Izuku grimaces, trying to wretch his wrist free. Unrelenting in his grip, Katsuki levels him with a stern look.
“You’re going to sit here until you tell me what the fuck is going on.”
Izuku quirks an eyebrow, almost finding it in himself to be amused.
“If I wanted to, I could just break your wrist and leave.”
Katsuki barks out a sarcastic laugh.
“But you don’t want to. And even if you did, I doubt you could do it right now. Not with your performance from training today. Dog shit.”
Izuku knows Katsuki’s mind games well. Normally, this attention would draw him in like an astronomer to an alluring constellation. But tonight a void sits in his chest, and he just frowns.
“Yeah.”
Katsuki blinks wildly. Izuku fixates on the blue and purple shadows of his friend’s face.
“That’s all you have to say?”
Izuku shrugs before slumping and staring off somewhere else.
“Can I just go to bed?”
“No!” The answer rushes out of Katsuki so fast that Izuku glances over, eyebrows lifted. “What are you doing up here, Izuku?”
Silence engulfs them. Izuku doesn’t know how to respond. It sounds stupid out loud, but the truth is going inside was too much. Talking to others was too much. It should be evident from the way this small conversation is draining him that it’s too much.
“I don’t know.”
“Bullshit.”
“What do you want me to say?” Izuku snaps. “That I was trying to take a swan dive off the roof?”
Izuku already regrets the assault of words before Katsuki releases his grip on Izuku’s wrist. Something between them has been sliced open, a topic they never once breached. Izuku had always wondered whether Katsuki remembered; clearly, he remembers.
“I’m sorry,” Izuku whispers, and suddenly there’s a threatening, familiar lump in his throat.
“Why are you apologizing?”
“It’s not fair to bring it up. I forgave you for saying it.”
“I never apologized for saying it,” Katsuki corrects, hands pressed against his creased forehead.
“You did apologize.”
The lump in Izuku’s throat swells. He tries to swallow it down.
“Not for that. How can you apologize for something unforgivable?”
Something in Katsuki’s words awakens a latent energy in Izuku, something that surpasses the layer of white noise around his brain.
“I’ve forgiven you, Kacchan,” Izuku gently insists. “You need to forgive yourself.”
Katsuki shudders out a sigh, shaking his head. Without thinking, Izuku reaches out and rests the tips of his fingers on Katsuki’s forearm. He expects Katsuki to shrug him off, but the blonde remains still underneath the touch.
“Why are you up here then?” Katsuki asks, voice more stabilized.
“I-It’s dumb.”
Uh oh. Izuku’s resolve dwindles with that admittance. He knows he’s given Katsuki an opening that will never be closed again.
“Well. I haven’t got all night.”
Confronted with the realization that Katsuki will pry until he says something, Izuku covers his face to hide oncoming tears.
“I r-really don’t know,” he stammers. “Everything just feels like too much lately a-and I can’t bear to tell anyone.” The tears are flowing now. “How could I? With the war over, who wants to h-hear about me being s-s-sad? How could I be sad?”
Katsuki waits patiently while Izuku wipes face. Suddenly, the vacuum in his chest is regurgitating everything it had once sucked down.
“At first, I couldn’t put the same e-energy into training. It didn’t excite me like it did before. But then I d-didn’t want to put energy into anything… I’m up here because the thought of talking to our classmates is p-paralyzing me. And I CAN’T—“ Izuku pauses, hot tears streaming down his cheeks, and forms a tight fist. “Feel my fucking fingers.”
As this admission racks his body with sobs, he feels Katsuki yank him forward with a sigh. Izuku exhales in surprise, the sudden warmth shocking him.
“You’re gonna be fine.”
Somehow, that promise makes Izuku cry even harder, curling into Katsuki’s chest and flinging all consequences out the window.
It’s comforting in a terrifying way. Katsuki is the least sensitive but most trustworthy person Izuku knows: The person he would avoid sharing his deepest feelings with; the person he would not hesitate spilling a forbidden secret to.
This rush of emotions is almost painful in contrast to the absence he had been feeling for weeks.
“You’re gonna be a crybaby until you die, aren’t ya?”
“K-Kacchan, those aren’t comforting words.”
“Who said I was comforting you?” Katsuki retorts, roughly burying his fingers in Izuku’s hair and tugging so he can glare at Izuku’s tear-streaked face.
Gazing into those searching red eyes, Izuku blinks away another salty stream. Scoffing, Katsuki smears the tears with his thumbs, doing a poor job of clearing them.
Izuku catches Katsuki’s wrist with a sigh.
“It’s no use, Kacchan. They keep coming.”
His friends eyes shift from Izuku’s face down to his fingers.
“Your hands are fucking freezing,” he pointedly observes.
Izuku shrugs.
“I can’t feel them anyway. My circulation isn’t good.”
There’s a pause, during which Katsuki appears to be contemplating something. He lowers his arm, and they blink at each other for a moments.
“Your hands are really fucked up, aren’t they?”
Izuku nods, scrubbing his cheeks with the edge of his palm.
“It never bothered me before,” Izuku says. “But now I can’t stand it. I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Something within him has snapped. He knows this much. What terrifies him is not how it feels but understanding that the clock will never turn back. Something has shifted permanently. He didn’t just break his body in an effort to win the war. His mind broke too.
“Hold out your hands.”
Izuku knows Katsuki well enough to interpret this is a demand rather than a suggestion. Without thinking, he turns his palms up in front of his chest. He and Katsuki sit on the roof cross-legged, exchanging guarded glances.
Tentatively, Katsuki places Izuku’s hands in his own. For several moments, Izuku barely feels anything. Then, as Katsuki rubs his thumb over Izuku’s palm, warmth starts seeping into between their skin.
A gasp escapes the exhausted hero.
Katsuki refuses to meet his gaze, eyes focused on their joined hands underneath the moonlight. The thumb movements become increasingly firm, rubbing heat into Izuku’s stiff fingers.
Izuku is not oblivious to the amount of control Katsuki must exert over his quirk in order to heat up his palms and not ignite an explosion. Any sane person would shy away from holding nitroglycerin-producing hands. However, Izuku trusts Katsuki more than himself at this point.
After a few seconds, searing pain tingles through Izuku’s skin, spreading from his palms to the tips of his fingers. He grunts, squeezing his eyes shut. He would be worried if this weren’t a familiar feeling, but it is — tingling pinpricks firing up latent nerves.
“It shouldn’t hurt,” Katsuki assures, noticing Izuku’s discomfort. “It’s not that hot.”
Izuku shakes his head.
“I know. It’s just the feeling returning. Always hurts.”
Katsuki nods, but his expression remains somewhat disconcerted, watching Izuku’s pained one.
“Ah…” Izuku exhales in relief when the prickles shift into a pleasant warmth.
Katsuki won’t stop until Izuku tells him to stop. And Izuku doesn’t want to say anything. For once, the buzzing in his brain quiets, and he hears the rustling of the trees, senses Katsuki’s thumbs over his skin. Izuku feels greedy, wanting to swim in this picture for eternity. A moment between friends, or maybe something more. It’s a fine line they’re walking.
“Well? Does it feel better?”
Izuku realizes his eyes have remained shut for several minutes. He opens them and meets Katsuki’s curious crimson irises.
“Y-Yes. I can feel my fingers.”
Not wanting the massage to stop but understanding his luck will inevitably run out, Izuku frees his hands and squeezes them for good measure. Much better.
Izuku’s chest lightens.
“Tch. You coulda just told me sooner.”
With a sad smile, Izuku shrugs again.
“Sorry Kacchan. I didn’t know massages were in your hero skillset, otherwise I would have requested the service sooner. Although, I would have feared getting blasted after asking you for such a thing.”
“Huh? Are you being sarcastic you asshole? After all those fucking tears?”
Izuku rolls his eyes.
“It’s freezing out here,” Katsuki continues. “Let’s go inside. And don’t think we’re done with this conversation. We should just let it go for tonight.”
That promise should leave Izuku feeling uneasy, yet a sliver of relief cuts through him. Katsuki notices something’s wrong and understands it’s not fixable in one night. Still, he’s willing to act normal for Izuku, who feels underserving yet grateful.
“Okay,” Izuku mumbles quietly.
“Come on.”
Katsuki guides Izuku back inside the dorms, where several of their classmates are still puttering around. A few try greeting the two of them as they enter, but Katsuki wards them off and steers Izuku into the kitchen.
“Can I go to bed?” Izuku wonders aloud after plopping down in front of the table. “I’m tired.”
Katsuki whips around with a menacing grimace and slanted eyes.
“You did not just suggest going to bed without eating dinner to me,” he flatly remarks. “I know you didn’t suggest that because it would be so damn stupid for a hero to skip dinner after training.”
“I don’t need you to take care of me.”
However, Izuku finds himself blushing, observing Katsuki tie the apron around his waist and rip the refrigerator door open. When his friend fails to respond, Izuku stands
“Kacchan—“
“I’m not answering you until your common sense returns. Your lack of self-preservation instincts never fail to astound me, goddammit.”
In defeat, Izuku drops back into the chair and folds his arms over the kitchen table. Nestling his chin between his forearms, he watches in awe as Katsuki cooks him dinner.
While the blonde heats up a skillet, he chops up several cloves of garlic, an onion, and some peppers. He sautés them and adds leftover rice, breaking it down with a spatula. To finish it off, Katsuki adds an egg and then stirs in soy sauce and sesame oil.
Before Izuku falls asleep in his own arms, Katsuki aggressively slides a plate of the piping hot fried rice across the kitchen table.
Silently, they eat dinner together, and Izuku fights the urge to sob. It tastes good, and he doesn’t deserve this treatment. Another tear or two escape, but if Katsuki notices, he doesn’t show it.
“Yo! Bakubro cooked!”
Kirishima’s voice breaks the silence, and Izuku wipes at his face to clear any stray tears.
“None for you, Shitty Hair,” Katsuki scolds.
“Wow, you would cook for Midoriya and not me. That’s on brand.”
“The fuck do you mean by ‘on brand’?” Katsuki demands, slamming his hands flat on the kitchen table.
Kirishima winks in the direction of Izuku.
“Midoryia knows.”
Izuku gulps down a large bite, nearly coughing it up.
“Anyway,” their red-haired classmates continues. “We’re all gonna watch a movie if you two wanna join us.”
Izuku clears his throat to decline the invitation but Katsuki beats him to it.
“Fine.”
Wait. What?
“You’ll watch the movie?” Kirishima asks in bewilderment. He’s standing in the doorway, dressed down in sweats and a t-shirt. Movie-ready attire.
“Shut up before I change my mind.”
Katsuki avoids Izuku’s shocked stare as he clears up their dishes. Kirishima gloats in the doorway, equally as shocked but twice as pleased.
“Okay, movie starts in five minutes.”
Their classmates gather in the living room with pillows and blankets, settling in. Katsuki drags Izuku down to sit on the floor in front of the couch with him.
“Did you extras bring enough blankets? Jesus.”
“Aw, does Blasty want a blanky?”
Wordlessly, Katsuki snatches the blanket in Mina’s outstretched hand. The pink-haired girls watches in surprise as Katsuki roughly throws the blanket over Izuku, whose cheeks burn sheepishly.
There are several pairs of eyes trained on them following that interaction.
“Are we going to start this movie in a timely manner? We have class in the morning.”
“Shut up!”
The lights dim and the movie starts, but Izuku can only focus on the heated body next to his own. His mind replays the last hour, weakening his resolve until he unconsciously leans into the warmth. He expects his childhood friend to twitch away, but Katsuki remains still.
A question burns between them as the line that they straddle blurs.
Izuku’s hands feel empty yet heavy. Aching. He flexes his fingers, and the nerves prickling beneath his skin remind him of Katsuki’s careful treatment.
The movie drowns out completely, leaving Izuku alone with his dangerous thoughts and temptations.
His hand slides across the carpeted floor until the edge of his pinky brushes something. Halting, Izuku’s heart beats erratically. Katsuki twitches in response this time but stays still nonetheless.
It’s ridiculous, Izuku thinks. I touch Kacchan all the time: in training and just before on the rooftop. Why won’t my heart calm down?
The blood in his face drains when a hand clasps over his own. Unable to stop himself, Izuku’s eyes flicker over to Katsuki, who resolutely stares at the TV screen.
The lump in Izuku’s throat returns, and he swallows it down again. With gathering courage, he squeezes Katsuki’s hand before threading their fingers together.
Izuku finds himself extremely thankful that none of his classmates have a mind-reading quirk, otherwise they would hear his spiraling thoughts firing off frantic questions.
However, as the movie continues, their hands remain clasped together, and Izuku grows comfortable with it. He still can’t focus on the film, but he feels anchored sitting next to Katsuki with intertwined fingers.
No one can see their hands with the lights off and the coverage of the blanket, but the two of them know, and it’s not the first (or last) secret they have shared.
Eventually, the film concludes, and Izuku and Katsuki wordlessly break apart. Everyone splits off to go to bed, yawning and stretching.
Izuku notices how exhausted Katsuki looks and remembers this is far past his usual bedtime. He did it for Izuku. This realization should haunt him, but he finds his heart twisting with admiration. Kacchan never fails to surprise me, Izuku thinks.
With this, he follows Katsuki back to his room. The blonde hardly notices, dragging his feet groggily.
“Huh?” He finally grumbles. “What’re you doin’ here?”
And suddenly they’re both standing outside of Katsuki’s room, staring at each other. Izuku’s courage nearly fails, but he squeezes his fingers and relishes in the feeling.
“Thank you, Kacchan!”
He intends on bowing but somehow winds his arms around Katsuki’s neck instead, crushing him against his door. Katsuki grunts in response, somewhat reluctantly putting an arm around Izuku’s shoulders.
“You’re dumb,” he mumbles into the curls of Izuku’s hair. “We’re not done with with this conversation yet but I need sleep.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing, and go the fuck to bed.”
Izuku breaks away, a smile splitting across his face. It disarms Katsuki.
“Thank you,” Izuku repeats, sincerely.
Averting his gaze, Katsuki waves Izuku off, beckoning him to go to bed like a father directing his child.
Izuku pivots to head towards his floor, but he hears Katsuki clear his throat.
“If you need help with your hands again, just let me know.”
Izuku tilts his head, enjoying the uncharacteristic hesitancy in Katsuki’s tone.
“Of course, Kacchan.”