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Katsuki didn’t sleep anymore.
Warm blankets, milk with honey, a thermostat painstakingly adjusted to the perfect temperature; they were all useless. There was nothing to calm the terror running through his veins when the air conditioner trilled and chuffed, or when the breeze from the open window rustled his curtains. There was no way to soothe skin that prickled when dusk fell over the city like a dark omen.
If his classmates wondered why he trudged to the breakfast table with purple shadows under his swollen eyes, they didn’t comment on it. Not when Jirou kept reaching up to toy with a phantom earlobe jack, or Kaminari couldn’t stop scraping at the fading scar on his hairline.
Breakfasts used to be loud, exorbitant affairs, filled with laughing and chatting and banter. Now, they were silent, everyone picking at their plates with non-existent appetites.
Katsuki could see the way they were trying not to stare at him. He didn’t need to look at the mirror to be reminded; a thick, jagged scar mapped half of his face, and a matching pattern of zigzagged lines trailed down his arm. He still threw his shirt off without hesitation in the communal baths, even with the healed wounds tearing across his chest and abdomen, but it made his skin prickle with discomfort.
It had been easier when the scars could be hidden by clothes, before his face became a testament to his failure. It screamed at him from the mirror every goddamn day.
Sometimes, he stared at Izuku in class, counting the streaks of color veiled in the fibrous tissue littered across his ruined arms. He let his gaze wander to crooked fingers, abused beyond repair in an endeavor to save a kid, and wondered if his own scars held the same meaning.
Katsuki hadn’t saved anyone, after all. He had only ever been a distraction until the real heroes arrived, always the one who had to be rescued. Todoroki catching him as he fell like a stone from the sky, Iida carrying his limp body to safety, Izuku saving him over and over and over—
He once said he would twist and break himself to win the way he wanted to, but a destroyed face meant nothing if it just amounted to a hollow promise of victory in the end.
A bloodcurdling scream pierced through the silence.
Panicked, Mitsuki jolted out of bed, yanking her legs from the tangled pile of blankets before stumbling to the room where the sound had come from. “Katsuki?”
She could hear Masaru scrambling out of the bed behind her, rattling off something she couldn’t understand, but the cold plunge of terror in her stomach was overpowering, blocking out everything except that terrifying yell.
She threw open Katsuki’s door to find him sitting upright in bed, shaking and drawing shuddering gasps, clutching his chest. “Katsuki, what is it?”
“It’s not beating,” he choked, his fist clenching white-knuckled in the fabric of his sleep shirt. “It—it’s not beating.”
Mitsuki collapsed on the bed beside him, taking a deep breath. She couldn’t set him at ease if he knew how scared she was. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
“Mom,” he gasped, and the childish crack of his voice ripped straight through her heart. A thick sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, his damp bangs plastered to wet, flushed skin. “It’s—I’m—”
“It’s okay, honey.” She shuffled closer and reached out to rub his back, comforting him while he struggled to breathe. “Take a deep breath.”
“It’s not working. I can’t. I can’t.”
Masaru interjected before she could reply, his voice soothing. “It’s beating, son. Just try to breathe.”
Tears dripped from his squinted eyes, rushing like a hot torrent while he shook his head frantically. “I can’t. Dad, you don’t get it—it’s not fucking beating—”
Mitsuki grabbed his hand, squeezing it so tightly that he flinched, and pressed it against his chest, taking deep breaths until he managed to wrestle his own rhythm to match hers. His frantic heartbeat throbbed under their entwined hands. “Feel that? It’s your heartbeat. It’s right there.”
Katsuki was still reeling from the phantom pain in his heart, a dizzying lurch before it fell into a terrifying drop like a rollercoaster. He was falling into an endless pit, falling, falling, falling—
“Katsuki. Breathe. You’re alive—your heart’s completely fine. The doctor said it’s one of the healthiest hearts he’s ever seen.”
His lip quivered. He swallowed, hard, and a fresh flood of tears spilled from his eyes. Mitsuki wrapped her arms around him and drew him into a hug, which broke down his final walls. He was sobbing now, tears soaking into her shirt, and Masaru tentatively squeezed Katsuki’s shoulder, making him cry harder.
She looked over her weeping son’s head to make eye contact with Masaru, who gave her such a somber, devastated look in response that her heart tightened again.
“You’re okay,” she mumbled, stroking Katsuki’s hair gently, blinking the tears away from her own eyes. “We’ve got you.”
It felt shameful to place the handwritten note on Aizawa’s desk. Katsuki hadn’t read the contents because he knew he would lose his nerve if he let himself find out what his mother had revealed, and the threat of another sleepless night was too much to bear anymore. Compared to the isolating feeling of nights spent alone, struggling to fall into sleep that would only bring nightmares, a hot flush of immature embarrassment was almost welcome.
“It’s from the old hag,” Katsuki muttered, scuffing his shoe on the floor. The tile was chipping. White scattered over his soles like the crumbled remnants of decay.
Wearily, Aizawa reached for the letter and unfolded it, scanning the neat characters. A minute later, he set the note down. “Did you read this?”
“No. She better not have said any weird shit.”
Aizawa’s expression was oddly pensive, tinged with a hint of sympathy. “I recommended some techniques to Shinsou for his insomnia, so they might work for you. I’ll also write a note so you can see Hound Dog.”
His response was immediate. “I don’t need some dumb counselor picking my brain.”
Aizawa didn’t falter. “It’s for your own good.”
Katsuki exploded. “Don’t tell me what’s for my own fucking good! None of the shit that’s happened to us was, so why’s it different now?”
Everyone was staring at them now. Katsuki cursed his stupid eyes for stinging, his hands for trembling like electricity was tearing through his veins. He was betraying himself in small ways every day; dropping the argument when Kirishima insisted on the best armchair during movie nights, chopping celery all wrong, staring at the ceiling long past his bedtime.
Izuku was watching him with calm, scrutinous eyes, like he was witnessing the peak of a pantomime. Bile rose in Katsuki’s stomach.
“Bakugou,” Aizawa said quietly.
His voice dropped. “I’m—I didn’t…”
“I’m sorry.”
“Huh?”
A single red eye blinked like a security camera. “You’re right—you guys are still children. You never should have been forced to put your lives on the line.”
“I wasn’t forced.”
Aizawa folded the note and stood, clenching the edge of the desk so tightly that the color leeched from his knuckles. “If not by us, by the circumstances.”
“Not your fault, Sensei,” Katsuki muttered. He never should have given Aizawa the letter and made him feel guilty, as if his teacher hadn’t suffered enough.
“Bakugou-san’s right, Sensei,” Yaoyorozu piped up, her voice a little firmer than usual. “After all, we’re training to be heroes. It was our responsibility.”
Aizawa shook his head. “You’re students. It shouldn’t have been.”
Katsuki’s gaze drifted to a halo of green curls splayed flat against the surface of the desk. Matted hair veiled his eyes, but Katsuki caught a glint of viridian through dark strands like sunlight through a forest of trees. The chosen one, bound to responsibility more than anyone else. Izuku had welcomed it willingly, but it was a burden far heavier than theirs.
Slowly, Izuku lifted his head, directing his dull stare to Aizawa. “Like Yaoyorozu-san said, we’re heroes. We have to save everyone.”
Katsuki remembered wild eyes raging with fury, broken arms swelling purple, punches thrown over and over with the splintering crack of bone each time. Sometimes, he still heard that sound when he was trying to sleep. A sharp pain struck his stomach, followed by a wave of nausea. How could he tell Izuku that it felt like his wounds had been carved into Katsuki’s body?
Tension simmered between them, a pot of boiling water with a lid. It was bound to overflow, and he was just waiting for the bubbles to explode.
“Sit down, Bakugou,” Aizawa said, a little more gently than usual.
Katsuki bristled, but retreated to his seat. Izuku’s leg had been stretched out, ankle slightly tilted to the left, but he pulled it back under his desk to clear the path before Katsuki could tell him to get the fuck out of the way. It felt like a handshake where a punch should have been.
Collapsing in his seat, he glanced up at the board. From this angle, he could still see the note on the desk, taunting him. He could smell his mother’s perfume, bold and floral, visualize her wrist rubbing against the thin paper as she printed characters across the letter. Insomnia, after everything, as if that was what would finally push him to his limit. What a fucking joke.
Purple hair flashed in his peripheral; Jirou was touching the healed remnant of her earlobe jack again, lip caught between her teeth. Katsuki looked away.
The common room bustled with the sound of rustling blankets and idle chatter, rising above the music accompanying the opening scene of the movie. Kaminari nudged him and held up a spare cushion in a silent question, and Katsuki reached out to take it, slotting the cushion between his back and the sofa. It wasn’t comfortable, so he placed the cushion in his lap instead.
Static burst across the screen, cutting off the movie. Iida leapt up and bounded over to the television, kneeling down to inspect the cables.
“Should I shock it?” Kaminari suggested jokingly, wiggling his fingertips to show off a strand of buzzing yellow.
Iida looked offended. “Most certainly not.”
“Anyone have any extra chips?” Uraraka called out, to which Ashido threw an unopened pack of chips at her. It was always her asking for extra snacks and unfinished dinners, like she was still hoarding the little money she had; a habit that had intensified after the war. A small glimpse of an adjacent world to his own, a reality filled with a different set of issues.
“Round Face,” Katsuki called out. When she spun to look at him as if anticipating an attack, he flung his unopened pack of popcorn at her. “I don’t like this shit. Take it.”
Kirishima frowned, tilting his head to the side. “I thought you liked popcorn. You said once that it’s one of the only movie theater snacks you can eat.”
“Shut up.”
The static disappeared with a sharp pop, and the film continued playing. Katsuki idly reached over to grab a handful of popcorn from Kirishima’s bucket, cupping it in a sweaty palm. It tasted like thick butter and nitroglycerin. He wiped his fingertips on his sweatpants and pretended not to notice the affronted stare Yaoyorozu shot at him.
A loud explosion shook the speakers, orange and red flaring from the helicopter crashing down on screen. Hot sparks jerked beside him, and a burn mark scorched into the sofa. Blackened fabric clung to his palm, fusing to flushed skin. He flinched, flexing his fingers, dotted green with synthetic threads.
Worry leeched into Kirishima’s expression, but hesitant words caught in his throat when Katsuki shoved the cushion down to hide the burnt material with a defiant glare.
The room was too warm, his sweat beading in sticky droplets. He rubbed at an itch on his shoulder and felt skin shift under his dampened nails. Scar tissue flaked across the patch of purplish-red, making his stomach twist. Immediately, he dropped his hand, rubbing at his thigh over his sweatpants. It was too warm. It was getting hard to breathe.
Everyone was engrossed in the film, so he crawled off the sofa and slunk over to where Todoroki was perched on another sofa, knee pulled up to his chest. Silently, he slotted himself into Todoroki’s right side, who stiffened, confusion held back in the way his lips pursed into a loose line.
“Make it cold,” Katsuki demanded, just loud enough for him to hear. Todoroki’s eyes softened in understanding.
Tendrils of coldness sprouted across the bicep in Katsuki’s tight grasp. It stung like a dampened towel when he had a fever as a child, delirious in bed, but it calmed the sickening heat. Katsuki shifted closer, letting the ice leech into his hot skin.
A familiar, high-pitched buzz crackled, and Katsuki jerked in surprise, whipping around to stare at the source like he was expecting to find Izuku posed to find a villain. Instead, he was met with a hard stare, cold emerald bright with a feverish glint. Katsuki stared back at him unblinkingly.
Izuku’s eyes darted to Todoroki, then back to Katsuki. He had never been good at concealing his feelings, even as a child, openly rambling about everything he admired, and Katsuki wasn’t so oblivious that he would miss the way his childhood friend’s clinginess towards him ran deeper than nostalgia. He just didn’t know how far it went.
Todoroki’s arm was cold, but it wasn’t the right type of cold. Katsuki still felt feverish, sweltering heat crawling under his skin, damp tissues lodged into his lungs. He wiped his forehead, and sweat streaked wet lines across the back of his hand.
Katsuki’s heart was beating faster, thudding so loudly that he could feel it pulsing in his wrists. When the movie ended, his friends would pack up their blankets and retreat to their rooms, and he would lose the safe haven of friendly chatter. The sound of everyone making idle comments and teasing each other would fade to silence, leaving him alone in his dark room.
His heartbeat was so thick in his throat that he couldn’t swallow. He tried to draw an inhale, but the air solidified and clogged his lungs. His heart hurled itself at the cage of his ribs, slamming frantically against weak bone. It was cracking, he knew it, it was cracking—
A warm hand pressed against his knee, and he blinked out of the panicked haze to find Izuku lowering himself to the floor between his legs.
“Can I sit here?” Izuku asked quietly. He nodded, so Izuku settled onto the ground, leaning back until the base of his skull rested on Katsuki’s knee.
The thick haze of heat was less overpowering now, like perfume diffusing out of a humid room. Izuku reached down to curl crooked fingers around Katsuki’s ankle, pressing his thumb into the junction between bone and a shallow dip in the flesh. He tensed, his skin prickling under the unusual touch, but Izuku continued rolling his thumb over the hollow beneath the jutting bone like it relaxed him as much as it began to soothe Katsuki.
The movie was almost over, and whenever Katsuki thought of his room, he felt as if he was drowning all over again. There was blood bubbling in his lungs, spurting from his heart, and his life was ebbing away with the rush of scarlet, his heartbeats slowing—
“Kacchan.” Izuku tilted his head back to look at him. “Do you want to go to your room?”
His voice burst in a croak. “No, no—I don’t—I’m not—”
Katsuki could feel his classmates turn to stare at him; Ashido’s concerned gaze and the subtle twitch of Kaminari’s fingers, like he wanted to reach out. The room was too hot again. He couldn’t breathe. His heart was drowning in his own blood, choking and spluttering.
It was beating too fast for him to muster words now, heat clogging his head, thick and heavy. His vision tilted like it had been kicked out of kilter, a camera jolted from the stand. His heart was thundering up the tracks of a rollercoaster to the terrifying peak, about to reach that dizzying drop.
Blindly, he reached out, gasping for air. “I-Izuku—I can’t—I can’t breathe—”
A firm grip clasped onto his biceps, and Katsuki tried to focus on the familiar sensation of rough skin against his own. “I’m here. Try to breathe.”
His mother’s words returned to him, convincing him to follow along with her breaths when he was breaking down, clutching onto her and his father. Katsuki blinked his eyes open, but all that met him was a blur of color and fuzzy shapes.
Slightly distant. “Guys, move away. I’m taking him to his room.”
“No!” The protest tore from his throat. “No, no, I don’t wanna go to the room—”
“I’ll be with you the whole time. I promise I’m not going to leave.”
Strong arms swept him into a cradle, and he was pressed against Izuku’s chest, jostled slightly with each stride towards the elevator. The doors slid open too early for them to be heading to his room, and he opened his eyes to see All Might’s wide grin beaming at him from the wall. Izuku managed to maneuver Katsuki in his arms so he could flick the light switch on, like he knew the darkness would make him panic again.
Carefully, Izuku put him down in his bed, then knelt by the side of the frame. “Do you want to sleep here?”
Katsuki’s lip quivered. “I can’t.”
“What if…” He hesitated. “What if I sleep with you? Would that help?”
It was terrifying to think that Izuku could be the one to help him yet again. “I said I can’t. If you make me admit that I can’t do something so goddamn easy one more time, I’ll break your damn nose.”
Unperturbed, Izuku reached out to smooth Katsuki’s damp hair away from his forehead, unbothered by the sweat staining his fingers. “You feel hot, Kacchan. I’ll get you a wet towel.”
He forced down the leap of panic as Izuku stood up, pushing open the door to his bathroom. Water ran with a flick of the tap, and Izuku returned a moment later, kneeling by the bed to set a damp towel on Katsuki’s forehead. The coldness made him jolt, but he managed to restrain himself into stillness while the sensation crept down his burning forehead to his reddened cheeks.
Gently, Izuku continued stroking Katsuki’s hair, his touch slow and soothing. There was an unusual dullness to him, like an extinguished candle in a lantern. Katsuki tried to set it aside, but a gnawing unease clawed at his ribcage. The world had been knocked off balance; Izuku’s symbol of victory, crumbling apart in his bed.
Katsuki’s voice felt thin, traitorous. “You see me differently.”
Quiet, calm eyes stayed trained on him. A careful mask of emotions. “Of course not.”
“You’re lying.”
The mask cracked, and pain sparked across Izuku’s face. It cleared, quickly as it came. “Did I tell you about what happened when Ashido-san tried to teach me to dance?”
He let himself fall for the distraction. “What?”
Izuku began recounting the story while Katsuki idly counted his freckles, letting the soothing wash of that familiar voice calm his frayed nerves. Tomorrow, he would have to face his classmates, but he managed to quell the terror that rose at the thought of their reactions by reminding himself that they were sensitive enough to refrain from comments.
When daylight dawned, he wrenched his bleary eyelids open to find Izuku still crouched by the bed, resting his cheek on his folded elbows.
He blinked. “Have you been awake all night?”
Izuku shifted uncomfortably. “A little bit, yeah.”
The sharp edge of a fishing hook tugged at his stomach. “Dumb bastard. If I wanted that, I would have said so. How’re you gonna concentrate in class?”
“I’ll manage.”
There was a tired, vulnerable look in Izuku’s eyes, like he was resigned to punishment for the crime of helping Katsuki sleep peacefully. Katsuki bit his tongue so hard that blood spurted in his mouth, wet iron between his teeth, and licked the blood off his inner cheek.
Slowly, he ran the pad of his thumb along the underside of Izuku’s left eye, feeling the delicate, swollen skin. Izuku closed his eyes, nudging his cheek into Katsuki’s palm.
He swallowed, hard. His hand was a rock that wouldn’t budge.
Izuku’s lips brushed against the center of his palm, making the sensitive skin tingle with light shivers. “I understand, Kacchan.”
“I know you do.” He pressed his thumb down on the upper edge of Izuku’s cheekbone, just on the right edge of painful. “Let me understand you, too.”
His eyelids slid open, hanging heavy with exhaustion. “I think you do. Better than anyone.”
The answer came to Katsuki easily, but he let it fizzle and die behind his gritted teeth. Daybreak was a gift that chased after the hours of a relentless nightmare for both of them.
Nights rolled like endless waves, and fresh surges of anxiety rushed through Katsuki when the sky teetered at the edge of dusk. He curled up in bed and plastered his hands to the side of his head, trying to keep his brain together like it was about to fall apart. Each heartbeat was torture, a reminder of what had been sacrificed for his pathetic life, but the prospect of losing them was so much worse.
Katsuki kept his lights switched on through the night, playing video games and reading manga and studying until his head throbbed, the tension in his shoulders causing debilitating headaches. When the sun began to rise, he crawled into bed, letting the cover of daylight ease him to a restless sleep that was interrupted when he had to wake an hour later for school.
Even if it wasn’t healthy to live on a few hours of sleep every night, he couldn’t stand the darkness. After classes, he crawled into bed and hid his face under the pillow, sleeping until the incessant promise of nightfall woke him in a panicked fit.
Another night, and another panic attack, clutching his shirt and gasping in bed, hitting his chest until his heartbeats thudded harder in protest. His ribs ached, throat raw from screaming in his sleep. The first few days after the war, someone had always come to check on him, but after he spat at them to leave him alone, they didn’t come anymore.
Katsuki always drove everyone away. He had no right to long for someone to crawl into bed with him now, to remind him that his precarious heart was still beating when he was so terrified that he was convinced it had stopped.
He pressed rough fingers against the inside of his wrist, crushing sensitive bone between his knuckles as he tried to pick up the pattern of his pulse. It took a few moments of bone-chilling terror, but a weak pulse fluttered against his skin. One. Two. Three. He was alive.
Green digits flashed at him from the digital alarm on his bedside table. 2 a.m. The blankets were scalding his ankles, sweat pooling on his skin. He kicked them off and stumbled out of bed, staggering towards the door.
He didn’t know where he was going until he was standing in front of a familiar door, knuckles stinging from rapping so sharply on the hard surface.
It cracked open, and a mess of green poked out, wild, overgrown curls tangled like jungle vines. A scarred hand came up to nudge the locks aside, and glinting green eyes looked into his own.
Katsuki opened his mouth to speak, but a choked noise came out. The gap widened, and Izuku reached for Katsuki’s wrist, guiding him inside in silence. The bed was unmade, blankets strewn over the crumpled sheets, and the desk lamp shone a light over a notebook filled with scribbles.
“I…” Katsuki’s voice broke. He had nothing left intact. He swallowed, hard, blinking back wet salt that stung his eyes. “I just want this to end.”
Izuku sat on the bed silently, eyes raw and pained. “Kacchan…”
Katsuki knew there was nothing to say. He sat on the bed, feeling the mattress dip underneath him, and slumped forward, letting his head rest on Izuku’s shoulder. The scent of baby soap and fabric softener filled his senses.
A warm hand slid into his hair, lightly scratching nails across his scalp. Katsuki leaned into the touch, nudging his head into Izuku’s hand. It felt too good for him to care about how embarrassing it was that he was nuzzling his childhood friend’s palm like a cat.
An anchor tied him to the midst of the waves, grounding him in the storm. It raged in his stomach, anxiety like bile that he bit his tongue to suppress. He couldn’t breathe, but it didn’t feel so overwhelming if he was offering those breaths to Izuku, a gift for safekeeping.
Katsuki swallowed his nerves and shuffled down to lie flat on the mattress, then gave a small flick of his wrist. It took a second for Izuku to understand. Carefully, he crawled over Katsuki, making sure not to lower his full weight onto him.
It wasn’t enough. Impatient, Katsuki wrapped his legs around Izuku’s waist, tugging him down so their bodies were pressed together. Comfort washed over him, the firm, warm weight of Izuku’s body a promise of safety. As long as Izuku was here, nothing could happen to him.
“Kacchan, what are you doing?” he whispered.
“Keep your mouth shut.” He shoved his face into the crook of Izuku’s neck, inhaling the scent of soap. A light sheen of Izuku’s sweat pooled against his lips, and he had to resist the craving to lick it up.
Izuku sniffed, bracing his palms on the mattress on either side of Katsuki’s head. “I don’t want you to hurt anymore.”
Katsuki reached up to grab a fistful of Izuku’s hair, nudging him down until his forehead hit his shoulder. He could feel wetness against his skin, Izuku’s body shaking in his arms. It felt good to be needed, for the savior of the world to fall apart above him.
“Kacchan,” he mumbled, voice thick and distorted, clogged with tears. “I wish I could take it away.”
He rubbed Izuku’s back, soothing circles into his shoulder blades over the thin layer of fabric. Izuku trembled, then let out a choked sob. Small sniffles soaked into Katsuki’s shoulder.
“Don’t hold back on me,” Katsuki said quietly.
Another sob tore from Izuku’s throat, low and guttural. He pressed a palm flat against Katsuki’s ribs, right under his pecs. Katsuki could feel his heartbeat hammer against the one struggling in Izuku’s palm, and blinked furious tears away.
Izuku drew a wet inhale, maneuvering himself up so he could gaze down at Katsuki, his eyes hot with so much intensity that it hurt to be on the receiving end. “I’m never letting you leave again.”
There was something disconcerting in the phrasing, but Katsuki understood, felt the raging emotion in the words sink into his bones. His voice cracked again. “I don’t need you.”
“I need you.” He trailed a hand down the side of Katsuki’s face, and it made tears prick at Katsuki’s eyes again. “I need you, Kacchan. I can’t ever let you go.”
Katsuki was a liar, a dirty liar, because he needed Izuku, too, so badly that it felt as if he couldn’t breathe without Izuku tugging it out of him. It didn’t matter if Izuku saw him differently, if his illusion of perfection had been shattered, because Izuku still needed him, wanted him, held him so tightly that for the first time, Katsuki didn’t feel painfully alive. Maybe it was unhealthy, but he didn’t care about what was healthy anymore.
“If you want to sleep,” Izuku said, his voice a soothing backdrop to the haze of numbness, “I’ll watch over you.”
“No. You need to sleep, too, or I’ll knock you out.”
A watery laugh melted into a warm breath on Katsuki’s lips, then Izuku rolled off him. The absence of that solid warmth sparked a lurch of anxiety in Katsuki’s stomach. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the panic, but it wouldn’t subside until Izuku wrapped an arm around him.
“Want you here, always,” Izuku mumbled. “No matter what.”
Katsuki’s fingertips found the hollow beside Izuku’s collarbone, seeking a thrumming pulse. A light echo of his own, a lifeline keeping him tethered. His heart was beating. He was alive.