Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Heights Alliance was quiet when Izuku returned.

Katsuki lay in the commons room alone. He would’ve been in his room – it was well past two in the morning, on a school night, even he needed sleep – if not for the racket Sero and Kaminari were causing above him. Maybe nobody else was bothered by it, maybe it wasn’t as loud as Katsuki was making it out to be, but Katsuki couldn’t help the fact that he was a light sleeper. He was alert, even in slumber. It was helpful in the case of a villain attack, sure, but on ordinary school nights like this, in which Sero and Kaminari stayed up playing Mario Kart right above Katsuki’s fucking head, Katsuki really wished he could just fucking sleep.

The commons room was separated from the dorms, spiritually if not physically. The air in it was different too. It was much easier for Katsuki to get some rest there, at least until Iida would wake up – always a fucking morning bird – and scold Katsuki for sleeping on the couch. Katsuki would roll his eyes and hurl grumpy insults at him, but he would eventually go back up to his room, even if only to get dressed.

And Katsuki was actually on the verge of falling asleep. His eyelids grew heavy, his breathing slowed, and he was about to slip away when the faint creak of the door made him regain consciousness.

Immediately, Katsuki knew whose footsteps they were. He recognized the soft grunt as sneakers peeled off and were placed neatly at the doorstep, the hesitant little steps as the interruption walked forward. It was Izuku. It had to be.

No, it wasn’t weird that Katsuki could recognize Izuku’s footsteps. He was an observant person was all. 

If it were anyone besides Katsuki on that couch, they probably would have been able to sleep through the little scrapes Izuku made as he dragged himself across the floor, because Izuku wasn’t particularly loud in his movements. He was mostly silent. To an uncomfortable degree. It made Katsuki’s skin prickle. 

However, Katsuki was not anyone but his hyper-aware self. So he got annoyed.

He vaguely wondered what Izuku had been doing that made him stay out so late, but he didn’t have the energy to question him or to even get up. It was fine, for now. Izuku would trudge up to the second floor and Katsuki would fall asleep. This wasn’t worth getting angry over. Katsuki would probably forget about it all in the morning.

Except Izuku wasn’t going to his room.

Katsuki knew Izuku hadn’t noticed him on the couch. He wasn’t close enough, and the angle completely obstructed his view of the couch, and Katsuki definitely wasn’t breathing loud enough to alert Izuku of his presence.

So why was he staying?

Katsuki listened, bleary eyes now narrowly open and eyebrows knitted curiously, as Izuku shifted his weight to the dining room table and carefully slipped into a chair.

Not that Katsuki cared what the dweeb was doing. He just wanted to sleep. If Izuku didn’t want to sleep, that was just fine, Katsuki couldn’t give a shit, but he didn’t have to keep Katsuki awake too.

Katsuki shifted a little, and then hoisted himself up with his forearms to peek over the couch.

Izuku sat slumped at the dining table, head resting in his arms, backpack strewn across the floor with its various contents spilling out. His back was to Katsuki, so he couldn’t be sure if Izuku was awake or not.

He scoffed. So the nerd was tired. Who the fuck cared? Katsuki was tired too. And Katsuki definitely could not sleep anywhere that Izuku was. Maybe he could try making Izuku go to his room. 

He subtly realized he could carry Izuku, it was only one flight of stairs, and Katsuki was surely strong enough to, but he freakishly eliminated that option, because there was no fucking way he’d voluntarily touch Izuku for that long. The mere thought disgusted him, and he shoved it to the back of his mind and slammed the door on it, effectively sealing it away. He refused to dwell on the fact that he sort of wanted to carry Izuku, not for any particular reason other than curiosity at how he’d feel in his arms. Totally normal.

The thump of his chest was too loud. Katsuki feels a sort of white rage wash over him. Enough of that.

After staring at Izuku for just a while longer, to confirm he was most definitely sleeping, Katsuki stood up and soundlessly walked over to him.

“Izuku.” 

The use of his first name in place of the nickname was still unfamiliar on Katsuki’s tongue. Of course, even though Katsuki had apologized, and he’d started using Izuku’s actual name, it didn’t mean everything was fine. On the contrary, it was a reminder that things had been wrong for a very long time, and Katsuki was only just now trying to fix it all. But still, even if it was just a name, the use of it made Katsuki feel like it was something, and at least the effort was there, in a way.

Izuku did not respond. 

“Izuku,” he repeated, louder, impatiently.

Nothing.

Warily, Katsuki considered lightly tapping him on the shoulder, maybe shaking him a bit.

Touching Izuku in such a gentle manner would be weird. The thought made Katsuki all twisty inside.

He instead resorted to a more characteristic approach. He flicked Izuku’s forehead with no shortage of spite.

Green eyes slid open a fraction. They acknowledged Katsuki, almost hazily, and then Izuku shifted his head and fell back asleep.

“Hey, dickwad. Go to your room. I can’t sleep if you’re here.” Then, reluctantly, “I’ll carry your stuff for ya if you’re so damn tired.”

Izuku grunted a little, raising his head and frowning, still close-eyed. “‘s that you, Kacchan?”

“Yeah, it’s me, who the fuck else? Go to your room already.”

He groaned, dropping his head again. “I will, I will. As soon as I eat something. I’m hungry.”

Katsuki glanced around the commons room for a bit, feeling out of place, and then back at Izuku. “Hurry up.”

Izuku didn’t respond, apparently asleep again. Was he actually that fucking tired? What the hell could he have been doing?

Not that Katsuki gave a shit. He just wanted to sleep.

Maybe if Izuku ate, he’d regain the energy to go to his fuckin’ room and leave Katsuki alone already.

Katsuki supposed it wouldn’t hurt if he just went to the kitchen and got Izuku something to eat.

You owe him a lot more than that.

It was that little voice again, the one that’d been nagging at him ever since he apologized. He thought that apologizing to Izuku would rid him of the guilt he felt whenever he saw him, but it had instead manifested into a voice that tormented Katsuki almost every conscious moment. It constantly reminded him that no matter what he ever did, it would never make up for the damage he had inflicted upon Izuku.

Sure, Izuku didn’t hate him, and he probably never had, but sometimes Katsuki wished he hated him. If Izuku hated him, the guilt wouldn’t be as bad. Katsuki wouldn’t feel the uncomfortable dread that lingered in his chest whenever his and Izuku’s eyes met, and Izuku’s eyes were not full of contempt for all the things Katsuki had ever done to him, but rather full of awe. Why Izuku still found Katsuki so admirable, after all that had been said and done, he had yet to understand.

Upon reaching the kitchen, Katsuki remembered it was two in the fucking morning. There wasn’t going to be any proper food until later that day when they got dinner started. There were ingredients, yes, but nothing ready to eat.

Just a few months ago, Katsuki would never dream of doing a favor for Izuku, like cooking him a meal in the middle of the night. However, that sense of debt looming over him was a too-powerful bringer of frustration.

Katsuki supposed doing a favor for him was a decent way of showing that he was serious about changing.

But what to cook?

There was mapo tofu, onigiri, udon… 

His mind wandered to a memory, not a very old one, although it felt like a lifetime ago, like another world. A dream.

It wasn’t even a memory involving him, really. It had nothing to do with him. But he remembered, somehow.

It had been at the summer training camp, before everything had gone… wrong. It was Uraraka that had prompted the question.

“Deku-kun, what’s your favorite food?”

Izuku paused mid-bite to think about it. “Katsudon. What about you?”

“Mochi!”

And then Katsuki had stopped paying attention.

He supposed katsudon wasn’t too tiresome to make.

He took out the ingredients one by one, careful yet efficient in every moment, trying to do things as quickly as possible without waking the others up.

It wasn’t that he was embarrassed to be making a meal for Izuku. Everyone knew about his intentions to change. They would think he was really trying. But it didn’t matter what anyone else thought. This was between him and Izuku, so the only opinion that mattered was Izuku’s. It was nobody else’s fucking business.

After a little while, fighting the sleepiness threatening to wash over him on multiple occasions, he glanced back over at Izuku, who hadn’t moved an inch on the table. Katsuki wasn’t sure how long it’d been since he’d gotten up.

He stared at the katsudon now. Definitely not his best work. They were short on soy sauce – he suspected the meal was poorly flavored. And the broth was pitifully lackluster, barely reaching half of the bowl. But he was more focused on avoiding cutting his fingers in his battle against his grogginess rather than the quality of the meal. It was food, at the very least. The shithead better be fucking grateful.

Katsuki bristled self-awarely, and reminded himself that Izuku didn’t owe him anything for this, and that this didn’t come close to repairing everything Katsuki had yet to make up for.

He dropped the plate in front of Izuku haphazardly, neatly placing two chopsticks beside it.

“Wha…?”

Izuku stirred. His eyes opened slightly, closed, and then opened, more awake. Sauce had splashed onto his face.

Katsuki’s heart apologized, but the words died in his throat, and the little grunting noise that gurgled out instead was the only apology Izuku got.

“Kacchan?”

His voice was hoarse, muffled beneath the faint whir of the air conditioner.

Izuku raised his head, looking around with a scrunched up expression, as if comprehending where he was and what he was meant to be doing. He didn’t look at Katsuki.

Katsuki felt a tendril of ugliness tug at him, but he pushed it back before he could act upon it. He hoped Izuku just ate the fucking thing and went to sleep.

To Katsuki’s annoyance, Izuku did not start eating. He wasn’t sure if he’d even noticed the meal. “What time is it?” was what he croaked out instead.

“Too fucking late for this shit.” Katsuki stood above him, and as much as he hated admitting it, he was actually pretty fucking tired. Swallowing whatever ounce of pride he still retained after this series of interactions, he took the seat beside Izuku. Only because his legs were getting sore.

Izuku stared at Katsuki, and although his expression was non-revealing, Katsuki couldn’t help but feel like he was scrutinizing him. “Stop looking at me like that. Hurry up and eat.”

The other stared some more, face pinched. Katsuki waited for him to say something, if he even was going to say something. He didn’t, and so he finally shifted his gaze onto the katsudon.

Slowly, he picked up the chopsticks and began to eat.

Katsuki was content with this. He leaned back into the slump of his seat and crossed his arms, finding nothing to complain about other than: “Don’t let my cooking go to waste, shithead.”

It seemed Izuku was more awake now. Between bites, half-heartedly, “I won’t. Don’t worry.”

Katsuki sat idly, first looking at his knees, and then the wall, and then the ceiling. Then he focused on the glowering hum of the air conditioner, the tick of the clock as the seconds stretched by, and basically just about everything besides the little sounds Izuku made as he ate, because if he focused on that he’d probably hurl over in his mortification, and the hammering in his heart would begin again.

The chopsticks thudded as Izuku placed them onto the wooden table. Katsuki looked up, but the plate was still half full.

Katsuki scowled, because why the fuck was Izuku taking his sweet fucking time, but the scowl faded away as his glare fell on Izuku’s lips, which had curled into a little grin. It was a strange expression. Nostalgic. Katsuki was going to throw up. Seriously.

“How’d you know?”

Katsuki didn’t like questions. He felt like his intelligence was being undermined. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Katsudon. You knew.”

Katsuki had hoped Izuku would be too tired to notice something like that. Whatever. He’d just bullshit his way through it. “It was the first thing I could think of making, dumbass. I don’t know what you’re fuckin’ implying.”

Izuku nodded to himself, as if he knew something Katsuki didn’t, and then continued eating. Fucking prick.

It would have been less annoying if he’d forced the admission out of Katsuki instead of making him sit in silence, periodically twitching his eye.

Katsuki exhaled sharply in an attempt to redirect Izuku’s attention onto him. “Fine. Yes. I knew you liked katsudon. Big fucking deal.”

“You’re observant,” Izuku quipped, and if Katsuki didn’t know any better, he’d think Izuku sounded almost fond. He knew Izuku was observant as well, and that was the only reason he’d ever say such a thing.

Katsuki just sort of lazily grunted with a half-shouldered shrug, as if agreeing.

By the time Izuku was done with his meal and was walking over to the kitchen, dirty bowl in hand, Katsuki found he was no longer sleepy. In fact, he was anything but. For some reason, unknown to him, he couldn’t keep himself from occasionally glancing at Izuku as he washed up his plate. 

He also couldn’t help but stare at the fallen contents of Izuku’s ill-placed backpack.

Katsuki wasn’t normally the type to spy. He didn’t care enough about anybody to tiptoe around them to find things out. When he wanted to know something, he said it outright. Using shady methods to garner what he wanted to know was below him. Way fucking below him.

He didn’t actually mean to read what’d fallen out of Izuku’s bag. It was just that Katsuki was trying so hard not to look at Izuku, instead focusing on the ground, and the bag was just there, on the carpet, and it wasn’t Katsuki’s fault he happened to read something that Izuku probably didn’t want him to know. If Izuku really wanted to keep it a secret, he should’ve closed his fucking backpack.

And it wasn’t like Katsuki was trying to pry.

He had only read two words before tearing his eyes away.

RENT OVERDUE, read the sheet, all big and bold and red at the top of the page.

He didn’t read any further, because he felt his hands getting all clammy with bothersome guilt, and so he looked up and glared daggers into the air conditioner instead.

Katsuki didn’t care about this. Surely not. Yes, he was definitely indebted to Izuku, but it wasn’t like he was the reason for this. He was the root of a lot of problems, but he was pretty fuckin’ sure he had nothing to do with this.

Izuku returned to the table, picking up his bag. It was only then that Katsuki noted things – things that would typically be normal, but for all the time he’d spent around Izuku, they were most certainly not normal.

For starters, Izuku kept picking at the fingernail of his thumb. Ordinarily, Katsuki could have chalked this up to Izuku simply being nervous around him, which wouldn’t be a first, but Katsuki knew all his little habits for that, and nail-picking was not one of them. Plus, judging by the battered appearance of his other nails, this nail-picking had been going on much longer than Izuku had been around Katsuki that night.

Katsuki was about to communicate more to the imaginary interviewer in his mind when he noticed Izuku standing in front of him, looking at him from above with his head tilted to the side.

“Huh?” The words seeped through clenched teeth.

There was a little hum of thought, and then: “I forgot to say thank you.” He paused, thinking. “It was good.”

Katsuki scowled instinctively, because Izuku’s crinkled eyes and croaky voice shouldn’t have been so endearing, but they were, and that grossed him out. “Don’t get used to it.”

“It wasn’t your best work, though.”

Katsuki bristled, but he only slumped in his chair, unable to think of a retort. Izuku was right, actually. Fuck.

Izuku slung his backpack over his two shoulders and gripped both straps, like the dejected little nerd he was, and he started towards the staircase.

“Goodnight, Kacchan.” His tone clearly conveyed that he wasn’t expecting a reply in return.

Before the voice of rationality could stop him, Katsuki found himself standing up and walking up to Izuku’s back.

He grabbed Izuku’s shoulder.

“Wait.”

Izuku gave him a sidelong glance, and then turned around. “Yeah?” His expression was unreadable, maybe hopeful, maybe curious. Maybe both. Katsuki wasn’t sure what Izuku thought he was going to say.

“Um.”

Izuku raised an eyebrow.

What Katsuki wanted to say was that he was sorry for not minding his own business but he couldn’t help noticing his mom’s rent was overdue and he was wondering if there was any way he could help because fuck, as much as he’d never admit it, he did care about Izuku and his stupid problems.

What he barked out was a far cry from what he wanted to say.

“Are you poor?”

There was a hefty silence of disbelief as Katsuki grasped all the horrible implications of what he had just said.

“Wha… What? Poor?”

Katsuki cursed his social incapabilities, but he was too far in to manipulate the trajectory of the conversation.

“Yeah. Poor. Answer the fucking question.”

Izuku blinked, as if this was the most outrageous thing that had ever been suggested of him. “Financially?”

“Yeah, what else, dipshit?”

Izuku looked Katsuki up and down, realization dawning upon him. After taking a glance at his half-open backpack, he frowned. “If this is something else you want to taunt me for, Kacchan –”

“No,” he snapped. He hoped he wasn’t loud enough to wake anyone else up. “I’m asking because–”

The words felt like bile beneath his tongue. “Because I want to fix it.”

“Odd choice of words,” Izuku murmured, processing what exactly Katsuki had just said.

Okay, fine, it was weird to say it like that. But Katsuki wouldn’t be caught dead admitting he wanted to help Izuku. Or god forbid that he cared about Izuku — the thought made him shudder.

“It’s my dad,” Izuku said flatly. “He’s been arrested and my mom’s job isn’t exactly paying the bills.”

Oh.

Katsuki clearly remembered Inko’s job being a preschool teacher. However, upon searching through the recesses of his too-vivid childhood memories for something about Izuku’s dad, he didn’t come up with much. Only that he worked overseas. 

It was something that Katsuki had made a point of harassing Izuku about. Not having two parents at home. His stomach knotted together. 

He stopped. He couldn’t think about those years. Sifting through any of his memories with Izuku past the age of five always made him all disgusted inside. Mostly at himself.

“I can help,” Katsuki muttered, his voice gruff, but not reluctant. He may have had his reservations when it came to Izuku, but Inko, whose very name radiated a homey glow, was someone he would never turn away.

Katsuki’s pre-quirk memories tended to take place at Izuku’s apartment. More so than the fact that Izuku was there was that his house was a refuge. A safe haven, if you would. 

Sometimes Katsuki wished he had a worry-wrought mother, all sappy and feely, one who could wrap her big arms around Katsuki like a blanket and shelter him, if only for a few moments. The cold, bony arms of Mitsuki probably did not give the most pleasant hugs. Not that Katsuki would know. He’d forgotten how it felt to be hugged by his mother.

So maybe Inko was a surrogate mother of sorts to him. Maybe. So he could help Izuku, if only to help her.

“How could you possibly help?” Izuku’s voice was paper-dry, his eyes glued to Katsuki’s. He didn’t say this in a condescending tone. He sounded desperate, like he seriously wanted, no, needed Katsuki to give him an answer.

“If you need money, I can give you it.” Or Todoroki could. Or Yaoyorozu. Or literally anyone. Izuku had well-off people in his life. Why did he insist on being a blithering lump of selflessness all the damn time?

Izuku snapped back immediately. “It’s not about the money. If it was just about that, I could ask All Might.” 

That was true. All Might’s lifestyle didn’t reflect money, but he had been the number one hero for a ridiculously long time. He obviously had more money than anyone could possibly need. Katsuki scratched his head and shifted uncomfortably. 

“I don’t see why there’s a problem, then.”

“Because it’s wrong. I owe him so much already.” His eyes darted around cautiously, and he continued, “He shouldn’t have to give me anything else, not after he’s given me the greatest gift I could ever ask for.”

Katsuki wanted to argue, but it seemed Izuku had more to say. He listened, albeit reluctantly.

“And my mom, well, you know how she is.” The way Izuku said this sounded a bit too personal for Katsuki’s liking, although it did carry some essence of truth. “She’s… lonely. Especially after the dorms. Her day consists of going to work and coming home, everything in the same place as it was before, no sounds other than the ones she makes on her own. Could you imagine how it’d be if her day consisted of just staying home, having everything paid for?” 

Izuku looked very frustrated at this, as if he wished his mom could have a life of leisure, but the only thing obstructing her from having it was herself.

“I guess it’d be pretty lonely,” Katsuki managed. 

“Yeah. She’d never agree to having everything given to her like that.”

“Uh-huh.” Katsuki scratched his jaw, frowning at the ground, and then he glanced back at Izuku. “Why doesn’t she just get a new job? A higher-paying one?”

There was some silence, Izuku mulling this proposition over. 

Katsuki added, “I know she’s probably attached to her friggin’ students or whatever, but if she refuses help from All Might, well.”

Izuku finished his thought. “Yeah. That’s probably the best option right now, yeah. I’ll help her out with that. Once she calms down about my dad and all. That’s why I got here so late. My mom and I were on the phone with the police for a while.” He sighed. “She was very upset.”

Katsuki shifted his weight around the soles of his feet ever so slightly. He wanted to further prod at this, but he didn’t dare say so. 

Izuku seemed to understand. He always did, somehow.

“Tax evasion.”

Katsuki flicked his eyes up at Izuku’s and raised his eyebrows the slightest bit.

“I guess I could’ve seen it coming,” Izuku shrugged. 

Katsuki would have expected him to be a bit more freaked out about all of this, but Izuku seemed nonchalant about it all – unattached. It wasn’t that surprising, though. Izuku’s father was always sort of an enigma to Katsuki, and Izuku himself, but Katsuki certainly didn’t think he was the type to do something stupid like that. Izuku wasn’t stupid, so he’d expect his father to encompass at least a fraction of that un-stupidness. Not that Katsuki would ever tell Izuku he thought he was smart. That would be embarrassing.

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Katsuki said, “for anything that could be of help to your mom.”

Izuku almost lit up at this. On a normal day, he would have turned into a fucking light bulb, but he seemed too detached to fully appreciate this rare moment of Katsuki being, well, a decent person.

Katsuki made sure to not overdo this act of kindness. “But this isn’t for you, shithead. It’s for Inko-san. So don’t get the wrong idea.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He turned, but then stopped.

“Kacchan?”

Katsuki grunted in acknowledgement.

“If I call, you’ll answer?”

Katsuki wanted to say ‘no’ or ‘what the fuck do you think’ or ‘since when did you get so cocky’. But he found that his inner voice had taken over.

“Yeah.”

Izuku gave him a smiley little nod and headed up the staircase. Katsuki watched as the last flemish of green disappeared from his line of sight.

—

It was Saturday noon, and Katsuki and Kirishima were leaning against the wall, side-by-side on Kaminari’s bed, as Kaminari, Sero, and Mina sat on the carpet, sweaty controllers in hand.

Apparently, Kaminari had been rapidly improving at Mario Kart. Sero disagreed. Katsuki, frankly, did not give a single shit. He was only here because Kirishima needed help with an assignment. Katsuki had grit his teeth and clenched his fists in annoyance at the request, but he was serious about the becoming-a-better-person jig, so he agreed. Although he was starting to regret it, because it was ridiculously difficult to steer Kirishima’s attention away from the blitz of the screen. 

He thought Kaminari’s lumpy bed wasn’t the greatest study spot, but Kirishima insisted it’d be too boring if they went anywhere else. So what? Schoolwork was meant to be boring; it wasn’t a goddamn bar mitzvah.

“...And then you plug in the x to find the y, you plot the coordinates, and – are you even listening, shitface?” 

Kirishima jumped at the smack he received on the wrist with a pencil. “Yeah. Sorry.” He said this, yet his eyes continued to stray to the screen.

“Fucking pay attention,” Katsuki snarled.

“Okay, okay.”

Katsuki continued with his explanation, only to look up and find Kirishima’s eyes glued onto the TV.

Kirishima suddenly laughed at the same time Kaminari cried out in outrage and flung the controller across the room, because apparently Mina had thrown a blue shell at him moments before crossing the finish line.

Mina stood up and did something Katsuki could only assume was a victory dance. “I won! Suck on that, bitch!”

“That’s not even fair,” Kaminari whined. “I was winning, like, eighty-percent of the race until the very end.”

“That’s so not true,” Kirishima said. 

Kaminari narrowed his eyes. “How would you know? Aren’t you doing homework?”

He flushed. “Well.”

“Okay. That’s it.” Katsuki shoved the piles of paper into Kirishima’s face with an indignant huff. “I’m done with your shit.”

Kirishima was about to protest, maybe apologize and beg profusely with tears, but he probably realized he couldn’t focus right now, and so he sheepishly slid off the bed and grabbed the fourth controller.

With a healthy heap of annoyance, Katsuki pulled out his phone and resumed reading a hero article he had been in the middle of. 

He scrolled through his feed some more when he stumbled upon an article regarding the battle at Kamino. He stared at the thumbnail with a heavy heart.

It had been a long time since Katsuki had thought of that day. He actively avoided anything to do with it, because whenever he remembered it again, he started picturing alternate outcomes of it.

He thought about what would have happened if Kirishima and the others hadn’t come when they did. Would All Might be too concerned with Katsuki getting caught in the crossfire to defeat All For One? Would All For One use Katsuki as a shield? Would the battle still happen, with the same results, but with Katsuki’s life sacrificed to spare the lives of thousands?

And worst of all, he thought about what would have happened if Izuku was the one who offered Katsuki his hand.

If these events were happening now, Katsuki was confident enough to say that he’d suck it up and take Izuku’s hand, because he wasn’t going to get himself killed over a matter of pride.

However, when he thought about himself at that point of his life, he seriously couldn’t figure out if he would’ve been mature enough to take Izuku’s hand.

What’s worse was that Izuku knew. He knew Katsuki wouldn’t have taken it. He just assumed. Of course, Izuku was right. He simply gave up on trying to connect with Katsuki. And that…

Well. That stung now. 

Katsuki knew if their roles were reversed, it would not have been him who offered his hand to Izuku. It would have been Uraraka, or Todoroki, or just about anyone else.

And that was wrong, somehow. It felt wrong. They’d known each other the longest. It should have been Izuku. In a perfect world, Izuku would have offered his hand to Katsuki. Just as he had many years before.

However, Katsuki knew that in a perfect world, Izuku would never have gotten One For All, because he wouldn’t need to – he probably would have been a mechanical engineer or something, and in a perfect world, Katsuki would have supported him instead of belittling his every action. So Katsuki knew that if things had been different, Izuku would not have become the hero he was now. Then again… would that be such a bad thing?

Yes, Katsuki quickly decided. It would. He couldn’t imagine Izuku doing anything but being a hero. 

This always happened when he thought about Kamino. Fuck. It had been a long time since then, though. He had to stop dwelling. What mattered now was the present.

Izuku’s words from two days prior resounded in his head.

If I call, you’ll answer?

Izuku had not called. Not that Katsuki cared. If Izuku needed something, he’d call. He wouldn’t call just because he felt like it. Which was all well and good with Katsuki. He had no intention of making small talk.

But what seriously bugged Katsuki was the fact that he seriously couldn’t recall ever having given Izuku his number. 

He had searched through his phone relentlessly, but found no one that could be him. 

Did Izuku have his number somehow? He could have gotten it from Kirishima, or Kaminari – hell, even Todoroki. 

It was the slightest bit depressing that they didn’t have each other’s numbers, considering many of their other classmates – who they’d known for considerably less time – had them.

Katsuki glanced around at the four sitting on the ground beneath him. Should he ask…?

Every part of his body was saying fuck no, don’t fucking do that, if Izuku wanted to call he could find some way to do it himself, but –

That voice.

He cleared his throat just as the race came to an end. As soon as Sero finished rubbing his victory in everyone else’s face, Katsuki spoke up.

“Guys.”

They all turned.

“Do any of you have Izuku’s number?”

They glanced at each other, almost disturbed at the nonchalance of the question, and then they looked at him.

“I have it,” Kirishima said, his voice trailing off uncertainly. “You don’t?”

Katsuki huffed, which was answer enough.

Mina tilted her head curiously. “Haven’t you guys been friends for, like, ever? And you don’t have each other’s numbers?”

Kaminari snorted. “I wouldn’t call them friends, exactly.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki seethed, little explosions bubbling in the palms of his hand.

“Okay, okay, sorry!” Kaminari inched back a little on the ground, a cheeky grin on his face. 

Sero piped up. “It’s good, though. That you’re trying to befriend him. If you're not already friends, I mean.”

Katsuki scoffed, offended at the suggestion. “I’m not trying to fucking befriend him. I just need his number. I’m helping his mom with something.”

They gave him confused looks. Mina stifled a giggle. “His mom?”

“Yes, his mom. Are you deaf?”

“That’s adorable.”

Katsuki felt something snap in him, his face flushing to an unprecedented shade of red.

Kirishima had to restrain him from pouncing on her. She bursted into a fit of laughter, falling back onto the carpet with a thud. 

Katsuki shrugged Kirishima’s grasp away, scowling. “Whatever. Just give me his fucking number.”

Kirishima pulled out his phone and shared the contact with Katsuki.

Upon clicking on the message button, Katsuki’s stomach churned in horror.

He did not have a name saved under Izuku’s number. But there were messages. Ones he had not scrolled down far enough to see.

Kirishima stared at him. “You look pale, man.” When Katsuki didn’t respond, eyes still glued to his phone, Kirishima leaned over his shoulder. Katsuki heard the little gasp he made as he read over the texts.

The messages were from several years ago. Katsuki roughly estimated they were both in sixth grade at the time.

0X-XXXX-XXXX

Kacchan

Your mom gave my mom your number

She said she wants me to come over bc she hasnt seen me in a long time

But if u dont want me to its ok i’ll make an excuse

Dont come over

Make an excuse

Or ill give you one

Ok Kacchan

And delete my number rn

I got fucking nauseous just talking to u

Katsuki felt his jaw go slack.

Suddenly Mina, Sero, and Kaminari were on the bed behind him, staring from above at the pathetic little messages too.

Mortified, he turned around and swung his arm in one large swoop, hitting them all in the head. They all exclaimed, groaning as they rubbed their heads pitifully.

“So violent,” Mina whined.

“No wonder Midoriya-kun never spoke to you again,” Kaminari said.

“I wouldn’t either,” said Sero.

“That was so mean,” Mina said. “Poor Midoriya-kun.”

Kirishima shook his head. “Yeah, man. Not cool. You have a shit ton to make up for.”

“I know, dammit!” His voice sent Kirishima’s hair flying backwards momentarily. Then, quieter, “That’s what I’m trying to fucking do.”

“What excuse did Midoriya end up using?” Kaminari asked.

Katsuki glowered at him, getting all up in his face. “How the fuck should I know?”

Kaminari yelped, backing away and colliding with Kirishima. “You are one scary guy.”

“I’m not scary. You’re just a fucking wimp.”

Kaminari thought this over for a bit, and then shook his head. “No. You’re scary.” He paused. “So are you gonna call Midoriya-kun? Say you’re sorry and make heart eyes at him? You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

Katsuki stared at him expressionlessly, eyes wide, giving him a chance to retract what he had just said.

“Scary,” Mina murmured. 

“Abort,” said Sero. 

“Okay, Bakugou, you don’t have to answer my question, haha,” Kaminari tittered, scooting further and further away from the ticking time bomb.

—

Katsuki was pulled aside by Toshinori in the hall during lunch.

It was very weird. Toshinori didn’t just pull Katsuki aside. He pulled Izuku aside, and only occasionally would Katsuki accompany them. It was never just Katsuki and Toshinori alone.

But of course, Katsuki wouldn’t turn him down. He was All Might, for fuck’s sake. 

“So, Bakugou, my boy.”

The ticking of the clock was demandingly loud. Katsuki took sparing sips of the steaming green tea in his hands.

“I know calling you here alone may seem odd. You’re used to being here with young Midoriya, aren’t you?”

Katsuki shot him a narrow look. He grunted in response, sort of half-assedly. Could the man just get to the point already?

“Well.” Toshinori straightened his shoulders, fiddling with his tie. Was he… nervous? Jesus. It was so weird for Katsuki to see him look anything but utterly composed, but he supposed he’d been seeing the more frazzled side of Toshinori as of late. “This is about Midoriya, actually.”

Katsuki tilted his head the slightest bit, eyebrows furrowed.

Toshinori continued. “I think there is something troubling him, but he refuses to divulge anything to me.” He paused. “And I don’t mean to disrespect his privacy. It’s just, as his mentor, I would like to know if there is something seriously impeding his day-to-day life. I hate to see him like this.”

Katsuki wracked out a heavy sigh. He wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t really Katsuki’s secret to tell. 

Toshinori seemed to pick up on this. “You don’t have to tell me, Bakugou. I just need to know, is there something wrong?”

Katsuki placed the cup of tea on the coffee table. “Yeah.”

There was a lingering silence, the ticking of the clock all-too-loud. Finally, Toshinori sighed. “I see.” He frowned at the ground. “Well, is there anything you can do to help him with his problem?”

Katsuki half-shrugged. “He said he’d ask me if he needed help.”

The response was instantaneous. “You and I both know Midoriya will never reach out for help.”

The certainty in Toshinori’s voice was palpable. Katsuki thought back to when he and his classmates had practically dragged Midoriya back to Yuuei during the war. His spine tingled and his stomach knotted into itself. 

“I know,” Katsuki managed.

“So you must reach out to him, young Bakugou.” Katsuki gave him a look.

“Enough of that. You know how important it is that the successor of One For All is able to focus on his training. He cannot pour his utmost efforts into his hero work if he’s preoccupied with whatever ordeal. So swallow your pride and offer him a helping hand. If not for him, then for my legacy. If not for my legacy, then for the greater good of mankind.”

Katsuki was stunned into silence. Jeez. Toshinori certainly did not need to give him a lecture. Katsuki would grumble and mope, sure, but he would do anything All Might could possibly ask of him. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Katsuki said. Just as he said this, the bell rang.

“Good. I expect to see an improvement in Midoriya’s… circumstances. Whatever they may be.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Katsuki was halfway out the door by then.

“Bakugou?”

Katsuki turned, trying not to visibly sneer.

“If it gets too serious, please let me know. I would like to be there for young Midoriya as well.”

“...Sure.”

—

Izuku knew it was getting late again. He didn’t dare look at the time. He kept his gaze on the white of the computer screen as he hovered by his mother’s side.

“What about that one?” The fatigue slipped out a bit when he said this, and he prayed Inko would not comment on it. He lifted a finger at a purple link that looked somewhat promising.

Inko followed the link, and Izuku could practically hear the hope in the click of the mouse, but Inko’s shoulders quickly fell upon reading the requirements.

“They don’t want women,” she mumbled spitefully.

Izuku was almost furious at this. His eyelids were heavy and he had school in the morning and he just wanted something to work out for his mother so he could go and rest. “Why not?”

She squinted at the screen, reading over the details. “It’s a lot of heavy-lifting. Construction stuff.”

Admittedly, Izuku could not see his mother working at a construction site in any circumstance whatsoever. But he just wanted her to fight for the job so he could move on with his life. That was selfish, yes. But he was very tired. “Your quirk is useful for that stuff, though. You can lift stuff.”

Inko laughed dryly. “You know the limits of my abilities, Izuku. I’m afraid my quirk is nothing like that of your friend’s.”

That was true. His mother’s quirk was kind of a super nerfed version of Uraraka’s. Ugh.

“You can go to sleep if you’d like,” Inko murmured. It seemed she had sensed his frustration. “You have school in the morning, don’t you?”

Izuku mulled this over. He wanted to sleep, yes, but he knew if he didn’t do this now, he’d just have to try again with her tomorrow. “It’s fine.”

Inko gave him a long stare. “You don’t look well, dear. Look, this is my problem, okay? You have your own things to worry about. Go get some rest.”

Izuku wanted to protest, but Inko had already signed out of the computer and powered it down.

“Alright,” he said, the last syllable clipped with uneasiness.

Inko wrapped her arms around him, and he leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, Izuku. Thank you for your help.”

“Goodnight.”

Izuku pulled away, not quite enjoying the warmth of her hug as much as he usually did. He shuffled over to his room and collapsed onto his bed. 

He could have gone back to Heights Alliance, but he knew he was just going to get scolded again for not being in bed by curfew. Actually, he’d get scolded either way, because he had left school grounds on a weekday without permission, but what could he do? 

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand beside him and read the time. 

One thirty in the morning. Not bad. Record-breaking, actually. 

Then Izuku noticed something else. 

He thought his eyes were deceiving him at first. He shot up against his bedpost, staring at the messages in bewilderment.

Kacchan

6:23 P.M.

all might tol me he’s worried abt u

stop making people worry. you can ask for fuckin help yk

aizawa’s pissed at u btw

6:39 P.M.

okay fine don’t respond fucking twerp

just know i talked 2 my mom

and she has a place for yer mom at her company

she pays well and stuff

so tell ur mom to call mine and. yeah

6:43 P.M.

you’re fucking welcome

Izuku seriously could not believe what he was reading. He almost laughed, actually. Kacchan asking him to tell Izuku’s mom to call Kacchan’s mom was so… elementary-esque. It was like opening a window to the past and meeting violent gusts of wind.

Izuku felt bad for not responding earlier. But he had barely managed to finish his homework before helping his mother look for job postings online once more – he hadn’t picked up his phone once. His back throbbed from the hours of being hunched over at the screen beside her.

Was it really okay to respond now? What if he woke Kacchan up? That’d be pretty bad.

But… some part of him knew Kacchan wouldn’t mind – probably. If he had gone out of his way to find his mother a job, well, maybe he did care. Or maybe All Might had put him up to it. Either way, it was like a boulder had been lifted off his shoulders. He’d tell Inko the good news tomorrow – for now, she could sleep.

He typed out a message.

Originally, Izuku had intended the message to be a simple “thank-you”. But he kept revising it. Over and over.

The final product was not just a simple “thank-you”. 

1:37 A.M.

oh my gosh kacchan thank you so much you don’t know how much this means to me my mom’s gonna be so happy i’ll take a picture of her jumping for joy if you want THANK YOU

Kacchan’s response was way too quick.

1:37 A.M.

took you fucking long enough

1:38 A.M.

why aren’t you sleeping?????

1:38 A.M.

because your fucking message woke me up dipshit

go to fucking sleep

1:39 A.M.

ok ok

goodnight kacchan!

Kacchan typed for a good minute there before responding, as if debilitating potential responses.

1:41 A.M.

night

Izuku curled into himself under the sheets, his lips curling into a dopey grin, his heart pink and giddy.

Chapter Text

Inko calls Mitsuki the next day as Izuku and Katsuki are at school. She is quite thrilled, according to Mitsuki. 

In class, Izuku keeps tapping Katsuki on the shoulder.

“Thank you,” he whispers, grinning ear-to-ear. 

Katsuki gives him a little grunt of acknowledgement, only glancing in his general direction, and then he sort of shakes off Izuku’s touch, feeling all tingly inside.

“Thanks again,” Izuku says, just two minutes later. 

Katsuki side-eyes him, but says nothing.

Five minutes later, “Thanks, Kacchan. Really.” Aizawa is no longer lecturing, instead giving them time to work on homework.

He grits his teeth. “You’re fucking welcome.” That ought to make him piss off already.

And then, the moment Izuku begins speaking in that tone, Katsuki already knows he’s in for a headache. 

“Sorry for responding to your text so late. I got home and I showered, and then I ate dinner, and then I did my homework, and then I was helping my mom look for jobs online, so I didn’t pick up my phone until I was about to go to bed, and then I saw your text, and I kind of did a double take because I never thought you’d text me of your own free will – then again, it could’ve been All Might that asked you to check up on me – but anyway, it was just really nice of you to talk to your mom and find my mom a job.”

Fucking hell. Izuku does not have to tell Katsuki his entire life story. That last sentence was more than enough to get his point across. 

“It was nothing,” Katsuki mumbles. He hunches over his worksheet, trying his very best to concentrate on the equations rather than the weird little guy practically vibrating behind him. (Okay, not exactly a little guy, but.)

“It wasn’t nothing,” Izuku insists. “It meant a lot to me –”

“Okay,” Katsuki says through clenched teeth. 

Izuku’s wobbly grin only grows. “Okay.” Apparently, the shitface thinks Katsuki is reacting positively.

Katsuki directs his attention back to his work once more, but it seems Izuku just will not shut up.

“Oh, I was wondering if my mom could work both jobs. She doesn’t wanna quit teaching.”

Katsuki turns around fully now, practically straddling his chair. His eye twitches. It takes every ounce of willpower to resist shouting. “She doesn’t have to quit. My mom can work around her schedule.” Katsuki spits this out with a sense of finality, the words feeling like bile beneath his tongue. “Anything else?” 

“No,” Izuku chirps, seemingly content with this. But then, of course, barely a moment later, “Wait. What would my mom even be doing there? I mean, I know your mom runs a skincare company, but what would my mom even do there?”

Katsuki’s skin prickles. “I don’t fucking know. Does it matter?”

“...No.”

“Okay then,” he seethes.

It seems Izuku has finally simmered down. Katsuki takes a relieved whiff and starts making some progress on his homework. Well, for five minutes, that is.

The little finger prods at his back once more.

“Kacchan, how does your mom’s quirk exactly–”

Katsuki feels something in him burst. He squares his shoulders and whips his head around, slamming two fists on Izuku’s desk. “Let me do my fucking homework, damn it!” 

Izuku immediately staggers back.

There are two sizzling handprints where Katsuki hit the desk. Shit.

All eyes fall on Katsuki, who swears he can feel every drop of blood coursing through his veins. Aizawa shoots him a heavy look from across the classroom, one Katsuki is largely used to. “You’re paying for Midoriya’s new desk, you know.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Katsuki huffs. He crosses his arms and slides back into his seat.

Aizawa begins muttering something under his breath about how it’s always ‘those two’ causing him trouble. Okay fucking haggard, fucking smelly old man, go fucking punt yourself over the moon for all Katsuki cares, nobody fucking loves you, nobody gives a shit about you, literally nobody gives a fuck. 

Izuku stops tapping him on the shoulder now. At last. Katsuki can hear him rifling through papers behind him, but something sounds weird. Yes, Katsuki can hear the fucking hesitation in Izuku’s movements. No, it’s not fucking weird, he’s just observant, fuck you.

Katsuki gets up and pretends he needs to sharpen his pencil in order to look at Izuku without turning around to do so.

Izuku looks like he’s trying to place his papers on the desk, but can’t because they’ll simply burn. Fuck. Katsuki almost feels bad.

Katsuki stuffs his shit into his backpack. Without looking at Izuku, he unceremoniously shoves Izuku’s desk aside.

Izuku stands up. “Um. What are you doing?”

“Shaddup.”

Katsuki pushes his own desk backward, right in front of Izuku’s chair. He takes Izuku’s desk and drags it to where Katsuki’s desk had been.

Izuku stares at him with parted lips, as if short-circuiting. For a moment, Katsuki thinks he’s broken him or something.

Katsuki doesn’t say anything, only taking his seat and using his lap to write instead of the crackling desk.

Izuku – the fucking dork – probably could have done that himself. But Katsuki almost felt bad for him. Sort of. So he’ll express this little bit of remorse. He probably shouldn’t have lashed out at a guy who was just thanking him.

“Thank you,” Izuku croaks out. The words are still half-stuck in his throat when they come out of his mouth.

Katsuki says nothing, continuing his homework without a sound. His mind swims, not with equations, but with incessant little feelings that tug at him this way and that. Gross.

—

Izuku slips out of Heights Alliance one last time, but finds himself face-to-face with his teacher.

“Oh! Hi,” Izuku hiccups. He takes a few steps back. 

“I seriously don’t know what to do with you.”

Aizawa’s face is illuminated by little slits of moonlight. Through the bars of dark hair, Izuku sees that he does not look mad. Just very over it.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku says. He traces the grass beneath him with the sole of his foot. “I just need to see her. One more time.”

“Just ask,” Aizawa grits. “I’m not going to say no to you if you ask me, Midoriya. I understand your situation. I just can’t have you running off without telling anyone.” He pinches the bridge of his nose with frazzled fingertips. 

“I know you think you’re invincible now that the war is over. But you are still under the care of Yuuei, and of me. And while you’re under my care, you have to let me know if you plan on spending the night at home.” He pauses. “Just so I have an inkling of where you are.”

Izuku does not absorb much of what Aizawa says. “So I can go?”

His eyes narrow. “Yes. This is the last time, though. You said she got a job, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“So I assume you don’t need to continue visiting her for now.”

“I guess so.”

“Fine. Go. I expect you to be back before breakfast. Oh, and don’t show up in the dead of night again. You gave the security guards quite a scare last time.”

Izuku cringes. “I know. I’ll come at dawn.”

“Good. I hope we won’t have to have this conversation again.”

“We won’t!” Izuku chirps, dashing away like a child. A child who saved the world, once, but nobody’s counting.

—

Katsuki isn’t sure how, but somehow, people found out about his act of kindness. (It was actually completely out of a sense of debt, not kindness, but no one has to know that. Somehow, people knowing Katsuki still felt guilty sounds way worse than people thinking he was just being nice for once.)

About a week after Inko started working for Mitsuki, people just started knowing.

“So, Midoriya-kun,” Hagakure says across the breakfast table. “How’s your mom been doing at Bakugou’s mom’s firm?”

Izuku chokes. He coughs up a piece of egg, wracking violently as it thuds onto his plate. Beside him, Tokoyami stares at him with mild disgust. Actually, scratch that. Tokoyami always looks like he’s experiencing “mild disgust”. 

Katsuki glares at Izuku, scrutinizing him up and down. Had he told people?

“What?” Izuku’s face is a bit pink now. He makes eye contact with Katsuki, questioning, and so Katsuki is utterly sure Izuku did not tell anyone. Katsuki only shrugs. He knows just as much as Izuku does. 

Hagakure’s sleeves lean forward on the table. “Yeah! We saw your mom at her store talking to Bakugou’s mom. She had a nametag and everything. Midoriya, and she had hair like yours, so it had to be your mom!”

Katsuki digs his fingers into the table, his nails scraping against the wood of it. “Who saw? You and who?”

Hagakure doesn’t seem affected by the snark of his tone. “Oh! Me and Mina. And Uraraka. We always go there. Your mom’s skincare seriously does wonders!”

As Katsuki tries his very best not to combust, Shinsou is staring pointedly at Hagakure. “How the hell would skincare have any effect on you? You’re literally invisible.” 

It is probably the most malicious, insensitive thing one can say to her, but Shinsou says it with a straight face, only prompted by sheer curiosity. Okay, even Katsuki knew not to mention that shit. Everyone knows Hagakure is insecure about her… appearance, or rather… lack of one. It’s a touchy subject, damn it.

Hagakure seems to be very upset by this. She starts sobbing and sniffling and her breath catches in her throat – if she even has a throat. Jirou and Tsuyu rush to comfort her, shooting nasty looks at Shinsou, who just shrugs. Katsuki decides he can wait until later to tell the girls not to step foot into his mother’s store ever again. 

Katsuki excuses himself from the table without a word, not wanting to get involved in the little meltdown Hagakure is having. 

Izuku follows him through the corridor and out of the dormitory. “Kacchan!”

Katsuki continues brisking forward, sparing a glance at Izuku over his shoulder. “What.”

“Good morning!”

Katsuki acutely notes the smile lines that have made Izuku’s eyes their home. Izuku is so genuine. He says everything so earnestly. It makes Katsuki want to throw up. Or slap him. Or grab his face and –

Shh, his mind scolds.

He bristles. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

“Nothing! I just wanted to say good morning.”

“Why?”

“Uh.” Izuku scratches his neck. “Because it’s the polite thing to do, I guess?”

Katsuki stuffs his hands into his pockets, biting back an outburst. “Yeah. Okay.” He doesn’t care for small talk. He tries focusing on the crunch of the grassy path beneath him and the glare of the sun instead of dwelling on Izuku’s bashful little face. At this rate, Katsuki is going to punch him. 

Izuku stops walking, and Katsuki is admittedly sort of curious as to why, but he doesn’t stop. He definitely does not care enough to stop for Izuku. 

He doesn’t have to stop for Izuku. He knows that. He knows Izuku isn’t itching to catch up to him anymore. He knows Izuku is light-years ahead of him now. Izuku is the one stopping for Katsuki. Katsuki’s lucky he’s even being given the time of day.

(Katsuki wants to die before Izuku gets the chance to smile at him again. He doesn’t deserve to see Izuku smile. He needs to stay far, far away from Izuku.)

After shuffling through his backpack and then slinging it back onto his shoulders, Izuku speeds up to Katsuki’s side. Clutched in his clammy hands is a paperback copy of a hero magazine Katsuki vaguely recognizes.

“I got this thing,” Izuku mumbles. “To thank you for helping my mom out.”

“I don’t want it.”

(It’s better this way.)

Katsuki watches as Izuku withers a bit. He starts tucking the magazine into the crook of his arm. Like a dejected little puppy. Fucking gross. Katsuki wants to kick him.

“Give me that.” Katsuki snatches the magazine, startling Izuku.

Upon further inspection, the magazine is not just any old magazine. It’s a limited edition one Katsuki had desperately wanted to get his hands on in junior high, although he’d never admit it. He was much more closeted about his hero obsession than Izuku was. 

It has exclusive interviews with heroes that can’t be read anywhere else. Shit. Katsuki almost feels his heart stop working for a second.

How the fuck had Izuku gotten a copy of it? And more importantly, why the fuck is he giving it to Katsuki? Knowing Izuku, it’s probably his utmost prized possession or some shit. 

(Don’t accept it. Give it back. You can’t take any more from him.)

“I don’t know if you still like these things,” Izuku murmurs. There is security in his footsteps. (There was hesitation in them not too long ago.) “I hope you didn’t outgrow them.”

“Um.” Katsuki winces. Shit. Izuku is so fucking nice to him it hurts. He does not deserve any of this. “Thanks,” Katsuki mutters. He really does mean it. He isn’t sure how he can show that he means it. He’ll have to figure that out later.

“No problem!” Izuku chirps. A beam of sunlight. Katsuki wishes he’d stop fucking smiling at him like that. Katsuki feels ugly next to him. “Let me know what you think of it! If you want, I mean. I’ve already read the whole thing dozens of times. I don’t really need it anymore, haha.”

After a brief interlude of them walking in silence, Izuku pipes up again. “I remember you having a depressive episode the day after the copies were sold. So I knew you didn’t manage to get your hands on one.”

Katsuki’s skin prickles at the memory. “Shut the fuck up,” he snaps.

Izuku isn’t discouraged. “I thought maybe you’d get a copy from another seller, but the prices were insane, and judging by your mood for the next two weeks or so, I figured you didn’t get one.”

“I’m going to fucking strangle you.” A feasible threat.

Izuku continues, a laugh catching his throat. Hm.

“You were so angry about it!” His voice titters a bit. Izuku’s voice is pretty, Katsuki thinks. (He’s always thought that. He will never say it aloud.) “I remember so well. You were pissed off all day and everyone was wondering what happened to make you so mad, and I was just sitting there in the back of the room kinda smiling to myself because I was the only one that knew you were just worked up over a hero magazine.”

Katsuki’s stomach roils. He thinks about how frail Izuku was at the time, how much that little victory could have meant to him, and shit, Katsuki is going to scream. He hates thinking about junior high. He hates that Izuku still recalls so much of it. He hates that he can’t go back and stab himself in the gut.

“I wasn’t that mad,” is what Katsuki finally says. He most certainly will not let Izuku think of that whole incident as a victory. He may be ever so slightly nicer to him, but he is still Katsuki fucking Bakugou. He will continue to delude himself into thinking he’s superior to Izuku, because if he cannot hold on to at least that, he doesn’t know who he’d even be anymore.

He brisks past Izuku and into the classroom, acutely aware of how his movements make Izuku’s hair swish breezily. 

—

“What’s that?”

“Hah?”

Mina is in Bakugou’s room. She left her jacket in there the day prior. Katsuki is pulling out fresh sleepwear to change out of his uniform and what the fuck why is Mina fucking reaching over his desk what the FUCK.

Pink hands grab onto the corner of the hero magazine. Mina picks it up, holding onto it with just two fingers and letting it flail in the air.

Katsuki lets his pajamas fall to the ground so he can lunge for Mina. “Put that shit down! Don’t fucking touch it!”

Mina jerks away and tosses the magazine back onto the desk, every hair on her body standing pin-straight. “Okay, okay, damn!”

He darts over to the magazine and picks it up, glancing over every single millimeter. 

“What’s your deal, man? You scared the shit outta me!” Mina hmphs, crossing her arms. “Not the first time you’ve scared me. Definitely not the second, either.”

“You were holding it like a fucking moron,” he huffs out. She could have damaged it. Katsuki doesn’t like his things to be damaged – everything has to be in pristine condition. But this…

Katsuki’s almost scared to touch it himself. He fears he’ll open it up and the sky will start shaking and God himself will rain Hell upon him and there’ll be this booming voice screaming at him for accepting the blasted magazine.

Izuku said he doesn’t want it anymore. So it’s fine for Katsuki to have it. But. It feels wrong. Izuku could’ve sold this shit online for at least, like, six-hundred thousand yen. But he gave it to Katsuki. So on top of the truckload of shit Katsuki already feels for everything he’s ever done to Izuku, there is now the guilt of fucking robbing him. 

It’s just a stupid magazine. It’s a bunch of words on paper. It doesn’t matter. If Katsuki were to rip it into shreds and throw it into the trash, it would not fucking matter. It wouldn’t change the trajectory of his life in any way, shape, or form.

He wants to read it. He does. He so desperately wants to. But. Maybe later. He’ll feel less grossed out later. Definitely.

He carefully picks the magazine up and places it into his mostly empty nightstand drawer. It will have to wait. 

—

Sunday is the only weekend Yuuei students get. Saturdays are school days. It sucks ass sometimes, but then again, the extra training definitely gives them an advantage against other hero schools. And Katsuki will take anything he can get if it means surpassing other people.

Regardless, Katsuki looks forward to the weekend, as any normal teenager does. 

Staying at Yuuei is nice, sometimes. He usually goes home to see his parents, but whenever he stays, it’s nice. Most of his classmates leave Saturday afternoon to visit their families, and so Katsuki doesn’t have to see them until Sunday night. 

There are a few usual people who stay. Todoroki – for obvious reasons. Katsuki doesn’t really give a shit about Todoroki staying, though. Katsuki forgets he’s even there sometimes ‘cause of how quiet he is. So he’s okay.

Kaminari stays sometimes. Katsuki’s not exactly sure why, but he doesn’t particularly care either. Shinsou stays a lot too. 

And then, of course, there are the usual leavers. Momo, of course – she dreads the dorms, it’s super fucking obvious, but she sucks it up. It’s clear she misses her massive room back in her fucking mansion or whatever. Jirou leaves a lot as well, considering how close she is with her family. Uraraka leaves most of the time.

Oh, and Izuku always fucking leaves. Hasn’t missed a week. Katsuki’s not entirely sure he even has a choice. If Izuku didn’t visit his mom, she’d probably pull him out of the school. 

Good riddance. Every time he sees Izuku he feels every emotion on the fucking emotional spectrum. It’s nice not to see Izuku’s face bright and early in the morning, fucking jogging before everyone else is up because he’s a fucking tryhard. It pisses Katsuki off.

However, Katsuki decides not to stay this week. He’s not particularly eager to see his parents, but his mom specifically asked him to this time. He’s not sure why, and upon asking why, he received a string of unintelligible shouts before his mother hung up.

Whatever. He’d fucking see sooner or later.

Katsuki is not happy about the train ride to his district. Of fucking course he lives in the same district as Izuku, of fucking course Izuku’s on the same train as him. How could he fucking forget?

It would’ve been fine before everything had happened. If things were different, if Izuku did not consider him his fucking friend, the the train ride would have been mostly tolerable. Izuku would probably sit far, far away from him without so much as a peep.

But no, of course their relationship is fucking improving. Of course Izuku has to fucking sit right next to him, all chirpy and dog-eared. And of course, the train is crowded as shit, and Katsuki can’t even stand up without being smothered by someone’s armpit.

It’s just an hour, Katsuki chides himself, just an hour ride to the district. It will be fine. He can tolerate Izuku. He’ll live. 

“Hi, Kacchan.”

Izuku stares at Kacchan with a little smile. So earnest. Katsuki wants to scream.

“Shut the fuck up.” He does not look at Izuku.

“Rough day?”

“Stop speaking to me.”

“Aw. Here I thought we were making progress.” Izuku sighs, placing his elbows on his thighs and resting his head in his palms. “Kind of disappointed in you.”

Katsuki is going to kill him. Did he just hear the word disappointed come out of this little cunt’s mouth?

“We’re making fucking progress,” Katsuki spits adamantly.

Izuku furrows his brows, his smile unwavering. “I don’t know what your definition of progress is.”

Katsuki scowls. Izuku is so fucking annoying. “Shut up. We’re talking, aren’t we? That’s fucking progress.”

“Anyone can talk, Kacchan. It doesn’t mean we’re communicating.”

“You fucking nerd. Nobody cares and nobody asked. Stop being difficult.”

Izuku is still very calm about all this. Hmm. Katsuki recalls quite vividly a time when Izuku would have cowered away from him immediately. 

“Oh, I’m the difficult one?”

Oh, yeah. Izuku is definitely fucking different. He’s never going to cower away from Katsuki again. 

Katsuki stares at Izuku now. They’re side by side, their thighs touching with the hub-bub of the train. Their faces are mere inches away, eyes staring into each other. If there wasn’t anyone else on the train, Katsuki could just –

What the fuck. He needs to get a fucking grip. What is WRONG WITH HIM. 

Katsuki pulls his head back slightly, peering down at Izuku with narrow eyes. “Fine. Start over.”

Izuku blinks a few times. His lashes are dark green. Darker than his hair, but still discernibly green. They’re very thick, too. Who allowed Izuku to look like that? Like… like a pretty person. He shouldn’t be allowed to look like that. Katsuki’s going to strangle him. 

“What?” Izuku asks. The confusion is palpable in his tone.

“Start over. Say hi again. I’ll fucking communicate if you want me to so badly.”

Izuku looks at him, almost suspiciously. Why the fuck is he suspicious. Is it that outlandish for Katsuki to be nice?

And then, finally, “Hi, Kacchan.”

“Hi,” Katsuki mutters – “Izuku,” he adds through grit teeth.

“You don’t normally come on the afternoon train,” Izuku observes. 

“So fucking what?”

“You usually go on the morning train when you visit your parents.”

“You’re acting as if I don’t fucking know that.” Katsuki doesn’t question why Izuku knows that. Because then Izuku would call Katsuki out on all the creepy shit he knows about Izuku.

Izuku snorts. “I’m just saying. It’s unusual.”

“You’re unusual.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Katsuki squints. “What question.”

“You know.”

“You didn’t ask me a fucking question.”

“It was implied!”

“I’ll kill you.”

“Wah! Kacchan! That’s not very heroic.”

Katsuki sneers, getting all up in his face now. “What’s your fucking question?”

“Hm. Your breath smells like caramel.”

He stiffens. “I’ll murder you and your entire family.”

“I was just asking why you’re visiting your parents early!”

Katsuki huffs, pulling away and no longer looking at Izuku. He chooses instead to fold his arms and stare out the window in front of him. “‘Cause the old hag fucking asked me to.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Gee, I don’t know, Izuku. Maybe ‘cause she’s my fucking mom and, hey, maybe there’s a slight chance she likes seeing her son. Ever thought of that?”

Izuku looks him up and down. “That’s not why.”

“Fuck you. I don’t fucking know why.”

“Maybe she’s surprising you with something,” Izuku offers.

“She would never fucking do that.”

“Didn’t you have that surprise birthday party in junior high?” (Which Izuku wasn’t invited to, obviously, but that goes unsaid.)

“It wasn’t a fucking surprise,” Katsuki says. “She told me about it and told me to act surprised when the other kids jumped out so they’d have fun.”

“Oh,” Izuku says flatly.

Katsuki shrugs a shoulder. “I dunno. Guess she thought I’d fucking kill them if they caught me off guard or something.”

“I’ll throw you a surprise party,” Izuku says, smiling toothily. 

Katsuki scowls. “Not much of a fucking surprise now that you’re telling me.”

“Oh. True. It’ll be a few months before you turn seventeen, though. Maybe you’ll forget I said anything.”

Katsuki huffs. Initially, he planned on pretending like he was dreading this entire series of interactions so Izuku didn’t get the wrong idea. But… much to his chagrin, he doesn’t actually mind talking to Izuku. 

When the silence drags on for too long, Katsuki lightly nudges Izuku’s foot with his own. “What about you? Your mom’s a sap. ‘m sure she did shit like that for ya.”

Izuku’s cheeks turn the slightest bit pink like they always do whenever someone brings up his mom. Such a fucking mama’s boy. Sickening. “Oh, well, yeah. She surprised me a lot. Heh. Mostly ‘cause she felt bad for me, I guess.”

Katsuki’s tongue feels like sandpaper. He doesn’t say anything. Just stares at the ground.

Izuku coughs, running a hand through his curls. “Sorry. Made it awkward.”

“‘t’s fine,” Katsuki mutters.

“Sorry.”

“It’s really fine.”

The use of ‘really’ instead of ‘fucking’ is weird to Katsuki. But he doesn’t think swearing is appropriate in this circumstance. He doesn’t know why. But everything about their childhoods feel very… fragile. No swearing allowed. 

“I’m gonna visit my mom at your mom’s store when we reach the district,” Izuku says.

Katsuki glances at him sideways. “Okay.”

Izuku looks like he wants to say more. “Okay.”

Katsuki’s made Izuku communicate enough. Perhaps he’ll try pulling in his own weight. “Guess I’ll go to my mom’s store, too. Haven’t seen the stuff in a while. The invisible one said the new shit there does wonders for your skin.”

Izuku squints. “Skin?”

“Yeah. Skincare. You think I’m just naturally flawless?”

“I thought it was because of the nitroglycerin,” Izuku mumbles. He doesn’t deny the flawless part. 

“Yeah. You have acne scars, by the way.” Katsuki presses a finger against Izuku’s cheek. “Right there.”

Izuku doesn't swat his hand away. “Do I? I wouldn’t know.”

“Tch. Of course you fucking wouldn’t. You’re a nerd. You don’t know shit about skincare.”

Izuku chuckles dryly. “You rank higher than me on exams every year, Kacchan.”

Katsuki drops his hand. “Shut up. Doesn’t matter. You’re a nerd and I’m not.”

“Okay, Kacchan. I think you just want an excuse to hang out with me at your mom’s store. Under the premise of helping me with skincare.”

Katsuki… well… Izuku’s right. No use denying it. Izuku’s too smart for his own good. “Okay. And what about it?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay, then. So I’ll fucking help you out. Since we’re coincidentally going to be in the same place.”

Izuku tilts his head, raising two eyebrows with a smug little grin. “And I’d assume you want to walk there together, since we’re coincidentally walking to the same place?”

Katsuki sneers. “I never fucking said that.”

“So you don’t want to walk together?”

“What? I never said that either.”

Chapter Text

“I don’t understand what any of this means,” Izuku mumbles. He’s crouching in front of an assortment of Cetaphil products. 

Katsuki spares a secret glance at him, but then forces himself to look at the aisle instead. “What’s there to not fucking get?”

Izuku picks up a bottle. “Oily.” He picks up another. “Dry.” And another. “Sensitive. What does it mean? What’s the difference?”

Katsuki holds back a laugh. Izuku Midoriya, a fucking nerd, and the literal wielder of One For All… He’s broken just about every bone in his body more than once. He’s defeated villains that would make most pro heroes shit their fucking pants. Oh, and also, he doesn’t know shit about skincare.

“It’s your skin type,” Katsuki scoffs, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. Well – to be fair, most guys don’t really care for these sorts of things. But still, Katsuki thinks it’s funny.

Izuku’s brows pull together into a frown. “What’s yours, Kacchan?”

Weird. Instead of asking a more obvious question, like ‘what’s mine’ or ‘how do I know which one’s mine’, he asks about Katsuki’s. Fucking weirdo. Izuku’s probably gonna add that piece of information to the page in his notebook about Katsuki. Katsuki’s never actually seen said page, but he knows it exists because Uraraka and Iida always talk about the notebook, like it’s some fucking holy scripture. He wonders if his page is covered in fucking paragraphs. He secretly hopes it is.

“Normal,” Katsuki huffs out. 

“Is that good?”

“Of course it is,” he snarls. 

Izuku narrows his eyes, still looking at the stupid Cetaphil instead of at Katsuki. Annoying. Look at Katsuki. “The nitroglycerin helps?”

“Don’t fuckin’ know.” Why Katsuki is jealous of a bottle of fucking Cetaphil, he doesn’t know.

“What’s my skin type?” Izuku asks. “Do you know?”

Katsuki already has a general idea. He can’t know for sure, since that would require actually touching Izuku’s face, but it’s probably dry. Really dry. He’s thought that since they were fucking thirteen or some shit. But he doesn’t want Izuku to know that he’s already thought about it, so he makes a big show of glaring at Izuku’s face, as if assessing it.

“Touch it,” Katsuki says.

Izuku scrunches his nose. “Touch what?”

“Your face, dipshit.”

“Okay.” Izuku places the tips of his fingers on his cheeks. He stares at Katsuki through his lashes, as if to say Now what?

“What’s it feel like?” 

Izuku feels some more, rubbing his cheek up and down, jaw to cheekbone. “Like skin.”

Katsuki scoffs. “That’s a fucking revelation.”

“Hey!” Izuku drops his hand, frowning. “I don’t know what you’re asking, Kacchan.”

Izuku says his name a lot, Katsuki acutely notes. There’s really no reason to, because they’re the only two conversing, so Izuku doesn’t need to address who he’s speaking to. But Katsuki doesn’t mind. If he was actually annoyed by it, he’d tell Izuku to shut up.

“Moron,” Katsuki huffs. “The pores. What’re they like?”

Izuku squints and feels his face some more. “I don’t know. Like pores?”

“You are so fucking annoying,” Katsuki grits out, and then before he can think, his palm is on Izuku’s jaw, his fingers pressed against Izuku’s cheek.

Izuku has no reaction – at least as far as Katsuki can tell. He glances at Katsuki’s fingers nonchalantly, and then back at Katsuki’s face, questioning. “Well?”

Okay. So Izuku does not find this interaction weird. That’s a relief.

“Dry,” he mumbles. He drops his hand as quickly as he raised it.

“Hm. You think so?”

Katsuki feels a vein bulge in his forehead. “If I didn’t think so would I fucking say –”

“Okay, okay!” Izuku raises two hands in front of his chest.

Katsuki’s knees are starting to hurt from crouching in front of the aisle for so long. Ugh. 

“So I should take the one for dry skin?” Izuku asks.

“Do it. See if it fixes your fucking face.”

Izuku chuckles sheepishly, scratching his cheek. “Is my face really that bad?”

Katsuki blinks. Once. Twice. Three times. 

Oh, he’s such an idiot. He – Why would he say that? What the fuck is wrong with him? This whole – this whole thing… 

This whole time, has he been making Izuku think he’s… ugly?

What the Fuck. Katsuki’s not even trying to be an asshole anymore. It just happens. 

Well. Maybe he can retract it. Maybe the journey to not being an asshole is knowing when to apologize. Even for things like this.

Well. Katsuki’s not exactly going to apologize. Too much work. But he’ll clear himself up. Izuku will get it. Izuku always gets it.

Katsuki exhales sharply. “Your face is fucking fine.”

Izuku makes a curious grunt. He seems confused. “Huh? Then why’d you – you said…” He trails off, the words dying in his throat.

“Your face is fine,” Katsuki repeats. Please get the message. Please understand. 

“You said it needed fixing.”

“No I didn't.” It is a pitiful attempt. Almost gaslighting, really.

“You just said–”

Katsuki snaps his head to face him directly, scowling. “I was exaggerating.”

“Oh,” Izuku says evenly, green eyes planted on the ground. 

Katsuki is going to kill him. Hello. Stop looking at the ground like that. How the fuck is Katsuki supposed to – Ugh. This is so exhausting. Izuku just always needs Katsuki to be straightforward, doesn’t he? 

“You have acne scars,” Katsuki mumbles. He notices the way Izuku’s face falls, and he breathes out with some measure of patience. “You do have acne scars. But they’re not fucking visible. I only noticed them because I’m around you a lot.”

Izuku blinks slowly. Unsurely. “Okay?”

Katsuki grits his teeth – it’s getting pretty painful by now – and dreads his very existence. “It’s not even bad. I just. Wanted an excuse.”

“Excuse?”

“What…. What you said on the train,” he manages, fuming like a tea kettle. “That’s what it is.”

Katsuki swears he sees Izuku’s lips crack into the briefest smile. “Can you be more clear?”

Okay, what the fuck. This guy is definitely fucking with Izuku. 

“You know what I fucking mean,” Katsuki sneers.

“I don’t, actually,” Izuku says ever so innocently. “An excuse for what, exactly?”

To stay with you, Katsuki wants to say. It’s on the very tip of his tongue.

Whatever. He needs this fucking interaction to be over with. Yeah, he wanted to stay with Izuku, but now the nerd’s being a little know-it-all freak. And also, where the fuck are their moms? Katsuki hasn’t seen them yet.

“Shut up,” is what Katsuki finally says, and he slaps a ‘nerd’ onto the end of it. Katsuki picks up the Cetaphil bottle that’s recommended for dry skin and throws it square at Izuku’s nose. 

Without a goodbye, Katsuki gets up and storms away, hands stuffed in his pockets.

Katsuki hears Izuku making a little tsk noise, but he does not follow Katsuki.

Damn it. Whatever. Izuku can do whatever the fuck he wants. Katsuki doesn’t give a single shit.

—

Katsuki doesn’t think Izuku is ugly. His face isn’t ugly. There was a time when, maybe, Katsuki told himself Izuku was ugly, just because it was another bad thing he could add to the ‘Reasons Why Deku Sucks’ list. 

But he never really thought Izuku was ugly. He thinks Izuku is… well... 

Well. There’s not much to him. In a world of people that have balls sticking out of their heads, engines in place of calves, tape dispensers for elbows, more than two arms, and literal aliens… Izuku is, admittedly, plain. 

But he’s not plain to Katsuki. He’s like the North Star if it were human. 

Katsuki hasn’t thought of Izuku like that until recently. Until the war, really. 

Katsuki would be head-to-head with some shitfaced villain or another, and he’d spare a glance across the field, and more than anything else, he’d see Izuku. It was like there were fucking sun beams radiating off of him, sizzling off his skin in thick golden waves. His eyes were stars. His sweat was sunlight. His voice was birdsong. His smile was cure-all.

Of course, it’s still like that now, but in battle, it’s something else. It’s terrifying, sort of, but it’s also exhilarating. Katsuki almost got distracted by him a couple times. 

So… No. Katsuki does not think Izuku is ugly. Technically speaking, he’s not a fucking model, not even close, but the way Katsuki feels about him is nothing short of reverance.

Katsuki could never say anything to Izuku about this. And it’s not even about his pride, really. A lot of things boil down to Katsuki’s pride, but not this. With Izuku, it’s… scary. Katsuki has no concrete understanding of how Izuku feels about him. No idea at all how he’ll react. 

He’s always had a hard time reading Izuku in general. Katsuki hazily recalls their first week at Yuuei… how he’d been convinced that Izuku was hiding his power from him the entire time. Well, it was the most logical conclusion he could come up with. But still… he’d convinced himself, up until their fight at Ground Beta, that Izuku has always looked down on him.

He knows now that that was never true. Izuku has never looked down upon him. But it was a very telling incident. It made Katsuki realize that he does not have as much insight into how Izuku thinks or feels as he thought he did.

So… Katsuki doesn’t know what Izuku thinks about him. At least in the looks department. 

Maybe he thinks Katsuki’s ugly. Who knows? He wouldn’t be the first. Katsuki admittedly does make some pretty ugly faces sometimes.

It doesn’t really matter. Katsuki never cared about dumb shit like that. 

But… he is a teenager. He does wonder from time to time, just as any teenager does.

Whatever. Who the fuck cares. He certainly doesn’t care. If it doesn’t affect his path to heroism, he does not care. He especially does not care whether or not Izuku finds him pleasant to look at.

“Katsuki?”

Katsuki tenses on impulse. He whips his head around.

“You,” he grits out, staring eye-to-eye with his mother.

“That’s not the proper way to greet your mom, kid,” Mitsuki snaps. She then pulls him into a hug, a very brief one, the same as always.

“The fuck did you call me here early for? I could’ve come in the morning.”

She narrows her eyes. Red. 

Katsuki wonders if he looks like that when he narrows his eyes. 

It’s not pleasant. At least not to Katsuki. Maybe that’s just him being opinionated though.

“We have plans tonight,” Mitsuki says, crossing her arms. “Complaints?” She juts her chin out a fraction, seeing if he dares. 

“What fucking plans.”

There is suddenly a new presence beside Mitsuki. “With us!”

Katsuki goes rigid. For a brief moment, he thinks it’s Izuku again.

But no. Inko is beside Mitsuki now, name tag reading Midoriya just as Hagakure said.

Katsuki squints. “Us…?” 

Who is ‘us’?

Mitsuki smiles now, practically beaming at Inko. She never beams at her own fucking son, but she beams at Inko. Okay. Whatever. “I invited dear Inko and Izuku-kun over for dinner tonight to celebrate her joining me at work. It’s great to have her around, don’t you think, Katsuki?” She glares momentarily at Katsuki, a silent threat – he does not voice any complaints. Not even a grumble.

“Okay,” Katsuki says. “Sure.” He’s kind of annoyed, but he won’t say anything. Especially not in front of Inko.

He doesn’t stare at Inko too long. It’s scary how much Izuku looks like her. He always feels that awful guilt, too. 

Katsuki wonders how many tears Inko has shed because of Katsuki. He wonders if Izuku went home and cried and if she comforted him and then cried later, too. He wonders if Izuku ever told her about Katsuki. 

The last time Katsuki went to their house was when they were four. He remembers all too vividly. He’s not sure how much Inko knows. Does she still think their relationship is the way it was back then? 

Not that their relationship back then was much good. They were friends, sure, but it was more like… Katsuki would only hang out with Izuku whenever there was nobody else to hang out with. Izuku was his last resort.

Ugh. He feels sick to his stomach. He’s been feeling that a lot lately. The whole Midoriya bloodline is guilt-inducing.

But… what does Inko know? 

Katsuki can’t read her, either. Fuck the Midoriyas. Always fucking smiling no matter what. Katsuki’s already shit at reading people, but with them, it’s so much worse.

“Masaru’s gonna cook udon,” Mitsuki says to Inko. 

They start talking, and Katsuki’s just kind of standing there awkwardly. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to leave or not.

And then.

“Mom!”

Katsuki’s head snaps to the source of the sound. 

“Izuku!”

Oh. He’s gonna be fucking sick. For real, this time.

They hug. Izuku runs into her arms and they hug like they haven’t seen each other in years.

Katsuki feels a wave of nausea permeate through him. 

Izuku sees his mother every week. They talk on the phone for at least ten minutes every day, and when he’s too busy to call her, he at least texts her. Izuku has no fucking reason to hug her so damn long. Inko has no reason to miss him so damn much.

Katsuki hasn’t seen Mitsuki in two months or so. They rarely call, and they never text. So, technically, Mitsuki should miss him more. Maybe she should give him a proper hug. 

But she doesn’t. Ever.

Katsuki suddenly feels the urge to cry. He doesn’t cry. Well, he does, but very sparsely. 

He reels himself back to his senses. There is no fucking way he’s about to cry just because Izuku fucking hugged his mom. 

Katsuki swallows the lump forming in his throat before the pathetic insecurity can reach his eyes.

Inko and Izuku pull away and talk for a bit, and Katsuki shuts them out, focusing on a piece of crusted drywall paint. 

When Izuku and Inko stop talking, Mitsuki hugs Izuku. 

She hugs Izuku. A proper hug. And she’s smiling, too. Like Izuku’s her fucking son.

What the fuck. Katsuki blinks back tears. He’s going to fucking die.

He turns around and storms out of the store. His house isn’t very far. He’ll fucking walk.

—

It’s not like Katsuki hates his mom.

He does love her to some degree. He doesn’t hate her - not exactly.

His mom just… sucks sometimes. She doesn't show him affection. Or concern. Not often. Not when he needs it. Neither does his dad. He’s a little better, but he’s still really distant. He mostly watches Katsuki and his mom argue from the sidelines. 

Whatever. Katsuki does not give a fuck. He was not tearing up at his mother’s store. Absolutely not. Yeah. The more he thinks about it, the more logical it seems to blame it on allergies. It’s late November. It makes sense.

Katsuki doesn’t typically get allergies, because that’s for pussies, but tearing up over allergies beats tearing up because your mom doesn’t give a shit about you. So he’ll go with that.

When Katsuki walks through his front door, he kicks off his sneakers with a grumble. 

The house smells nice. His dad’s a good cook. Katsuki thinks it’s his most redeemable quality. He’s still lame, though. And irritating. 

“Katsuki!”

His dad. Katsuki heads over to the kitchen, where Masaru’s cooking dinner. Ugh. Dinner. With fucking Izuku and his loving fucking mother. Katsuki should kill himself in front of them in order to forever change the trajectories of their lives. Maybe then they won’t be all sappy and touchy-feely.

(Or it would just backfire and they’d hug each other tighter in order to grieve. Maybe his mom would fucking hug Izuku again too. Cry in his arms. Hell, maybe even his dad.)

Masaru glances up at him, smiling. At least someone’s happy Katsuki’s here. “Hey, could you pass me a wooden spoon, Kats?”

Wordlessly, he heads over to the utensil drawer and hands one to him.

Masaru takes it and stirs, the broth steaming. “How was school?”

“Fine,” Katsuki mutters. He doesn’t want to talk to this guy right now. Or anyone. He’s already halfway out of the kitchen.

“It’s crazy how you guys have school on Saturdays. I could never.”

“That’s because you’re fucking lazy,” Katsuki sneers, and he’s trudging up the stairs before he can see the utter hurt materialize on Masaru’s face.

He’s in his room now, about to take off his gross uniform and shower when he hears the knob of his door rattle. 

Katsuki always has his door locked. Because his mom doesn’t fucking knock.

“KATSUKI! OPEN THIS DOOR!”

He mutters obscenities beneath his breath. He can’t ignore her. She’ll break the door down. He knows she will because she’s done it more times than Katsuki can count on his fingers.

Reluctantly, he opens it and side-steps to the left so she doesn’t smack him in the face with it.

“What.”

“Go apologize to your father,” she says. She’s mad. Wow. Shocker.

“No. He’s a fucking grown man.”

“What is WRONG with you? You’ve been so bratty all day. First you storm out of the store without even a ‘hello’ to Inko-san, and now you’re calling your father lazy as he’s cooking dinner for you? Hah??? How would you like to cook your OWN damn dinner, you little brat?”

Katsuki wants her dead. “OKAY! I fucking WILL! I’ll cook my own fucking dinner! I don’t fucking need you or him! I’m here because you fucking asked me to come! Don’t think I want to fucking see you!”

She scowls and grabs him by the ear. “Drop that attitude right now, young man. We have guests coming over in an hour. I don’t know what your problem is with Inko and her family, but you need to grow the hell up. They’re going through a lot right now.”

An explosion sizzles in his palms. She grabs his wrists immediately, as she always does. “And don’t you dare use that god-forsaken quirk in my house. You know the rules.”

“I don’t have a fucking problem with their stupid family,” Katsuki sneers, swiping his wrist away. “Leave me the fuck alone.”

“Apologize. Go downstairs and apologize.”

“Or what, you old hag? What the hell are you gonna do?”

Her voice rises to a new high, shrill and enraged. “You know what I’m GONNA DO? I’m gonna tell that woman YOU’RE the reason her son always came home CRYING ALL THE DAMN TIME.”

Katsuki stares at her, breath heavy and disbelieving.

Would she?

She would. She would. God, she would. 

…It would ruin everything.

He apologizes. He almost means it, too.

Chapter Text

It’s getting colder. Winter is fast approaching. It’s supposed to snow earlier this year.

Katsuki’s not sure why he’s been so snappy at everyone lately. Of course, he’s always been snappy, but he actually thought he was getting better. Since the war, he’d actually been making progress. But for some reason, unknown even to him, today has been bad.

Katsuki has bad days. Sometimes he wakes up and he can tolerate things, or at least not explode at every little nuisance. But sometimes, he wakes up, and he just knows it’s going to be a bad day. He knows he’s going to say something he’ll regret.

So today has been bad. He’s snapped at Mina, Kirishima, Izuku, his mom, and his dad. He probably glared at some random general ed kid in the hallway too. And a middle-aged lady at his mom’s store. He glares at people instinctively, so he forgets when he does it sometimes.

Mina wasn’t mad at him. He got pissed at her for a very stupid reason: she asked him if she could borrow his flashcards.

He always lets her borrow his flashcards. It’s routine. And it’s not like it was causing him any inconvenience – he’d already taken the test, and she was taking it later because she’d taken a few sick days. 

But he got mad and started yelling at her in the dormitory corridor, and she just sort of stood there until he was done. And then he felt like shit and he just grumbled out where to find the cards in his room. She didn’t even say anything. She just pretended he didn’t have an outburst at all.

And then there was Kirishima. On his way out the door to catch the train, Kirishima asked Katsuki if he was staying for the weekend or not because Kirishima was staying and he wanted someone to hangout with.

And then Katsuki got pissed, ‘cause clearly he was leaving, he was putting on his shoes and he had a fucking scarf on and then he was screaming at Kirishima.

And Kirishima just looked all dejected. He said “okay” really quietly and then left. Katsuki wants to feel bad, but he doesn’t. He hates when people ask him stupid questions like that. And he was in a shitty mood, so he just couldn’t hold himself back.

He’ll make it up to both of them later. Definitely not through an actual apology, because he hates those a lot. Through actions. Actions speak louder.

Winter is fast approaching. Maybe that’s why Katsuki feels awful all the time. He hates winter and everything associated with it.

There are voices at the front door now. Katsuki’s just about finished setting the table. He hears Izuku's stupid little voice asking if he should take his shoes off, to which Mitsuki replies no, to which Inko insists they take their shoes off because it would be rude not to. And the pure warmth in their voices is enough to make Katsuki sick.

“Here, hand me your coat,” his mother says.

“Oh, that’s fine,” Izuku says – Katsuki can hear the sweet fucking smile on his face. “You don’t have to.”

“No, no, hand it over,” she insists. 

Katsuki wants to die. He can’t. He’s so drained. Today’s been so long. He can’t sit at a table for thirty minutes listening to his mother be all sweet to Izuku only to scream at Katsuki the second Izuku leaves. Izuku shouldn’t be around someone so two-faced. Izuku’s too fucking nice for that.

His parents usher Inko and Izuku to the kitchen.

Katsuki makes eye contact with Izuku just as he’s putting down the last bowl of udon on the table. Katsuki suddenly becomes aware that he’s wearing an apron. Oh, fuck. 

He tears his eyes away from Izuku’s gaze so fast and moves towards the kitchen island. He yanks the white apron off, fiddling with the ribbon of it longer than he’d like, and stuffs it into a drawer that closes ever too loudly. He doesn’t miss the threatening glance his mother shoots at him.

“Oh, my,” Inko says, beaming. Her smile is like Izuku’s, albeit a bit more worn around the edges. The resemblance is uncanny.

They sit at the table. Katsuki’s the last to join, and… of course. The only open seat is the one beside Izuku.

You know what? For once in his fucking life, Katsuki’s okay with that. The dork certainly beats his parents. His mom would just step on his toes under the table the whole time, and his dad is still all mopey about the comment Katsuki made earlier, so whatever. He’s not even gonna mentally complain about Izuku this time.

“Hi,” Izuku says quietly, watching as Katsuki pulls out the chair and sits.

Katsuki exhales louder than usual as a form of greeting. A little huff instead of a ‘hello’. He’s too wary to speak. Anything he says is bound to be nitpicked by his mom later.

At Heights Alliance, Katsuki always manages to sit on the far end of the table from Izuku. They never have to speak or even look at each other. It’s easier that way for both of them. The forced proximity of this is unnerving to Katsuki.

“You okay?” It’s a whisper, almost inaudible beneath Mitsuki’s loud rambling.

If his mother was not here, Katsuki would have screamed, because why the fuck would he not be okay? There’s literally no reason for Izuku to ask if he’s okay. It’s totally out of the blue. Unprompted. Katsuki is not some fucking civilian that needs saving.

But his mother is there. Not looking at him, but certainly aware of his every movement.

“Fine,” Katsuki grumbles. He stuffs his mouth with food so he has an excuse not to talk.

“Okay,” Izuku says softly, picking at the noodles with his chopsticks and taking a meager portion.

Their moms just start talking about work. Mitsuki’s super loud – her laughs echo across the entire house. Inko’s quieter, but she laughs too, more gently. His dad says a few things, but not very much. Izuku only speaks when Mitsuki asks him questions, and he gives very confused, very sheepish responses. He rambles sometimes too. Katsuki’s mom says his rambling is endearing. Izuku’s the type to always be liked among parents, probably.

Katsuki doesn’t say a word. He’s on autopilot, merely trying his best to tolerate everyone. 

He’s thinking of ways to apologize to Kirishima and Mina without actually saying he’s sorry. 

“...‘suki’? Katsuki?”

That brazen, throaty voice. Mitsuki pulls him out of his thoughts, and he physically flinches, and before he regains any situational awareness, there is a snappy noise beside him.

Izuku’s bowl has toppled over from the jerk of Katsuki’s arm, and the broth’s all over his shirt.

Izuku backs away immediately, his chair scraping against the ground, and he stands. “Crap.”

“Oh dear,” Masaru mumbles, putting his head in his hands.

Inko blinks, but says nothing.

Katsuki stares at the bowl, and then at Izuku, and then at his mother.

Her eye is twitching, the whites of it engulfing the small red.

Katsuki tenses. “Um.”

“Katsuki,” Mitsuki breathes. “Go upstairs and lend Izuku a spare shirt.” She’s smiling, but it’s so horribly forced. Katsuki’s not sure if everyone else doesn’t notice or if they choose to tactfully ignore how insane she looks. 

Katsuki would rather die than let someone borrow one of his things, but he sees the way her fists are clenched and trembling, and suddenly leaving the table doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.

Izuku stammers, waving a dismissive hand. “Oh, no! It’s fine, really–”

Katsuki tugs at Izuku’s wrist. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough for him to get the memo. Izuku’s perceptive. He’ll understand. “I’ll get you something from my room,” he mumbles.

Izuku stares momentarily, frowning, but then he drags his feet forward. “...Okay.”

They go up to his room soundlessly, Katsuki with great haste. Once Izuku’s in the room, Katsuki closes the door swiftly and locks it.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing that spills out of Izuku’s mouth. “You don’t have to give me a shirt it’s okay haha it’s seriously fine the broth isn’t even hot it’s just a stain I’ll wash it out when I get home you don’t have to give me anything –”

Katsuki snaps his head around. “Why are you sorry.”

Izuku blinks rapidly, the knuckles of his fingers spasming a bit. “I feel bad.”

Katsuki tenses. “Don’t ever fucking say that again. I will fucking kill you. Don’t fucking pity me.”

“Your mom was mad at you. Even though it wasn’t your fault. And it’s not that serious.”

Some of the tension in Katsuki’s shoulders eases a bit. He stares at Izuku long and hard. He doesn’t look like he’s… looking down on Katsuki, per se. Maybe he’s just… what’s the word? Concerned?

Concerned about Katsuki? Gross. Katsuki doesn’t need concern. It’s useless. 

“It’s whatever,” Katsuki mumbles. He doesn’t look at Izuku any longer, and just heads over to his closet.

“You don’t have to get me something to wear,” Izuku says.

“The hag’ll get mad if you walk outta here without a clean shirt.” Katsuki grumbles, swiping through his closet for something he won’t miss. He doesn’t want to take it back from Izuku afterwards. It’s not even about Izuku – Katsuki’s just very particular about his things. He won’t wear something someone else has worn and sweat in. 

“Okay, then.”

Izuku just sort of stands there. 

“I’m not going back down after this,” Katsuki grunts. “You can go by yourself. Or if you wanna stay, stay. I don’t give a shit. But don’t stand there like that. Fucking sit down.” He swipes through his closet some more.

Izuku doesn’t respond, and Katsuki senses the hesitation, but then he’s moving and he sits on the edge of Katsuki’s bed.

Fine. That’s fine. Whatever.

Katsuki finds a tee-shirt he’s not especially attached to. Just a plain old white one with a band graphic on it. 

He picks it up and turns, and Izuku’s on the bed still, but he’s on his phone, tapping away.

And he looks… almost annoyed. He’s typing so furiously. What could Izuku be so pissed about on a stupid little screen?

He places the shirt on his nightstand. “Here,” he mutters.

Izuku glances at it briefly before looking back at his phone and typing once more. “Thanks.”

Okay, now Katsuki’s really fucking curious.

Is he allowed to ask? Is that socially acceptable? Besides that, is it lame if he asks? It’s lame, isn’t it? He’s not that curious. He’s just. Well. He simply wants to know what’s pissing Izuku off so much. Perhaps he can learn a thing or two and apply them in future interactions. 

Yeah. That’s a good enough excuse. Anyway, Katsuki doesn’t have to fucking explain himself. It’s his house. It’s his room. 

He sits on the bed without a word. He’s beside Izuku, but not close enough to touch him. He pulls out his own phone so it seems like he actually has a life, but really, he’s just going to scroll blankly at the weather app and hope it looks like he’s busy socializing.

Izuku does not look at him, but more so feels his new presence on the bed. “Hi, Kacchan.”

Katsuki doesn’t respond. He just takes a – hopefully – discreet peek at Izuku’s phone.

He narrows his eyes.

“Is that fucking Twitter?”

Izuku yelps, inching about three feet to the other side of the bed, clutching the phone close to his chest. Katsuki recognizes the swift motion Izuku makes with his thumb to swipe out the app.

“No! It’s not!”

“Don’t lie to me in my own fucking house!” Katsuki lunges forward, reaching for the phone.

“It’s not Twitter!” Izuku’s face is all red, and he’s pulling the phone further away from Katsuki’s reach.

“Then what is it, huh? Tell me!”

“No!”

“Is it fucking porn? Are you shamelessly looking at porn right beside me, Izuku Midoriya?”

Izuku’s voice rises, his face flushing madly. “What?! No! It’s not porn!”

Katsuki makes another attempt at the phone. “Then what. What do people use Twitter for besides porn, hah?”

“Stop trying to grab my phone!”

Katsuki does not, in fact, stop trying to grab his phone. “I have the fucking right to know if you’re consuming porn in my bedroom, damn it!”

“I’m not!” He clutches the phone close to his chest and wraps his arms around it protectively, and Katsuki feels this feral instinct overtake him and he just starts trying to pry Izuku’s fucking arms off of it.

“Give it!” Katsuki’s yelling, and his mom’s going to scold him later, but he can’t help himself.

“No!” Izuku’s… laughing now. It’s that type of laughter where you sort of go silent for a while, unable to breathe, and then you let out the loudest fucking laugh imaginable. It’s that. 

Izuku’s laugh should not be that pretty.

Katsuki huffs, and then he pulls away. “Tell me.”

Izuku slowly regains himself, still chuckling breathily, and then he pulls out his phone. “It’s very stupid.”

“You looked fucking pissed off when you were typing.”

“It’s…” He snorts, and then leans closer to Katsuki so he can look over Izuku’s shoulder at the screen. Green tufts of hair brush Katsuki’s cheek, but Katsuki doesn’t say anything. “It’s just this annoying stranger online.”

Katsuki squints. Izuku’s scrolling through a thread made up of lengthy paragraphs. “I’m not reading all that.”

“It’s some All Might anti.”

Katsuki scrunches his nose. Is he supposed to know what that means?

“An All Might hater,” Izuku clarifies. “His whole account is just him shitting on All Might.”

Oh.

Katsuki grabs the phone and holds it above his head, out of Izuku’s reach. 

Izuku freezes momentarily, and then he lunges for the phone.

“Hey! Give it back!”

“Wait,” Katsuki huffs. His blood boils, and he begins tapping away furiously.

“What’re you saying??? Give it!”

After a moment, Katsuki hits ‘send’ and drops the phone back on the bed. “There.”

Izuku stares grimly at Katsuki, as if scared to see what Katsuki’s done.

Katsuki nudges his foot. “Look at it.” 

“Kacchan,” he groans, dropping his head into his hands and clutching his tangled curls.

“You didn’t even fucking look at it yet!” Kacchan barks.

“I already know you said something ban-worthy. I’m mourning my account already.”

“Too fucking bad!”

Izuku picks up the phone and looks.

He reads aloud, his tone growing more and more defeated each passing second.

“Nobody gives a shit about your opinion. Hop off Endeavor’s fucking dick. Nobody fucking loves you and neither will he. Choke on my dick and die. The world doesn’t need people like you so you should just kill yourself.”

“That’s how you win an argument.”

Izuku stares blankly. “Kacchan.”

“I never thought I’d hear the word ‘dick’ come out of your little nerd mouth, though. Or ‘fuck’.”

Izuku huffs, clenching the joints of his fingertips. “Kacchan! My account’s gonna get banned!”

“Oh, boohoo.” 

“And hey. I can say ‘fuck’ if I want to. I just don’t because I don’t want to sound like you.”

Katsuki sneers. “Hah? What’s wrong with sounding like me?”

“It’s weird!” Izuku crosses his arms. “When I swear, people give me weird looks. When you don’t swear, people think you’re about to kill yourself.”

Katsuki narrows his eyes. “Whatever. You sound lame when you swear, anyway.”

Izuku chuckles, leaning his head forward closer to Katsuki’s. “And you don’t?”

“I never sound lame.”

“You sound lame everyday.”

Katsuki leans in closer, scowling. “Your fucking existence is lame.”

“Kacchan. That’s mean,” Izuku whines.

Katsuki squints, but… something’s bugging him. 

“What’s wrong with your fucking face?”

Izuku pulls away, his grin falling. “What? You wanna call me ugly again?”

“I never fuckin’ called you ugly,” Katsuki hisses. He places a palm on the bed and leans forward once more, trying to get a better look at Izuku. “Your face looks weird. Not in general. It looks weird right now.”

“What’re you talking about?” Izuku says this, but he’s laughing all sheepishly and darting his eyes away.

And then it hits him.

He shoves a finger into Izuku’s cheek. “Freckles. Where’d they fucking go?” 

Izuku swats the finger away. “Oh. Those.”

“What do you mean those. What’d you fucking do to them?”

“Covered them,” he mumbles. 

Katsuki stares at him with furrowed brows.

He doesn’t know why Izuku’s covering them. Insecurity? But Izuku never covers them. Did someone call them ugly? Why would anyone call them ugly? They’re fucking fine. 

“Ugh.” Katsuki stands up and heads over to his bathroom. This fucking dweeb. 

Izuku sits there, dumbfounded. “Kacchan?”

Katsuki returns with wipes and cleanser.

Izuku blinks rapidly. “What’re you doing?”

“Shut up.”

Katsuki sits on the bed and stretches out his legs. He points to his lap.

“Lay.”

Izuku stares at him in disbelief. “What?”

“Lie down and put your fucking head there.”

“Kacchan –”

“Do it.”

Izuku looks like he wants to say more. But after a few sharp exhales, he simply obliges, laying his head in Katsuki’s lap. His green curls bunch up and fall onto Katsuki’s legs. Izuku’s frowning, chewing on his bottom lip.

Wordlessly, Katsuki starts wiping off the concealer little by little. He sees Izuku opening his mouth, perhaps to protest, but then he shuts it and doesn’t say anything.

After a couple moments, Katsuki pauses. His face is ever so close to Izuku’s. 

“Why?”

Izuku’s lashes flutter with confusion. “Why what?”

“You covered your freckles.” He frowns. “Is it ‘cause of that stupid thing I said at the store?”

Izuku stammers, and then goes silent, looking for the words.

Katsuki won’t force him to explain anything.

“Sorry,” Katsuki mumbles – and hey, it doesn’t actually feel that bad. It feels kind of… okay. Then he returns to wiping off the last bits of concealer. 

“It’s okay,” Izuku croaks out and –

What the fuck. 

He’s tearing up. Why is he tearing up.

Katsuki narrows his eyes. “What.”

Izuku sits up, wiping away before the tears ever actually spill out. “Nothing.”

Katsuki wants to yell at him, because it’s not nothing if it’s making Izuku fucking cry, but then again, Izuku cries a lot. So he doesn’t say anything. Just sits there.

“It’s just –  Izuku laughs throatily, more tears brimming in his eyes as if to mock him. “You said sorry.”

Katsuki twitches. That guilt. It’s bubbling up in his throat again. Fuck. “You’re fucking worked up over that?”

“Yeah. Kind of.”

Katsuki feels the urge to say it again. “‘m sorry.”

Izuku looks him up and down. “...Are you real?”

Katsuki scowls. He shoves a hand in Izuku’s face and pushes it away. “Shut the fuck up. You ain’t ever hearing it again.”

Izuku starts laughing, that stupid fucking breathy laughter again, and what the fuck Katsuki’s going to die.

When it goes silent, Katsuki speaks up again, because he feels like he owes it to him.

“Your face is… not ugly.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Katsuki scowls. “I fucking hate you. Go home. Why are you still here?”

“‘Cause your mom wanted me over for dinner?”

“Fuck. Right. She’s the problem.”

“Maybe so.”

Then it falls silent. It’s awkward. Katsuki was going to use the stupid cleanser on Izuku’s face, but he forgot to, and now he kind of doesn’t care anymore. So he just gets up and brings it to the bathroom and throws away the used wipes.

Katsuki comes back, and Izuku’s on his phone.

“I got banned,” Izuku says flatly.

“Lame. Isn’t Twitter about freedom of speech?”

“Yeah, but you did tell someone to kill themselves.”

“They deserved it,” Katsuki huffed.

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m not being serious,” Katsuki snarks. He sits on the bed and crosses his arms. “But it’s actually fucking annoying the way people criticize All Might. They don’t know shit.”

Izuku shrugs his shoulders and sighs. “Well, like you said – freedom of speech.”

Katsuki huffs. “Yeah, sure, but it fucking pisses me off. That guy dedicated his life to saving people and acted like everything was fine even when he was in fucking pain. He hid it from the world because he didn’t want people to be scared. He never gave a shit about himself and people still hate him.”

Izuku seems interested in this. Keenly. The fucking nerd. “That’s true.”

Katsuki doesn’t normally talk this much. He’s scared he’s becoming a nerd. Izuku’s rubbing off on him. But, if he only nerds out in front of Izuku, it should be okay, probably.

“And it’s always the faceless people who complain. And it’s never even logical complaints either. It’s just them being fucking annoying.”

“Well,” Izuku says, chuckling awkwardly, “I’ve seen some concrete criticism of him.”

Katsuki’s eye twitches. “Like what.”

“You know the magazine I gave you? That. There’s this guy in there who wasn’t a big fan of All Might.”

Oh. Katsuki hasn’t even opened the magazine yet. This is awkward.

Izuku knows. Somehow. “...You haven’t read it yet.”

Katsuki grimaces. “Haven’t had the time.”

“It’s okay,” Izuku says, but he looks mildly dejected. Fucking hell. 

“Um.” Katsuki stares at his school bag sitting in the corner. “I brought it. With me. I was gonna read it.”

“You don’t have to.”

Katsuki stares at the time. It’s barely eight in the evening. Knowing his mom, she’s gonna keep Izuku’s mom here for at least another half hour.

Katsuki gets up and shuffles through his bag.

“Kacchan–”

“Might as well,” he says gruffly. “Nothing else to fucking do.” He grabs the magazine, smoothing it out to prevent any creases from developing in the future.

He goes over to the bed and sits. Izuku… looks like a fucking light bulb. He’s smiling like a fool. He’s so fucking nerdy. Holy shit. Katsuki’s going to catch an illness after this.

“Show me the interview you’re talking about.”

Izuku scoots a bit closer and starts flipping through the pages. As he’s leaning over Katsuki’s shoulder, his hair is brushing against Katsuki’s cheek again, but Katsuki once more does not have the heart to push him away.

“Here.”

Katsuki reads. He feels Izuku’s eyes boring into him, maybe gauging his reaction. Katsuki remains expressionless.

Finally, he stops. 

“Well?” Izuku asks.

“Stupid,” Katsuki huffs. “This guy doesn’t have a fucking grasp of hostage situations. He thinks that taking collateral damage into account is more important than prioritizing the rescue.”

Izuku nods furiously. “I know! The collateral was totally necessary for All Might to save the hostages. He wouldn’t have been able to stop Kugutsu if he played it safe.”

“Fucking obviously. This guy is just some stupid critic. You can’t critique a hero’s actions if you don’t know what it’s fucking like to be one.”

“There’s a bunch of other interviews with him in there,” Izuku says. “The guy’s name is Ramunade.”

Katsuki clucked his tongue. “Stupidass name.”

“Okay, King Explosion Murder.”

Katsuki debated saying something about Izuku’s hero name, but that would be kind of stupid, considering Katsuki had literally come up with it. He opts to just… drop it. “Shut up.”

Izuku chuckles. The next thing he says totally catches Katsuki off guard.

“Kacchan?”

“What.”

“Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

Katsuki frowns. “Dunce Face and Shitty Hair want to try this Korean barbecue place that just opened up. Might come with.”

Izuku’s face falls. “Oh.”

Katsuki raises an eyebrow. Why the fuck would Izuku give a shit?

He’s about to speak, maybe ask why Izuku wants to know, but then he’s cut off by his mother’s laughter echoing from downstairs. Inko calls out Izuku’s name, and Izuku immediately stands up.

“Guess I’m leaving,” Izuku murmurs.

“Take the shirt,” Katsuki says.

“‘Kay.”

Izuku picks up the shirt with one hand and holds it from the collar.

Weird. 

“Bye,” Izuku mumbles. And he’s not looking at Katsuki anymore – he’s out the door before Katsuki can say a word.

What? Did Katsuki do something? 

What the hell. Katsuki thought things had been going well. 

—

Katsuki stabs a chopstick into the tofu. Kirishima winces.

“I don’t fucking know what I did wrong,” Katsuki groans.

Kaminari slides into the chair beside Kirishima. “Sorry I’m late, guys.”

”You’re fine,” Kirishima says. “We haven't ordered yet.”

“Oh, good.” Kaminari turns slightly to face Katsuki. “What’s up, man? What’d you do?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

“He saw Midoriya last night,” Kirishima adds for context.

A snort catches in Kaminari’s throat. “Of your own free will?”

Katsuki slams a fist on the table. “NO.”

Kirishima grabs his tittering bowl. “Hey, don’t knock over the food.”

“Shut up, Kirishima. I wanna hear what happened!” Kaminari leans in closer, squinting. “What happened, Bakugou? Did shit go down?”

“Nothing fucking went down,” Katsuki snarks. “We were actually doing okay. Like, having a decent conversation.”

Kirishima raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure Midoriya-kun considered it a decent conversation?”

Katsuki sneers. “Yes, I’m fucking sure!”

“So what’s the problem then?” Kaminari starts picking at the corn and cheese in the grates of the stove top. 

“He started being fucking weird at the end of it all.” He looks Kaminari up and down. “Close your mouth when you chew, Sparky.”

Kaminari does not, in fact, close his mouth. “Whaddya you mean by weird? What happened exactly?”

Katsuki clenches his fists. He’s not good at explaining things.

“He just. At the end, he wouldn’t even look at me. His whole mood changed for no fucking reason.”

Kirishima frowns. “That’s strange. What was the last thing you guys were talking about?”

“Uh.” Katsuki glances around the table in search. “He asked me if I was doing anything tomorrow.”

Kaminari chokes on the corn. Kirishima, alarmed, pats him on the back until Kaminari coughs it out.

“You good, man?” 

Kaminari ignores Kirishima. He stands in his seat, leaning over the table fully. “He asked you if you had plans?”

Katsuki blinks. “Not those words exactly. But yeah.”

“And what did you say?”

Katsuki scowls. “What the fuck do you think I said?! I said I’m going to some stupid restaurant with you two!”

Kaminari stares at him, lips agape. “And neither of you said anything after that?”

“No. His mom called him and he fucking went home.”

Kaminari backs away. He glances at Kirishima, and they make eye contact, and then they both shake their heads and sigh. 

Katsuki’s blood boils. “The fuck? The fuck did I do? What’re you not saying?”

Kirishima sighs once more, and he sounds almost disappointed. “You… really don’t know?”

“If I knew would I fucking ASK?”

“No,” Kirishima says.

Kaminari places his elbows on the table and clucks his tongue. “Bakugou, Bakugou, Bakugou… Midoriya wanted to hangout with you today.”

What.

He wanted to what.

Katsuki stands up and grabs Kaminari by the collar. 

“WHAT.”

“Gah! What’d I do??? You asked!!!”

Kirishima manages a sheepish laugh. “Guuuuys… the people are staring… Aha…”

Katsuki shakes Kaminari back and forth. “You’re fucking telling me if I had said I didn’t have plans he would have asked me to hangout with him???”

“Dude! Stop shaking me! It’s not my fault! It’s your own mistake!”

Kirishima grabs Katsuki’s wrist until it stills. “Yeah. Anyway, Bakugou – do you really want to hangout with him? I mean, I know you guys are on better terms, but I didn’t think you’d… care?”

Katsuki drops his hands, watching as Kaminari readjusts his rumpled collar. “I don’t care,” he says flatly. 

(He does care. He has never felt so stupid in his entire life. He had a fucking chance and he didn’t take it. What is WRONG WITH HIM. WHAT THE HELL.)

He sits back down in his seat and picks up the menu as if nothing happened. “I’m ordering ribeye.”

They both look at him warily. Katsuki glances up at them from his menu, daring them to question him, and then looks back at the menu.

They don’t say anything about Izuku after that. He isn’t mentioned for the rest of the meal, but his name is still there. Hanging in the silence. On the tip of everyone’s tongues.

—

“I’m so embarrassed.”  

Izuku repeatedly smacks his forehead with his fists. 

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think it was,” Uraraka says.

“It was so bad,” Izuku groans, smacking his forehead once more.

Iida gives him a disapproving little look. “You’re going to get brain damage from that, Midoriya.”

“Don’t care.”

“Perhaps Bakugou-kun didn’t understand your intentions,” Iida offers. 

Todoroki nods. “I think that’s probably it. He’s a blockhead when it comes to things like that.”

“Exactly.” Uraraka gives Izuku’s arm a reassuring squeeze. He stops hitting himself, reluctantly. “I’m sure if Bakugou-kun knew what you meant, he would have agreed.”

“Yeah,” Todoroki says. They move forward in the line a bit. “And your mom called you at the wrong time. Maybe if you hadn’t left when you did, he would have figured out what you meant.”

“Maybe,” Izuku mutters hopefully, but it’s half-hearted. “Sorry. I’m ruining the mood. It would be wrong of me to ditch you guys to hangout with him, anyway. I know how hard it was for Iida to find tickets so soon.”

“It’s only a baseball game,” Iida says. “We wouldn’t be upset with you.”

Uraraka nods, her brown hair bobbing with the movement. “Yeah. We know how important it is that you guys become friends again.”

“We’re friends,” Izuku says adamantly. “We are friends.”

Uraraka winces. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said it like that. I mean – it’s good for you two to bond.”

“...Yeah.” Izuku rubs his neck sheepishly. “I thought we were really bonding before that.”

“Yeah! I’m sure you were!”

Izuku sighs, slumping his shoulders as they shuffle forward in the security line. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Maybe it’s best if you leave it be for now,” Iida says. “I’m certain another opportunity will present itself!”

“...Maybe.”

Todoroki does not look like he’s in agreement with Iida. “It’s not going to present itself. You have to reach out.”

Izuku furrows his brows. He’s getting tired of reaching out. Why’s it always Izuku who has to reach out?

“I don’t know,” Izuku murmurs. “I think I might come across as clingy. And, well, Kacchan isn’t the type of person to do things he doesn’t find important. You know? He’s not going to want to hangout with me just because. He needs a real reason to or he won’t.”

Todoroki is staring off.

“What’re you thinking?” Izuku asks.

“Well. Bakugou lives in this city, too, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

Todoroki takes a slow glance at Iida. “And Iida – you have a spare ticket, don’t you? Because Tsuyu-chan couldn’t come?”

Iida tenses and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Yes, but –”

“Then tell Bakugou to join us.”

Izuku stares. Uraraka and Iida stare.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Uraraka says sheepishly.

Todoroki tilts his head. “Why?”

She shrugs a shoulder, grimacing. “Well. The game’s starting in a half hour. He’ll be late.”

“It’s not about the game,” Todoroki says flatly.

“I know. But he’s not really friends with me and Iida. You know? It might be awkward. He might – how do I say this…?”

Iida tilts his head. “Sour the mood?”

“Something like that.”

Todoroki’s face remains blank. “He doesn’t have to come if he doesn’t want to. But if Midoriya wants to invite him, he should. Bakugou’s not good with these things. He’s probably confused right now.” Todoroki looks down at Izuku now. “So?”

Izuku fiddles with his hair, unable to stay still. He doesn’t know what to do. Quite frankly, he’d prefer it if they hung out one-on-one, but… maybe it’s more comfortable this way? Kacchan wouldn’t have to talk so much. He doesn’t like talking in group settings, and if they’re just watching a baseball game, there’s no need for conversation…

“Yeah,” Izuku says unevenly. And then, firmer, “Okay.”

Todoroki doesn’t smile, but he has this little glint of approval in his eyes, like he’s proud. Aw.

Izuku glances at Iida and Uraraka once more. “Are you guys okay with that?”

They still look somewhat unsure, but they don’t argue.

“Whatever you want, Deku,” Uraraka manages. Iida only nods – a very half-hearted nod, but still a nod, so Izuku can’t be blamed for anything at this point.

Okay. Yeah. Maybe Kacchan does make things awkward. But… still. He’s Kacchan. It’s just how he is. Iida and Uraraka don’t know him like Izuku does. If they knew him the way Izuku does, surely they’d love him. 

Izuku pulls out his phone.

He stares at the last messages between him and Kacchan. The last thing said was just Kacchan’s little ‘goodnight’. Izuku instinctively grins at the memory, like a child, for some reason he cannot understand.

He stares more.

And then, finally – “I don’t know how to say it.”

It seems like Todoroki has figured as much. “Want me to write it?”

Izuku hands him the phone without protest.

“I don’t text like you,” Todoroki says, already typing away. “So just make it sound like yourself after.”

—

Katsuki gets a ding.

Most of his dings are from Kaminari spamming the groupchat. So he usually does not look at said dings.

But. He happens to look. Just as he’s collapsing onto his bed for a nap after getting back from the restaurant, he looks.

He shoots up in his bed.

izuku

5:18 P.M.

hi kacchan! i know this is super short notice but me todoroki uraraka and iida are at a baseball game down in aoi ward and we have an extra ticket and the game is starting kind of soon but if you want to join us you can!

Katsuki’s eyes bulge out of their sockets.

What. What. What does he do? What? 

Well. Does he want to join them?

Izuku? Yes. The rest of them? No. Well, Todoroki maybe. A very reluctant maybe. The other two… 

But if Katsuki says no, he might not get another chance.

So maybe he’ll tolerate them. It’s a game. He doesn’t have to talk to anyone. He can just be there. He doesn’t particularly give a shit about baseball or any sport in general, but.

5:20 P.M.

when does it end

5:21 P.M.

seven! probably. it depends!

bring a jacket!!! it’s gonna get cold

if you’re coming i mean

Katsuki feels his insides twisting together.

Fine.

5:23 P.M.

i don’t need a fucking jacket who the fuck do you think i am

send. address

Katsuki’s going to die. He’s going to go there and fuck something up and make Izuku cry again. In front of other people, too. This is such an awful idea. 

But Katsuki is thankful. Maybe he sounds incredibly selfish, but he is very thankful that Izuku's dad is in jail. Because if not for that, if not for that little burst of nosiness Katsuki felt in the middle of the night, he would not be going to a baseball game with Izuku. He would be rotting in bed scrolling through the revolting, immature memes Kaminari and Sero had the nerve to send him.

Regardless of the outcome of this whole… ‘hangout’, Katsuki makes up his mind.

“Mom! I’m going out!”

Chapter Text

“I don’t understand baseball,” Todoroki mumbles.

Kacchan sneers at him. “What’s there not to fucking understand?”

Okay. So – Izuku was wrong. Things are not… too awkward. 

The game was about a quarter through when Kacchan joined them. He had a bit of difficulty using the online ticketing system and scanning the ticket Iida had sent him – which was pretty amusing – but he did manage to arrive. Quicker than expected. 

Seating arrangements are as follows:

Five seats. Three in front, two behind them. Like a cluster. Iida, Uraraka, and Todoroki sat in front. 

Normally, if Tsuyu was there, it would’ve been Tsuyu and Uraraka in the back with the guys in front. But it was evident by the look on Uraraka’s face that she did not want to sit beside Kacchan by herself.

That was fine. Izuku was the one who invited him. So he’d sit by him.

He feared Kacchan would blow up at him or something, but – he did not. He just looked over the seats, grumbled something to himself, and sat beside Izuku, scraping his feet across the floor with every step.

It’d been awkward. For a good two minutes.

And then – it wasn’t.

Todoroki scratches his chin. He doesn’t turn to look at Kacchan, but he speaks clearly enough for Kacchan to hear. “I don’t get it. Sometimes they’re chasing the ball, and sometimes they’re chasing the runner.”

Kacchan makes a face. “Never played baseball? The hell did you do in private school, hah?”

“I was homeschooled most of my life,” Todoroki says, and he almost sounds glum about it. “No sports. Just… training.”

Nobody pushes the topic further. The word ‘home’ never means anything good when it comes out of Todoroki’s mouth. 

Kacchan leans back, crossing his arms. Then, he speaks quietly. “We ought to take that guy to the park and teach him baseball or some shit.”

Izuku doesn’t say anything, but then it registers that Kacchan is speaking just to him.

Just Izuku. Oh. Like a private little thing. 

Izuku resists the urge to beam, because that’s corny, and opts for a smaller smile instead. He doesn’t want to look too stupid. But he is. He is very stupid. (Stupidly in love, but he still won’t say that out loud, obviously.) Well, he’s still in disbelief that Kacchan’s even here.

Izuku nods. “Yeah. We should. I don’t know if he’s into that kind of stuff, though.”

“Don’t care. We’ll force ‘im. He’s a freak, he’ll be good at everything.”

Izuku raises his brows and blinks. “Okay, Kacchan.”

They sit in silence for a while, just watching the game.

Iida’s the only one who’s actually familiar with the teams. He knows the names of their players and he gets very passionate about each and every little thing.

“I used to play baseball in junior high,” Iida says all smugly. 

“You look more like a rugby guy,” Todoroki murmurs.

Iida frowns. “Rugby?” He looks Todoroki up and down. “Are you British?”

“No.”

“Then why even suggest rugby?”

Todoroki shrugs lazily. “Don’t know. You just look like a rugby guy.”

Kacchan leans to the side a bit, his arm pressing up against Izuku’s. “Which team is fuckin’ winning?”

Okay, so Izuku’s going to die now.

“The Chunichi Dragons. The white ones.” Wow! He spoke without disintegrating? Splendid!

“And the red ones are what?”

“Hiroshima Toyo Carp.”

He grumbles a bit. “Never fuckin’ heard of either.”

“They’re pretty famous, apparently. That’s what Iida says.”

“Not if I don’t know ‘em.”

Izuku snorts. “Kacchan, name one baseball team.”

There is silence. And then, “...Yankees.”

“A Japanese team.”

“You didn’t fucking say that before!”

“Well, now I am.”

“You can’t change the fucking criteria anymore! I named a team already! Go fuck yourself!”

“Mean.”

“I don’t have a single mean bone in my body! Shut up and watch the game!”

Izuku sighs. This is routine Kacchan Behavior. Nothing he didn’t expect.

—

Katsuki is cold. 

This was a mistake. He shouldn’t be here. He can’t sit still listening to all of Izuku’s friends talk to each other, and then occasionally talk to him, and he can’t even walk away or ignore them because he’s stuck here in this stupid seat.

And to make things worse, Katsuki’s almost certain Izuku can feel Katsuki simmering like a kettle. The way his eyes bore into Katsuki like fucking saucers is nothing short of nauseating – focus on the fucking game, damn it! The stupid fucking dweeb doesn’t know how to mind his damn business. 

And now, Uraraka seems to have caught a fucking ball in mid-air, and she’s cackling like a madman about it, and everyone else is laughing with her, and oh Jesus fuck when is this going to be over —

“Kacchan?”

Katsuki blinks. He looks up, and it’s Izuku. The other three are trailing down the steps of the bleachers, but Izuku isn’t following them. He’s standing in front of Katsuki, adjusting his striped scarf. Wow, okay, nerd.

“What,” Katsuki grits out. His dentist hates when he grits his teeth, but too fucking bad bitch, you’re being fucking paid to fix teeth, so do your fucking job, no one forced that god-forsaken profession onto you, just kill yourself if you don’t want to do your damn JOB. And how the hell can his dentist tell when Katsuki’s been gritting his teeth? That’s what Katsuki wants to know.

“We’re leaving,” Izuku says, and maybe it’s supposed to be gentle, but Katsuki swears it’s condescending. 

(No. It’s not condescending. Don’t be an idiot. Not everyone is out to get you. At least, not Izuku.)

Hey. The little voice in his head finally said something nice to him for once.

“Okay,” Katsuki finally manages. He stands and dusts himself off, flicking a popcorn kernel off his elbow. He begins walking down the steps, and Izuku follows.

“You kind of spaced out there,” Izuku says. 

“I don’t space out! That’s for losers.”

Izuku lets out a sigh, and he’s beside Katsuki, so Katsuki can’t really see the expression on his face. “Did you enjoy the game?”

He’s changing the subject to keep the conversation going. Huh. Gross. Just let it die naturally. Izuku’s the type of person to keep doing CPR on a dead person hours after flatlining. Good thing he isn’t planning on going into healthcare.

“Guess so,” Katsuki murmurs.

Izuku looks at him now as they walk, but Katsuki doesn’t turn his head, choosing instead to glance at him through the corner of his eye.

“You sure?”

Katsuki snarls. “The fuck do you want from me? You want me to say no? Is that it?”

Izuku shakes his head. “Do you even know which team won?”

“Of course I do.” He doesn’t know. He wasn’t paying attention at all. But there are only two teams. Fifty-fifty chance he guesses correctly. “The Dragons.”

“No.”

“Then the Hiroshima Carp or whatever the fuck.”

“It was a tie,” Izuku says.

Katsuki flounders a bit. Whatever. Whatever! Who cares if he wasn’t paying attention? Who gives a shit? Why can’t Izuku just speed up to his friends and gush about Uraraka’s fucking baseball and let Katsuki walk alone? 

“Your teeth are chattering.”

“Shut the hell up.” Katsuki now realizes that his teeth are, in fact, chattering, but will he do anything about it? No. He’s not a wimp. He’ll be fine when he gets home.

“I told you to bring a–”

“I know!” 

Izuku doesn’t say anything. Or even react physically. He just stares at Katsuki through his disgustingly pretty lashes. Damn, bitch, CUT THEM! They’re DISTRACTING! 

(Distracting Katsuki how exactly? …He’ll figure that part out later.)

“Don’t fucking offer me your jacket,” Katsuki hisses.

Izuku sighs. Heavily so. Freak. Just sigh normally, dramatic ass. You’re not the main character. “I wasn’t going to. I know you’ll just say no.”

Oh, Katsuki hates that. How Izuku just knows things. How he’s so confident he knows Katsuki inside and out, as if Katsuki was just an ever-present groove in the palm of his hand, and – 

“Just like how you knew I wouldn’t take your hand at Kamino, huh?”

Izuku lets out a warbled, indecipherable sound. And he looks like he’s about to walk faster, catch up to the others, but he doesn’t. His steps remain in rhythm with Katsuki’s.

“Yes,” Izuku says after a while. “Just like that.”

“I would take it now,” Katsuki mumbles immediately, and he half-hopes Izuku does not hear.

Izuku does hear. His gaze remains fixed on Katsuki, eyes scanning him over as if to pick up any possible deception in his expression.

“Would you?” Izuku asks quietly. And then, before Katsuki can get pissed off, “I mean, I know you never say things if you don’t mean them, I just want to hear you say it again.”

Katsuki doesn’t understand why Izuku needs to hear it again. Was it not meaningful enough the first time? Regardless, he guesses he can entertain him.

“If something like that were to happen again…” The words cling to his tongue, almost reluctant to be uttered. “You don’t gotta ask Kirishima or anyone else to do stupid shit like that. If you offered me your hand, I’d take it. I’m not a little bitch anymore, yanno?”

Katsuki takes a good look at Izuku now, and for some reason, it seems as if his entire world is coming together.

“That means a lot to me.” His voice is wobbly, like he’s about to cry. Damn it. Don’t fucking cry. Well, he can, but like, Katsuki would really prefer it if he didn’t do it in front of him. See, Katsuki’s still working on that whole empathy thing, and he really wouldn’t know how to react to Izuku crying right now.

Okay, that’s enough niceness for one day. “But I’m not taking your fucking jacket.”

“But you’ll get a cold.” The prospect of him crying seems to have dissipated. 

“I’d rather die ten times over than wear your stupid nerd jacket.” It’s All Might themed. Katsuki would feel alienated if it wasn’t.

“Hey. I like my jacket!”

“Then fucking keep it!”

Chapter Text

Katsuki catches a fever. His friends laugh at him, because it’s amusing or something. Izuku has this subtle I told you so look on his face when he finds out, but he isn’t annoying about it, for the most part. Besides the intermittent pass-overs in the common room, Izuku doesn’t even remotely fuss over him. Okay, Katsuki can give him some credit for knowing when to back off. Unlike someone.

Kirishima drops off food at his door throughout the duration of his illness… Why? Katsuki isn’t a toddler. He doesn’t need to be looked after. Some voice in his head tells him he should just appreciate the gesture, but he’s also in grueling amounts of pain, so he chooses to mentally shit on Kirishima (and everyone else, by association) instead. 

He recovers a few days later, because why the hell would he not, why would you even consider the possibility of him not recovering from a mere fever, you stupid bitch.

For some reason, when he gets back to his classes, something feels off. 

He’s not sure what it is. Nobody acts differently than usual, so maybe it’s just his own problem. But how could that be? Is he still not fully recovered? He feels fine, physically. So… what?

Everything seems normal. Sparky falls asleep in class, Ponytail presents a history slideshow that she likely sold her soul to make, Birdbrain makes a brooding disgruntled noise every time someone attempts conversation with him, and Raccoon Eyes tries roping Katsuki into some stupid vlog with the others, which he strictly does not participate in, ‘cause what the fuck.

So what. What is it. If God is real, that bastard better send down an angel and give Katsuki some answers or something. Why does Katsuki feel the way he does? Like something’s missing?

And then he realizes. 

Izuku is not there. 

Okay, big whoop. The nerd’s not there. Who gives a shit? Why’s it matter? He has a life outside of school. Maybe he’s not that much of a dweeb anymore and he finally decided to play hooky. However, Katsuki doesn’t play hooky, because that’s for idiots who don’t have bright futures, and Katsuki definitely has a bright future, and, well, Izuku seems to have one, too. Probably brighter than anyone else’s, which is really gross to think about.

So he’s probably not playing hooky. He likes school too much for that anyway, ‘cause he’s fucking weird. Maybe he’s sick. Maybe Katsuki passed it on to him.

But no. Izuku was at the breakfast table today. In his uniform. Last Katsuki saw, he was walking to class with the others. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

Katsuki is pulled from his thoughts, but he doesn’t physically react, although he does feel that familiar heat seeping through his palms. He’s becoming decreasingly prone to outbursts, not just because he’s a generally calmer person (when it counts), but also because he’s not fourteen anymore. Puberty has a weird effect on quirks.

“How I’m going to kill you,” Katsuki grits out.

“Terrifying,” Mina says dryly. “You seemed reaaaally lost in thought. So much that you didn’t hear the lunch bell ring.”

What? Can she fuck off?

“I’m an important person. I think about important things,” Katsuki snarls.

“Mm. You sure you’re not thinking about a certain–”

“Shut up.”

She scoffs with mock outrage. “I didn’t even finish. I was referencing our upcoming hero law test. But it’s funny how your mind automatically thought I was talking about–”

He blinks. “Shut up.”

“He Who Shall Not Be Named,” Kaminari interjects. “Haven’t you caught on, Ashido? We don’t talk about that guy in front of Bakugou anymore. Heaaaaavy stuff.”

These bitches are insufferable. Katsuki shoots out of his seat, grabs his backpack, and storms out. To his displeasure, but not his surprise, they follow him out and they head over to the cafeteria, and somewhere along the way Kirishima and Sero are there too. 

When Katsuki reaches the entrance of the cafeteria, he catches sight of Izuku as they walk past each other. Katsuki turns immediately as he walks away, and Izuku doesn’t turn back. The twerp’s in a rush, for some reason. 

Why wasn’t he in class, then? He’s here now again. The hell is he doing between classes? 

Whatever. Katsuki does not care. Not one bit.

Ashido appears by his side. “Hey, why was Midoriya here at breakfast but not in class? And he’s here again. What’s he up to?”

“The fuck does that gotta do with me?”

“‘Cause you seem to be around him a lot more lately!” Sero chimes in.

When Katsuki doesn’t respond with more than a weighted glare, they all shut up, swiftly changing the subject.

…Katsuki needs new friends.

—

Nothing really happens for a while. Everyone’s preparing for midterms as winter break impedes closer and closer. A few of his classmates scramble to find an agency to intern for over the break. 

Katsuki’s thinking he’ll just go back to Jeanist, since he seems in alright shape again, but if he changes his mind, it’s not like he’ll have trouble finding a different agency. There’s always the option of going back to Endeavor’s, but Todoroki mentioned that the agency is still under a lot of scrutiny by the general public as a result of the war, so maybe that’s not the best place.

Well, then again, it could be the best place… It would mean people would pay more attention to Katsuki. Media exposure is good. Sure, people would be paying more attention to his mistakes, but Katsuki doesn’t make very many mistakes to begin with.

But, of course, there is the overarching fact that Izuku Will Be There.

All the more reason not to go there, Katsuki thinks. But then again… it could be a good way to showcase his growth, couldn’t it? Like, physically. 

Ever since the war, now and then Izuku tends to look at him from across a room with this stupid frantic look in his eyes, as if Katsuki might spontaneously combust at any given moment. Katsuki came back from the dead, not unscathed but not ruined, yet Izuku still looks at him like he is something meant to be guarded. 

Of course, the freak would never say it to Katsuki – he wouldn’t dare associate fragility with him. But Katsuki knows that look. It’s the same look Izuku gave to this woman they’d uncovered from under the rubble during the war. Sure, she was alive, and not completely paralyzed, but her sole comfort was something along the lines of, “Heads up, your whole family’s dead, but hey, at least you’ve still got one functional limb! That’s one more than a fuck ton of other people!” 

That kind of look.

Okay, yes, Katsuki basically died. But he didn’t actually die, because while he did characterize the physical conditions of death, the concept of death was thrown out the window the moment he came back, because death implies finality and no chance of return. So he never actually died. He never stepped over to the other side, so to speak. So he doesn’t deserve to be looked at by Izuku like that. 

But, no. Katsuki can’t intern at a less reputable agency just to prove a point to Izuku. That would be unwise in the long run.

The few weeks following Katsuki’s fever recovery are frantic and too occupied. The days blend with each other, as do his studies. He finds that everyone has increasingly less time to engage in recreational activities, meaning no more Mario Kart at three in the morning. (Katsuki has no qualms with this.)

Katsuki thought the last few interactions he had with Izuku were alright. Especially when they talked out the whole Kamino issue. But somehow, it’s starting to feel like they have nothing more to say to each other. Like all the issues they still have between them aren't in need of addressing anymore.

Katsuki doesn’t like that. He wants to have issues with Izuku, if only to have an excuse to be around him more often. 

To prove his worth, of course. ‘Cause Izuku’s starting to think that they’re no longer on equal footing. 

But does Izuku actually think that? Is that just Katsuki projecting? 

“You’re drooling.”

Katsuki snaps his head up. “No I’m not,” he answers instantly.

It’s Todoroki. Fucking bastard. He’s looking down at Katsuki, who’s been staring blankly at his book for the past half hour.

“Yes, you are,” Todoroki says, the words flat and flavorless.

“No I’m not.”

Todoroki points a pale finger at the large splotch on Katsuki’s hero law textbook.

Katsuki slams the book shut. “Okay. So I am. What are you gonna fucking do about it, huh? Call the – call the drool police?”

Todoroki stares at him like he’s the stupidest person he’s ever met. “What.”

Katsuki’s eye twitches. “Get out!”

“This is a public space,” Todoroki says, before pulling out a chair and sitting next to Katsuki? The nerve!

“No. This is my library and my table and my study time. Get out.”

Todoroki ignores him, dropping his backpack onto the ground and pulling out his own textbook.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said leave.”

“You can leave if you want to,” Todoroki says.

“It’s my table.”

“Actually, this table belongs to Yuuei. Unless you’ve just bought Yuuei and I’m unaware.”

Katsuki opens his mouth again, but after some consideration, he closes it and just clenches his fists. He’s already made enough of a fool out of himself. “Whatever. Freak.”

Todoroki doesn’t look at him. He just reads.

They spend some time like that, just reading. Katsuki occasionally flits his gaze over to Todoroki, but he never receives a glance back.

Finally, Katsuki cannot hold himself back anymore.

He nudges Todoroki’s foot under the table. 

Todoroki looks up from his book. 

“...Is Izuku interning with your dad.”

Todoroki seems… almost amused by the question. “What’s it to you?”

Katsuki slouches back in his chair and crosses his arms, the vein in his forehead popping out. “If you’re gonna be a bitch then just fuck off. I don’t wanna know anymore.”

Todoroki chuckles breathily. “Okay, sorry. But I don’t know.”

“What? Why don’t you fucking know? It’s your dad’s agency. Are you just fucking stupid?”

“No. I don’t know because I’m not interning at his agency. So I’m not sure if Midoriya is.”

“Hah?” Katsuki tilts his head a bit. “Why not?”

“After everything that’s happened, I’d rather not. It’s too much drama for me.”

“But he’s the number one hero. And you’ll get a shit ton of media exposure.” Katsuki tactfully doesn’t remind Todoroki that Endeavor is, in fact, his father, because he knows that doesn’t matter much to Todoroki.

Todoroki’s hazy gaze falls onto Katsuki. “Bakugou, I’m the son of the number one hero. I’ll get publicity regardless of where I go.”

He rolls his eyes. “Someone’s cocky.”

“But it’s true.”

Well, yeah, it’s true. Who fucking cares. Whoop-dee-doo. Besides the point. “So you don’t know about the twerp’s internship, even though you’re best buds.”

“Midoriya has lots of friends. He doesn’t tell me that many things.” Todoroki narrows his eyes. “Why don’t you just ask him yourself?”

“No. Then it’ll seem like I give a shit.”

“But you do,” Todoroki says. “If you care enough to ask me, then you do.”

Katsuki tries to ignore the implications of that. “Okay, sure. But he’ll take it as me caring about him. I’m just askin’ ‘cause I wanna eye up the competition. Not ‘cause I care about him specifically.”

“So what if he thinks you care about him? Don’t you?” Todoroki furrows his brows. “Sorry if I’m overstepping, but I don’t understand why you’re so worried about that, when clearly he cares about you too.”

Katsuki remains still, chewing on the inside of his cheek. 

“Well?”

Katsuki huffs. “It’s just weird between us. Everything’s weird. You don’t get it.”

“Maybe I don’t. But you’re friends. You’ve risked your lives for each other before. Shouldn’t you care?”

“You call me and him friends?”

Todoroki frowns. “Midoriya does. He calls you his best friend. Do you disagree?”

Katsuki stares at him for a while longer, and then scoffs. He grabs his textbook and shoves it into his bag in a matter of seconds. He stands up and absolutely doesn’t push his chair back in. “Fuck you.”

Todoroki doesn’t seem all that surprised. “Bye, Bakugou.”

“Shut up.” Katsuki leaves the library and disappears behind the door in a flash.

—

Best friend. 

The phrase hangs over Katsuki’s head as he heads back to Heights Alliance. It’s cold out. It’s probably going to snow soon. Katsuki hates the snow.

Best friend.

What a weird thing to say. A year ago, Katsuki would have killed Izuku for merely implying such a thing, let alone uttering it aloud. 

“Best friend,” Katsuki says to nobody but the frost. The words don’t roll over his tongue smoothly, grating against his teeth in resistance. They cast aside a rotten pileup of bile coalescing in his throat. 

Best friend. Katsuki thinks back to the interactions he’s had with Izuku thus far, and there are so very many of them, but he struggles to place the label of ‘best friends’ onto any memory. It doesn’t fit. What they have is a unique case nobody can ever label. It would be too conformative to latch an empty label such as ‘best friends’ to the seamlessly complex relationship they share.

Katsuki’s thinking about this too much. He should just shut up and move on. Who cares what Izuku thinks? He can think whatever the hell he wants. Doesn’t matter.

Katsuki bristles. He looks straight ahead. Speak of the devil.

Izuku’s wearing his pajamas already, but he’s got a random coat and scarf on as well, and slippers that don’t look like they belong to him – as if he’d been inside the dormitory but he’d rushed out without much thought.

“Hi, Kacchan,” he says, expression neutral. 

Katsuki doesn’t respond. He probably should respond, but his body doesn’t really cooperate with him as much during the winter. 

Izuku looks the slightest bit confused, and he steps closer. “You’ve been standing still out here for a while. Just checking on you. It’s cold.”

“‘m fine,” Katsuki grunts, stepping forward and past Izuku.

Izuku turns and trails beside him as they enter the dormitory. “Haven’t seen you much here lately. You’re always at the library.”

The library’s a public space, Katsuki thinks, echoing Todoroki. You can go there if you wanna see me so damn bad. “Studying. Everyone here’s too damn loud.”

“I get that,” Izuku chuckles, but it’s painfully awkward. Their conversations haven’t flowed quite right lately.

Katsuki takes off his coat and loafers. “You know what I don’t get?”

Okay, this is gonna make Katsuki seem like a real jerk. But what he’s about to say is out of concern, in his own way. Just roll with it. 

Izuku raises his eyebrows. “What don’t you get?”

Katsuki whips his head around and steps way too close to Izuku. “Why you’re fuckin’ cutting class all the time.”

Izuku backs away, blinking and stammering. “Oh, that? Well, that – that’s just – you know –”

“No, I don’t know. Midterms are coming up and you’re slacking. It’s not gonna feel good when I do better than you knowing that you weren’t even doing your fuckin’ best.”

Izuku’s brows furrow together, and he’s not looking at Katsuki anymore. He’s doing that thing where he stares all far-away at some nonexistent object. 

“What, you’re gonna fuckin’ ignore me?”

“No. It’s just.” Izuku winces and begins peeling off his scarf and coat.

“Just what.”

“I’ve been skipping so I can pick up more shifts. I got a job. But that’s not your problem.”

Katsuki scrunches his nose. “The hell you gotta work for? The old hag is paying your mom twice as much as she was making before.”

Izuku stares at him, searching. Finally, “Like I said, it’s not your problem. Don’t worry about it, Kacchan.”

“What happened to her damn job?”

Izuku offers a hefty sigh in return. He turns around and begins retiring up the stairs.

Katsuki scowls. “The hell? You’re not gonna tell me?”

Izuku doesn’t look back.

—

“You FIRED HER?”

Mitsuki’s voice is not at all remorseful over the phone – she sounds more irritated than anything else.

“Yes, Katsuki. I did.”

Katsuki’s near yelling into his phone. “I never fuckin’ ask you for anything, and the one time I do, you fucking fire her????”

“The woman isn’t fit for the job! What can I say? I tried my best to let things slide because of how long I’ve known her, but the woman simply can’t work.”

“Then train her! She’s coming from a job at a fucking preschool – what’d you expect? Just have some fucking patience! ”

“Oh, because you’re so patient?”

Katsuki’s blood boils. “That’s not the point! C’mon, what’s she doing wrong?”

“She’s slow. She makes small talk with every customer. She always forgets what each aisle is for. I can’t keep coddling her, kid. Your father and I can’t blow our hard-earned money on an untrainable employee.”

“Just try harder!”

“You’re speaking to your mother right now, young man.”

“But–”

“No buts. This isn’t your business. This is my company.”

“But Izuku–”

“What, you feel bad for what you did to him, so you think this’ll make things all fixed? Sorry, but I’m not going to hire someone to make you feel better about yourself. I’m sure Inko can find a suitable job elsewhere.”

“You can’t just –”

The disconnect tone resounds. Katsuki throws his phone across the room, half-hoping it shatters.

Instead, it hits Kirishima square in the face as he’s walking in.

Kirishima immediately hardens, and the phone softly lands onto Katsuki’s carpet. 

Kirishima, puzzled as ever, picks it up. “Bad day?”

“I thought I told you to knock,” Katsuki mutters as Kirishima hands him the phone.

“Sorry. You were yelling, which isn’t that weird, but I just wanted to check up on ya. You’ve kinda been drifting lately.”

“It’s nothing,” Katsuki mumbles, praying that’s the end of it.

“Okay, but is it really nothing?”

Katsuki grits his teeth. “It’s not nothing, but I don’t exactly feel like sharing with the class.”

“Okay, man. My door’s always open, though, if you ever do feel like sharing with the class.”

“Whatever.”

Kirishima makes his way out. “Y’know, for such a smart guy, you’ve got really limited colloquial language.”

“Leave,” Katsuki snarls.

“Okay, okay!”

Chapter Text

Izuku feels that all-too familiar dread in his stomach when he finds out his mother lost her job.

He didn’t want to tell Kacchan, but he did end up getting in contact with Kacchan’s mom. He called her for an explanation after it had happened.

Izuku blocked out most of the phone call, because he was in acute distress, but the one thing he does remember is what Mitsuki called Inko: a lost cause.

That had been a difficult pill to swallow.

Izuku vividly recalls a time those words were used to describe him. So to hear them bubble up again, but this time in regards to his mother, and coming from the mother of the very person who made him feel like those words were true more than anyone else…

Wow. What the hell. 

Izuku looks outside. The window out of his Yuuei room is clean. The window out of his apartment back home is dusty. 

The clouds are a dreadful gray. It’s going to snow. The world is cold. But all Izuku feels is hot, burning shame as tears tremble down his face. 

—

Kacchan seems to pay more attention to him now.

It sounds narcissistic, but really, Izuku’s just obsessed with Kacchan. Izuku is sure of this, as sure of his existence. And he’s too miserable at the moment to pretend it isn’t true. So, of course, Izuku immediately notices when there’s the slightest change in Kacchan’s division of attention. 

Izuku often counts the seconds per meal that Kacchan stares at him across the table. Well, he’d like to think it’s just “often”, but really, Izuku always counts the seconds. This year, on average: 3.23 seconds. Last year, it was 2.68 seconds.

But as of the past week, it’s been a staggering average of 58.32 seconds. Today, Kacchan stares at Izuku for three minutes and four seconds, in segments, over the course of dinner. And dinner usually lasts just ten minutes long, so that means Kacchan’s been looking at Izuku 30.4 percent of the time. Who does that?

Izuku wonders if maybe, maybe Kacchan is worried. 

…Or maybe he just thinks the bags under Izuku’s eyes are unbecoming for All Might’s successor. 

Izuku’s not sure. Kacchan looks at him the way he looks at everything else. His red eyes are lazily narrowed, his lips jutted out just the slightest bit. His gaze is not head-on: it’s sideways, fleeting. Quick, but purposeful – like a quill’s sharp end nipping at Izuku for the briefest of moments.

Izuku feels it, always, even if he isn’t looking back. Kacchan’s presence looms over him like a shadow – almost comically. Izuku feels as though he’s a cartoon character being followed around constantly by a rain cloud while everyone else basks in the sun.

Well, it’s cold outside. So, more appropriately, Kacchan’s gaze is hot charcoal pressing against his skin. 

But it’s never suffocating. It’s just odd. When Izuku catches Kacchan in the act, Kacchan immediately staggers his focus elsewhere, as if their eyes had not just been screaming at each other a moment before.

“What are you muttering about.”

Izuku blinks. The voice is insistent, but not malicious.

Shinsou. He’s been nudging Izuku for the past minute.

“Nothing,” Izuku breathes.

“Nothing?” Shinsou doesn’t seem convinced.

Izuku cringes. “Just give me the benefit of the doubt.”

“Uh-huh. Pass the salt, Romeo.”

Izuku’s cheeks flare with something. It’s warm and pink. “Huh?”

“The salt?” Shinsou raises an eyebrow and gestures his head toward the shaker.

“No, I mean – the other thing.”

Shinsou smiles, a half-smile, and holy crap, it looks terrifying on him. But Izuku says nothing of it. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

Izuku frowns. “Tell anyone what?”

Shinsou looks like he wants to punt Izuku. He takes a breath. “Just pass the salt, man.”

—

Izuku’s sweating. It’s cold, and there’s a foot of snow crunching wetly beneath his boots. It’s cold, and he worries his sweat will freeze on his face.

Izuku hasn’t told anyone about the construction company he started working at. Not even his mom. Especially not her. She’d have a breakdown. And he can’t bear that.

When he came home the Sunday before with an envelope in his gloved hand, he placed it on the table in front of her. She was drunk and crying. He slid it forward and clasped her hands around it. 

When she woke up, she must have noticed, because she called him and asked where he got the money from. He told her not to worry about it, but of course, she did begin to worry – to panic, even. He knew there was no rationalizing with her, so he hung up in his mother’s face for the first time in his life.

Izuku is torn out of his thoughts when a cold patch of snow lands on his face. He cringes, wiping it off. He looks up, and sees one of the workers climbing up a rickety steel beam. 

This has got to be illegal. But this place is closest to Yuuei, and it’s virtually the only nearby places Izuku qualifies for without a highschool diploma. So… the legality of this institution can be overlooked. Just this once.

—

There are two days before finals begin. It’s been eight days and ten hours since Katsuki confronted Izuku about cutting class. Eight days and eleven hours since Katsuki had that revolting conversation with the old hag.

Katsuki knows he should have done something sooner. But he’d been chewing on the new information. He’d been laying in his bed, staring at the stutters in the ceiling. And then, when he could, he’d been studying the looks on Izuku’s face.

And now, he knows what to do. He’s talked to the right person. He knows what to do. He’s been thinking about it every spare moment. Every time he looks at Izuku, he feels every wisp of air nick at his skin like glass.

“Hey!”

Izuku’s steps stutter momentarily, his shoes squealing against the tile, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, ignoring Katsuki’s call, and he’s walking out of the corridor and into the east courtyard.

“Hey! Izuku! Don’t fucking ignore me!”

Izuku does not turn. Katsuki follows him out, and the sky bleeds white, piling atop of the snow that has already accumulated over the past few days.

“Izuku!”

Katsuki wants to scream. He is already yelling above his normal yelling volume. He doesn’t understand why Izuku is ignoring him. Why Izuku is speeding up, not even glancing back at Katsuki.

“Deku,” Katsuki rasps through gritted teeth, loud enough for Izuku to hear.

Izuku stands still. Katsuki wants to kill him and then kill himself.

“What,” Izuku says, his voice dreadfully quiet. He turns around, finally, the stupid fucking All Might scarf swinging across his shoulders. 

“Izuku,” Katsuki corrects himself, his hands twitching at his sides. 

“Don’t force it,” Izuku says dryly.

“Shut up. Just shut up.”

Izuku’s face is blank. “I’ll go, then.”

“No.”

“What do you want, Kacchan?”

I want to help, Katsuki thinks. “Stop cutting classes,” he says instead.

“Can’t.” Izuku is as cold as the snow catching in his bushy eyebrows. “Plus, you’re cutting class right now too. It’s still fifth period.”

“I’ll fucking report you to admin,” Katsuki spits.

Izuku almost scoffs. “That’s your solution?”

“Please,” Katsuki croaks. “Just – Just fucking listen. Stop fucking walking away.”

Izuku twitches. “I’m not walking away.”

A surge of hope pulses through Katsuki. Good. That’s good. He’s still… here. So… can Katsuki step closer? Can he? Is that allowed? Is he even allowed to anymore? It seems that Katsuki just makes everything harder for Izuku.

“Okay. Just.” Katsuki’s words don’t roll over his tongue so easily. Must be the cold. His teeth threaten to chatter. “We never talk. I want to talk.”

“Why?” Izuku’s eyes are green slits, judging.

“Why what? You’re not making any fucking sense.” Katsuki’s words slice through Izuku like barbed wire, he hopes.

This seems to open the flood gates. Izuku’s hands are balled into fists, and his words spill out angrily, and his voice screams nothing but hurt.

“Why are you doing this? Why do you care? Why do you entertain the prospect of real friendship with me if you have no intention of talking to me when you think something is wrong? Do you just have to wait until I’m on the verge of falling apart? Do you care about me, or do you just not want All Might’s power to go to waste? Which is it? Which is it?”

Katsuki blinks. Izuku is crying. It’s not the same way he cried many weeks before, when he had his head on Katsuki’s lap, utterly convinced Katsuki deemed him ugly. No. This isn’t the same. 

Izuku’s shoulders are shuddering and hunched up to his ears and his eyes are blown wide and his freckles are pale and distraught and his teeth are chattering just as much as Katsuki’s.

“No,” Katsuki says quietly.

To this, Izuku lets out a very frustrated sob. “No, what? This is what I mean, y – you always, you always do this, you never actually talk to me –”

Katsuki steps forward and briskly grabs Izuku’s gloved hand with both of his own. 

“I care,” he says, hating the lilt of desperation in his voice, and he’s holding Izuku’s hand so, so tightly only for Izuku to please, please not leave.

Katsuki is silently glad they’re here during class and not any other time. If anyone was out to see them in the courtyard right now, he’d just die.

“You do?” Izuku murmurs, not quite pulling his hand away, but not squeezing back either. It’s very quiet for an instant, save for the hiss of the wind and the shuddering clatter of teeth.

Katsuki doesn’t understand why Izuku doesn’t know this. Why would Katsuki not care? Why would Katsuki bother himself if he didn’t care?

Oh. Katsuki cares. He hasn’t thought about it that way to himself yet. It’s just now registered in his mind.

“Yeah,” Katsuki manages, and for some reason, he wishes he was closer to Izuku, but that’s just because it’s freezing out, yes, that must be it.

“Come inside,” Izuku finally says.

“Where?”

“The dorms. Where else, haha?” Izuku’s chuckle is pathetically forced. He pulls his hand away. Katsuki immediately mourns its loss, for some reason he still cannot put his finger on.

Katsuki wants to ask if they can go back to class and talk later, because he worries about missing any more than he already has and losing his edge, but maybe it’s okay. Maybe he can get the notes from someone else, even if they aren’t as detailed as his. Maybe it’s not that important.

He glances at Izuku out of the corner of his eyes.

Not as important as Izuku.

“Okay.”

They head inside. Izuku looks as though he’s about to break down at any moment. Katsuki doesn’t say anything yet, so maybe the guy can collect himself again. The entire walk, Izuku keeps his eyes planted on the ground, snowflakes catching onto his lashes. Katsuki wants to brush them away, because the sight of them is irritating, but he doesn’t. He wants a lot of things, but because he is trying to not be an asshole anymore, he knows he can’t just do things because he wants to.

When they’re inside, they discard their jackets by the front door haphazardly. Izuku has a hard time taking off one of his shoes, and Katsuki really, really wants to laugh at him, but he restrains himself, because he doesn’t think Izuku would be very appreciative of that at this very moment.

When it’s been thirty seconds, and Izuku’s still unable to pull the fucking boot off, Katsuki stifles a laugh. It just slips out, really. He’s not an asshole, seriously, he can’t help his biological urges, okay?

Izuku huffs, leaning against the wall. His eyes are still puffy from crying, and the stupid thing just won’t come off, and Katsuki’s half-scared Izuku’s going to burst into tears again over this. He’s not sure if he should continue standing here trying not to laugh or if he should help. 

He decides that they’re going to be here for a while unless he chooses the latter.

“Oi. Bigfoot.” Katsuki steps closer and grabs Izuku’s ankle. He yanks at the boot, and the thing doesn’t give right away. “What the hell did you do to it?”

Katsuki immediately regrets asking the moment Izuku opens his mouth. If Izuku was on the verge of tears like Katsuki had thought, he was either concealing it way too well or he just forgets about his emotions when he starts talking about his fucking backstory.

“It’s kind of big, so I always put an insole in it so it fits. But only for my right foot, ‘cause my right foot’s smaller than my left foot. Weird, I know. I feel like I haven’t told anyone that. Funny story, actually. When I was five years old – wait, no. Six. Wait, actually. That was the same year I lost my first tooth. I remember it because the two incidents were a week apart. But how old was I… Actually, now that I think about it, I lost my first tooth super late. Maybe I was seven, actually. Okay, yeah, I was seven. And I was riding my bike, and there was this other kid at the playground in our neighborhood – the playground, but not the one with the sandbox near the pool, the one with the tire swing. I didn’t like the one with the sandbox because kids always threw sand at me. I think you did too, once. No – more than once. Anyway, I was riding my bike, right –”

At last, Katsuki yanks the boot off. “Oh my fucking God.” Katsuki glances inside the boot, and when he sees the fucking insole it takes every ounce of willpower in him not to burn the godforsaken thing to smithereens.

“Hey, you got it off!” Izuku’s eyes light up, and for what it’s worth, the little twinkle in them makes having to listen to Izuku’s insufferable mumbling not totally a waste of Katsuki’s time. 

“Of course I fucking did. You could’ve too, shitface. Why’d you make me do it?”

Izuku frowns. “I never asked you to.”

That’s true. “Whatever.”

“I didn’t want to damage it. I can’t really control my strength when I get annoyed.”

Izuku… annoyed. Katsuki gnaws at the thought. Izuku’s funny when he’s annoyed. He gets all frustrated and his bushy eyebrows smush together and he clenches his fists. It’s funny, ‘cause when Katsuki’s annoyed, he does something ridiculously destructive, like blowing a fresh hole into Kaminari’s wall. When Izuku’s annoyed, he starts being fucking productive. He jogs, or he trains, or he reads a book, or – on very rare occasions – he tries to cook. Cook! Ha! What a load of shit.

Katsuki rolls his eyes, hoping a stupid smile hasn’t sprouted onto his face as he had been contemplating. 

“Well.” Izuku clears his throat, looking around sheepishly. “You wanted to talk, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. But not here.”

“Why the fuck not? Everyone’s in class.”

Izuku scrunches his nose. “Just come.” He grabs Katsuki’s wrist, tight, and he makes his way to the staircase.

What the fuck is he doing. Katsuki can walk by himself. What the fuck. This fucking bitch. 

But Katsuki doesn’t even say anything. He just swallows thickly as Izuku leads the way, as he lets Izuku lead the way. 

Fuck. Is Katsuki going soft?

No way. No way in hell. Katsuki yanks his hand out of Izuku’s grasp as they’re two thirds up the staircase.

Izuku glances at Katsuki for a moment, but doesn’t say anything. That just pisses Katsuki off more. He hates when Izuku does things like that and then pretends they didn’t just happen.

“Don’t hold onto me so damn tight,” Katsuki snarls. 

Izuku raises an eyebrow, looking down at Katsuki a step below him, and then turns back to face forward. “Sorry, Kacchan.”

Katsuki narrows his eyes. He silently realizes that he had just implied he was okay with Izuku holding onto him in general, so long as he did it more gently. 

Wait. What the fuck. Gross. Actually fucking gross. How could Katsuki say something like that? He could’ve just said “don’t touch me” and been done with it! And now he can’t clear himself up because then Izuku will know that Katsuki has realized the implications of what he’s just said and Izuku will know that Katsuki even considers these implications to be of any substance, because if Katsuki were to address them they would be of substance and wouldn’t just be unattainable fanta –

Sorry, what? Unattainable fantasies? There is no way Katsuki’s brain just fed those words to him. Katsuki needs to get out of here before he goes into hysterics.

But when he looks at Izuku’s hands, now ungloved, and he looks at his own wrist, no longer in Izuku’s grasp, he decides not to leave. He can’t just leave. Katsuki tells himself that it’s because he doesn’t want to bother consoling Izuku if he cries again. 

But if Katsuki were to be honest with himself – and he so rarely ever is – then… then, what? What, is Katsuki supposed to accept the fact that he doesn’t mind being around Izuku? That it’s not a burden to him anymore? That when he thinks about Izuku at night, it isn’t out of spite, but out of something else? 

“Are you okay, Kacchan?” Izuku is looking at Katsuki with concern, and it is only now that Katsuki realizes they’ve reached Izuku’s room. 

“Shut up.” 

Izuku lets out a sharp sigh, like he’s used to this behavior. And, well, he is. Why he puts up with it so much, Katsuki still isn’t sure.

Katsuki wordlessly steps into the room, and Izuku follows him in and switches the light on.

Katsuki is not at all caught off guard by the shrine of All Might merchandise cluttering every inch of the tiny little room. He wants to poke fun at Izuku for it, but decides to compartmentalize any insults for later use. 

Izuku sits on the edge of his bed, and something in his eyes gives Katsuki the feeling he wants Katsuki to join him, but Katsuki doesn’t move. He just leans against the door and crosses his arms, as though he wants to get this over with as soon as possible.

He does care. Of course he cares. He just told Izuku he does. And he’s sure Izuku knows. But it doesn’t mean Katsuki’s about to experience a fucking paradigm shift and turn into a fucking angel. Katsuki shows that he cares in his own way, when it really matters. That’s enough, he thinks, because otherwise, it’ll seem fake. He can’t just force himself to be nice when it isn’t called for.

“Okay. So, talk.” 

Izuku blinks. Katsuki had been the one who wanted to talk, but, well, he doesn’t really know what to say. 

“Okay.” He folds his hands together, as though he’s about to interview Katsuki or something. Dork. (It unsettles Katsuki that the word resounds fondly in his head.)

 “I’m… not sure how to start.” Izuku sucks in an awkward breath, staring right at Katsuki. The eye contact is unnerving, but Katsuki certainly won’t be the one to break it. “I haven’t been doing so well lately.”

“I know,” Katsuki says.

“You know,” Izuku says solemnly, swallowing the fact down like a hard pill. “And… you didn’t say anything.”

“No,” Katsuki immediately snaps, his fingers clenching together in his crossed arms. “I didn’t say anything, but it doesn’t mean I wasn’t doing anything. I was just waiting ‘till it all worked out.”

Izuku’s lips part a bit, and Katsuki notices the way he fidgets with his fingers in his lap. “It?”

Katsuki grimaces. “...You’re not gonna like it.”

Izuku frowns, shifting his focus onto the ground. “Don’t tell me.”

“I talked to All Might,” Katsuki says instantly, the words bursting out of his chest.

“Kacchan.” Izuku’s voice is uneven, like he’s not sure to what extent he should express his discomfort.

Katsuki knew Izuku wouldn’t happy about this. But Katsuki isn’t very happy about Izuku sulking around all the time, skipping classes, and just not being right. 

It’s because, well. Because… Because – because, you see, Katsuki sometimes does this thing called caring. As much as he doesn’t want to say it out loud again. As much as he wants to play it off as him merely wanting Izuku to be a better competitor.

Don’t get him wrong. He does want Izuku to be in his best shape. He does want to compete with Izuku to be the number one hero, even if some voice in his head keeps reminding him he’s light years behind Izuku and there’s no use anymore.

“Don’t get mad,” Katsuki huffs, which is, admittedly, rich coming from him. “You’re a wreck. I couldn’t think of anything else to do. Plus, All Might told me to tell him if things got worse.”

“I could’ve handled it,” Izuku murmurs, his hands balled into fists.

Katsuki scoffs. “Obviously not.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“You’re the one acting like you’re a fucking saint, too conceited to get help from your fuckin’ mentor when you’re obviously barely hanging on.”

Izuku’s green eyes bore holes into Katsuki’s face.

Shit. Conceited. Conceited? How could Katsuki say that? It doesn’t fit. Nobody could ever look at Izuku and think he was anywhere near conceited.

“I wish we could have one normal conversation,” Izuku murmurs after a while. He stands up briskly, and goes over to his desk, rearranging papers that don’t really need to be rearranged, and putting pens into cupboards just to take them out moments later.

Katsuki wants to strangle him. It’s not like Katsuki wants to argue with Izuku. He’s trying to show him he cares, but the more he tries, the more it seems to upset Izuku.

Sure, Izuku doesn’t want to involve All Might because he has some sort of guilt complex. But he isn’t fucking special. He isn’t the only person in this world with guilt. If Izuku knew how it felt…

If Izuku knew how Katsuki felt every time Izuku so much as breathed the wrong way, then surely, he’d understand why Katsuki is doing this. 

“I’m not normal,” Katsuki blurts out.

Izuku stands still, and then turns to face Katsuki from across the room. “That isn’t news to me,” he chuckles. And there isn’t that icy distance in his voice like there was before. It’s thawing. 

“Fuck off,” Katsuki grunts. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, trying not to fidget in front of this fucking freak in front of him. “I mean. I’m not normal about you.”

Izuku’s face goes blank. Katsuki wants to be embarrassed, but he’s in too deep to run away now. He’s not a coward. 

“In…” Izuku’s voice is barely a whisper, his eyes wide. “In what way?”

Katsuki tilts his head, oblivious. “Hah? I mean, I’m fucking worried about you, which is fucking weird. Because I’m normally not worried that much about anyone other than myself.” 

“Ah.”

Katsuki’s brows push together against his forehead. “What other way were you thinking of,” he barks.

“Nothing,” Izuku chirps, a sheepish smile climbing onto his face as if on cue. 

“Stop doing that.”

Izuku’s smile falters. “What?”

Katsuki steps forward, until Izuku’s leaning back against his desk, grabbing onto it for purchase. Katsuki doesn’t even get that close, Izuku has no reason to scramble so far back.

“If you have something to say, fucking say it. Why should I be honest with you if you’re always purposely being fucking… fucking… obtuse???”

Izuku snorts.

Katsuki’s eye twitches. “What the fuck.”

“Obtuse? Obtuse?”

Katsuki’s ears burn, for reasons totally entirely biological and natural. “Yeah, you’re being fucking obtuse. What, you don’t know what that means? Need a dictionary?”

“No,” Izuku chuckles, a laugh catching in his throat. And Katsuki fucking hates the way Izuku’s dimples dig into his freckles. He hates it.

Katsuki huffs, and steps back. “You get what I mean. So shut the fuck up.”

Izuku chuckles once more, and Katsuki doesn’t understand what he’s laughing at, but knowing that Katsuki’s the source of that laughter makes his insides feel all warm and – ugh, fucking… fucking flowery. Disgusting. Katsuki ought to unroot those flowers as soon as he miraculously gains the ability to interfere with his own feelings.

At last Izuku speaks, his voice like pink static in the air. “I’m sorry if I made you feel frustrated, Kacchan.” He’s still smiling.

Kacchan stares dumbly, because Izuku’s supposed to say more, isn’t he? But when he doesn’t, Katsuki just grumbles in response, as though to say it’s fine (and Katsuki would never say anything else, because he’ll always be fine with anything Izuku ever says, so long as it isn’t stupid or self-deprecating. But Izuku isn’t stupid, so it’s more the self-deprecating part that Katsuki gets pissed off about.)

“Well,” Izuku says, “I’m not, like, ecstatic about borrowing money from All Might. But you’re probably right – I don’t really have another choice. I just feel guilty, you know?”

Hah. Katsuki knows. He knows a lot more than Izuku thinks he knows. 

“You’ll pay it back eventually,” Katsuki murmurs. “It’s not that big of a deal. He’s happy to help you.”

“You say that, but I feel like he isn’t.”

Katsuki furrows his brows. “You’re his successor, and his student, but you’re his friend before all of that. Hell, he looks at you like you’re the only reason he’s still around.” And Katsuki believes it. If Izuku wasn’t here, Katsuki doesn’t think All Might would waste his time at Yuuei at all. 

A smile is tugging at the corners of Izuku’s lips, and he looks at Katsuki like he’s just said the perfect thing at the perfect time, and Katsuki’s face immediately burns. “Don’t be weird or I’ll take it all back,” he hisses.

“Kacchan,” Izuku says, smile blindingly wide, his eyes crinkling. “You know, when you’re like this, it makes your outrageous personality, like, ten times more endearing.”

Katsuki snarls. “I take it back. Go fuck yourself. I’m telling All Might to let you go bankrupt.”

“Hey! I’m just giving you a compliment!”

Katsuki pulls out his phone, as though he’s about to call, and Izuku lunges for it, laughing.

Katsuki side-steps him, and Izuku careens onto the bed, and he can’t help the shit-eating grin that appears on his own face. 

Izuku gets this determined look on his face, like the one when they’d raced in the pool so very long ago, and he jumps at Katsuki again. He succeeds in toppling Katsuki to the ground, but Katsuki keeps the phone clutched tightly in his hands, and dodges every swipe Izuku makes at it.

“I’m caallling him!” Katsuki yells, taunting grin never leaving his face.

“Noooo, Kacchan! I need money!” Izuku exaggerates his own voice, laughing like a fool, and grabs onto the phone, his fingers overlapping with Katsuki’s as he tugs. 

Katsuki tries not to focus on Izuku’s clammy hand on top of his, his knees sandwiching Katsuki’s legs, and his iron grip on Katsuki’s wrist. Katsuki recalls their second fight in Kamino Ward, in which they’d been in a similar position, just reverse. But the emotions running high were certainly not of this realm.

“Then don’t call my fuckin’ personality endearing. ‘Cause it’s not!”

Izuku tilts his head, leaning down. It takes everything in Katsuki for him not to scream when green curls brush against Katsuki’s forehead. They’re not even that close – Izuku just has a fuck ton of hair, a little more than Katsuki. 

“But it iiiiis,” Izuku coos, pouting. And what the fuck. Katsuki has never seen Izuku like this. “You’ve changed. You’ve always been mean, but now you’re not just mean. You’re prickly on the outside, but on the inside, you’re not the violent kid you used to be, you know?”

Katsuki’s hand twitches in Izuku’s hold.

But he doesn’t have to think of a response when Izuku suddenly snatches his phone.

“What the fuck? Give it back!”

An explosion sizzles in Katsuki’s palm, a vein bulging in his forehead. Had… Had Izuku only said that to distract him? 

 Izuku’s about to respond, but he bristles, and drops the phone on the ground with a soft thud. He snaps his head up to the doorframe, and Katsuki does the same.

“Am… Am I interrupting something?”

Fucking Four-Eyes is standing in the space between the doorframe, his cheeks flushed pink. He coughs, looking at Izuku’s lamp instead of at either of them. 

“No,” Katsuki says immediately. He pushes Izuku away, not exactly softly, and Izuku moves away at once, stumbling to his feet. Katsuki grabs his phone and stands up straight, brushing off a piece of lint that’s latched onto his shirt.

Iida clears his throat, trying his very best to appear stern. “Care to explain what you two are doing here during class?”

Izuku opens his mouth, but Katsuki interjects. “None of your fuckin’ business.”

“Kacchan,” Izuku says warily.

Katsuki realizes that this makes them appear even more suspicious, but whatever. Iida can go fuck himself. 

Iida narrows his eyes. “Aizawa-sensei told me to fetch you two.”

Katsuki snickers. “Hah. Fetch. Like a dog.”

Izuku elbows him. Katsuki snarls and quickly returns the favor, harder. Izuku elbows him back, a little frown on his face.

“Enough of that,” Iida says, chopping his hand through the air. “You do realize you can’t just skip class to – to…” He trails off, his face burning again. “For any non-emergency.”

“What the hell do you think we were doing?” Katsuki scoffs.

“That’s noneofmybusiness!” Iida shouts, the words stringed together in a rush. “Just… Just follow me back to class.”

Katsuki’s eyes follow Iida lazily as he begins walking out. Izuku tails behind him. Ugh… Katsuki shuffles beside him with reluctance.

“Is Aizawa-sensei mad?” Izuku asks with concern.

“Yes,” Iida says flatly. “You both blatantly disregarded the rules.” He glances sideways at Izuku. “And Midoriya, this isn’t your first offense. You’ve been mysteriously disappearing a lot these days… It’s unbecoming.” 

He says the last part a bit sadly, as though he’s disappointed.

Izuku chuckles awkwardly. “It’s just stuff back at home. And I’ve gotten all those absences cleared.”

“Mm.” Iida isn’t impressed.

Katsuki rolls his eyes. They make their way down the stairs and head over to the coat rack, bundling up just for the five minute walk back to their class.

Katsuki eyes Izuku as he picks up his boots.

Izuku doesn’t take notice. Annoying.

“Don’t you dare put the fucking insole in there,” Katsuki hisses.

Izuku pouts. “But it’ll be too big.”

“Too fucking bad.”

Iida watches the exchange, looking more and more skeptical of Katsuki with each passing moment. “Bakugou, if Midoriya-kun wishes to wear an insole, then he will wear an insole. It’s certainly not your place to boss him around.”

Katsuki blinks slowly, and then again, half-hoping Iida is just a shared hallucination, so if he blows him up nothing will actually happen. What the fuck does Iida know? He doesn't know anything! 

Izuku takes out the insole and laughs, bringing air to the room again. “Don’t worry about it. Kacchan’s not bossing me around. It’s just an inside joke we have.” He pats Iida on the back.

Katsuki’s eyes meet Izuku’s, and they’re so kind, so silently understanding, and Katsuki wants to cry, because it always feels strange when Izuku defends him in front of another person. Izuku’s always been fiercely loyal, but it still disorients Katsuki in a way he thinks he’ll never get used to. 

And in that moment, Katsuki knows.

It washes over him in an instant, but it’s not all that surprising, the way Katsuki thinks it should be. It feels like… like it’s not something new. It’s just a new understanding of how Katsuki feels. It’s always been there, on the tip of his tongue, but he’d never realized what it was until now. 

Katsuki watches Izuku silently as he makes small talk with Iida, the three of them walking out of the dormitory and braving the cold trek back to class.

Katsuki loves Izuku. 

Disgusting. Katsuki shoves the thought into the back of his mind and refuses to dwell upon it.

Chapter Text

“I’m going to fail.”

Uraraka rolls her eyes, a sardonic grin playing onto her face. “Deku, you are not going to fail. You say that every time but end up outranking me anyway.”

Izuku slams his hands on the table, and Uraraka’s sukiyaki sloshes around in its bowl, splashing against the edges. “But it’s not like every time! This is different!”

She seems concerned, straightening out her bowl with a frown. Sucking in a mouthful of noodles, she asks, “Why’s that?” 

“Because, well. I’ve been cutting classes. You know that.”

“Mhm,” she hums, her gaze shifting abruptly from Izuku to the table. “Which you still haven’t explained to me.”

Izuku feels a pang of guilt. He doesn’t mean to keep things from his friends, really, especially not Uraraka, but it’s no use having people fuss over him. 

“It’s not a big deal or anything,” Izuku manages with a sheepish smile. “It’s stupid. Plus, it’s all taken care of now. I won’t skip anymore.”

“I don’t care if it’s stupid, Deku.” Her words are harsh, but they carry no malice. She seems hurt more than anything. “We’re friends. You’re allowed to tell me what’s bothering you, or what was bothering you, even if you think it’s insignificant. I’m not here to judge you.”

The last sentence makes Izuku want to curl up and die. Alarms resound in his head, because it occurs to Izuku that even after a year, he is still not used to normal friendships, friendships that go beyond people copying his homework when they feel like it and acting like they don’t know him in public. He still struggles to accept that actual friends might care to know about what goes on in his life.

He inhales sharply, and reaches out to give Uraraka’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m sorry, Uraraka. I’ve been neglecting you. Not just you, but everyone else too. So please don’t think I’m singling you out.”

Uraraka squeezes back, the frown on her face easing up. “It’s okay. I’m not mad at you. I know how you think, Deku, so I know you don’t do it on purpose. But it’s just a bummer when you distance yourself whenever things get tough.”

Izuku pulls his hand away, dreading the direction the conversation is headed. “I owe you an explanation, don’t I?’

“You do,” she chuckles, tapping her chopsticks against her bowl rhythmically. 

“Okay. Then, I think, to start off – there’s something I’ve known for a while. That nobody else knows. But it’s kind of taking over my life, besides all the other stuff.”

She raises a puffy eyebrow. “Well?”

“Not that it’s why I’m skipping class, but I need to tell someone. I think… I have a thing for Kacchan.”

At that moment, she very nearly chokes and dies. When she recovers from her hacking fit, she leans over the table, palms pressed against it sweatily. “What kind of thing?”

“A thing,” Izuku repeats, quieter, gulping.

“That kind of thing?”

“Yeah.”

“But —”

“Ahhp!” Izuku raises a finger to her lips. “Don’t. Pleaaase don’t.”

“Okay,” she backs down, but a moment later, perks up again. “Okay, but he literally–”

“Uraraka.”

“Okay, okay, sorry! But it’s all so… huh…”

“I know, I know. You think it’s weird. I knew it.”

Uraraka shakes her head right away, chuckling nervously. “No, no – I don’t think it’s – … well.” She sinks in her seat a bit. “Well, yes. It’s kind of weird. Just a little. Maybe more than a little.”

“I figured. It’s okay. I don’t really expect people to understand.”

She prods. “People? Who else have you told?”

“No one else,” Izuku says. “But I get the feeling that All Might knows. He’s never said it directly, but whenever he mentions Kacchan around me, I feel like he just… knows.”

Uraraka hums to herself and nods. “I wouldn’t be surprised. He knows you better than most of us. Knows all your tells. I don’t think anyone else could figure it out – except, well, Bakugou himself.”

Izuku bites the inside of his cheek. “You think so? You think he knows?”

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

“But he hasn’t said anything. Even though I said some pretty corny stuff to him yesterday.”

She blinks, mouth open.

“Don’t,” Izuku pleads.

She rolls her eyes, and starts, “Anyway, I feel like he wouldn’t say anything even if he knew. He’d just wait around until something magically happened. That’s how I picture him when it comes to relationships.” She snorts, finding the image of him she’s created rather amusing.

“Maybe you’re right,” Izuku murmurs. “He’s not exactly a go-getter unless it has to do with him being the best at something.”

She grins. “Think he’s the best at romance?”

Izuku scrunches his nose. “I think he’s the worst at it, actually.”

“You heard it here, folks – Casanova himself disapproves of Bakugou’s game.”

On the other side of the dining hall, there is a presence.

“Oi.”

None other than fucking Kacchan himself appears, holding two mops. He offers one to Izuku with little patience.

Izuku’s eyes go wide with alarm, and he glances at Uraraka to ask just how long Kacchan’s been standing there, but she offers him a little shrug, biting her lip furiously.

When Izuku doesn’t take the mop right away, Kacchan shoves it in his arms, and Izuku haphazardly grabs onto it.

“Stop fuckin’ spacing out. I’m not doing this shit myself.”

Izuku sighs. If Kacchan hadn’t stopped Izuku to talk to him yesterday, they wouldn’t have gotten caught ditching class, and they wouldn’t be in this situation. But still – having to mop the bathroom floors with Kacchan for a week isn’t a terrible trade off, considering they actually got to have a decent conversation before it.

They do not have worthwhile conversations in the bathroom, Izuku finds out. Kacchan usually just plays music in his ears at a deafening volume as they scrub, and so long as Izuku doesn’t bother him, Kacchan doesn’t seem to mind his presence (a fact that might be open to interpretation, though). 

They talk sometimes, but it’s very cordial. It’s not as meaningful as Izuku would like, but he figures that he shouldn’t be so greedy. Meaningful conversations with Kacchan are far and few between, so he’s content that they even happen.

Today is the same. If Kacchan overheard his conversation with Uraraka, he doesn’t mention it.

—

Mina really fucking likes Brawl Stars. When Katsuki goes to her dorm to help her study, he seems to be the only active participant in said study session.

It takes Katsuki seven minutes to get her attention, and another two for him to articulate what he wants to say and how he wants to say it.

“You know a lot of people,” Katsuki says bitterly, gesturing a shoulder in her direction with reluctance.

“Why, yes, I do,” she says, the underlying question evident in her tone. 

Katsuki wants her to say more, because he doesn’t feel like carrying the conversation. But she doesn’t. Ugh. Why can’t everyone just read his mind but pretend like they can’t? Like Izuku. 

Wait. No. Fucking gross. The world doesn’t need another Izuku.

“There’s this guy I think is talkin’ shit about me,” Katsuki finally huffs.

She squints, resting her head in her palm. “Just one?”

“Die.”

Mina is unfazed. “I mean, yeah, people shit-talk you all the time, Bakugou. What about it?”

Katsuki scrunches his nose. Well, damn, bitch. Could’ve at least attempted to sugarcoat it. “I don’t care about people. Just this specific person. ‘Cause it’s mostly just lame Class B kids shit talking me, but they’re just jealous. Or it’s extras from other departments, but really, I don’t give a shit about them.”

She tilts her head. “Bakugou, get to your point.”

He scowls. “Ugh. I’m just pissed ‘cause guy’s chatting it up with, like, fucking Round Face.” He omits Izuku, because, well, he just does, fuck you. “Saying I have no game or whatever.”

Mina coughs, and Katsuki thinks she’s holding back a snicker, but she at least has the courtesy to hold it back, so he leaves it be for now. “Oh?”

“Don’t oh me, freak. Is it true or not.”

She clears her throat, obviously restraining the grin that so desperately wants to crack across her face. “Is what true?”

“...” Katsuki looks around at the table, searching, and then at Mina. “Do I not have game.”

Apparently, Mina does not take him at face value. She fails to hold her laughter in any longer, and she begins howling in her desk chair, clutching her stomach.

“I’M SERIOUS!” he snarks, clenching his fists.

“I know!” she replies between laughs, wiping a tear from her eye, “That’s why it’s funnier. I am so sorry.”

“You’re not fuckin’ sorry.”

“You’re right, I’m not.”

Katsuki waits as Mina composes himself, fuming in his seat. He swears he can feel steam blowing out of his ears.

“I don’t know, Bakugou,” Mina finally says, her words still chuckle-y. “I’ve never seen you being romantic before. So, maybe your game isn’t bad, but like… it’s just… nonexistent.”

Katsuki furrows his brows together, glaring at the wall for some sort of explanation as to what prompted Uraraka to say something like that.

Mina suddenly lights up. “Oh, right. You came ‘cause I know a lot of people, huh. You wanna know more about whoever’s been talking about you?”

Katsuki grimaces. He hates when he wants things from people. Disgusting. But, yes, he does want to know more about this person, so he nods.

“‘Kay, well, spit it out.”

Katsuki narrows his eyes. “I think the dude’s a foreigner or some shit. Round Face said Casanova.”

When Mina stares at him blankly, Katsuki isn’t sure what to make of it. Is she just thinking really hard? Must be it. Maybe she does have a brain up there.

After another moment, Mina looks like she’s going to laugh at him again. “Bakugou. Please tell me you’re serious. Please please please tell me you’re serious.”

Katsuki scowls, feeling his palms beginning to sweat. “The fuck? Yes, I’m fucking serious. Who the fuck is Casanova?”

“Oh my god. I love you, Bakugou. Please never die.” Tears threaten her alien eyes.

“What the fuck,” he hisses. “You bitch. Stop laughing.”

She continues to wheeze to the point where she coughs. And then she takes out her phone and types something, and hands it to Katsuki.

“It’s a fucking Google page,” Katsuki snarks.

“Read, O ignorant one,” urges Mina.

Fine. He reads.

Giacomo Girolamo Casanova (April 1725 – 4 June 1798) was an Italian adventurer and author from the Republic of Venice. His autobiography, Histoire de ma vie (Story of My Life), is regarded as one of the most authentic and provocative sources of information about the customs and norms of European social life during the 18th century.

He looks up at Mina after a few moments of processing, and she’s looking at him like he’s going to laugh, too.

”He’s the most romantic man who ever lived..!” she chokes out, trying not to get hysterical.

“Bye.” Katsuki, mortified, stands up and darts out of the room in an instant. Rude, yes, but really, it’s for Mina’s own benefit. If he hadn’t left, he would have seriously blown something of hers to bits. 

He hears Mina holler behind the door he’s just slammed, followed by her crashing footsteps as she makes her way to the hall. “Bakugouuu! Wait, I’m sorry! Come back! I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing, err, for you!”

But no use. His room is across the hall from Mina’s, so he storms into it at once, and any attempts Mina makes to communicate are drowned out by Katsuki’s headphones.

Whatever. Whatever. So he didn’t know some fucking Italian guy from the third century. So what. So fucking what. 

He should have just looked up the name himself, but how was he supposed to know fucking Round Face was making a stupid reference to some dead guy instead of a real person? Yuuei has international students, okay, it does, it’s not crazy for Katsuki to have thought she was talking about a student. It’s not stupid. Katsuki is not stupid. Katsuki is educated and well-read and nowhere near as stupid as Raccoon Eyes. Or Round Face, for that matter. 

Yeah, Uraraka, you try remembering all of All Might’s key battles. If you knew more about heroes than you did ancient geezers, maybe you’d be less of a lousy hero. Yeah, you fucking bitch, a lousy one, a real lousy one, just like Mina, just like Kaminari, just like all of them.

“...kugou.”

Katsuki freezes. He yanks his headphones down to his neck at once and whips his head around.

“Bakugou,” the voice repeats, quiet now that he’s gotten Katsuki’s attention.

In his now-open doorframe are Kirishima and Mina, Kirishima leaning against the side of it with his arms crossed, Mina just slightly further away.

Kirishima’s expression is – stony. Even when his quirk is in use, his face doesn’t look like – like that.

Mina speaks first. “I’m sorry, Bakugou,” Mina says. “I didn’t know you’d take me so seriously.” 

The catch in her throat alarms Katsuki. He opens his mouth, but her shoulders are squared and turned away before he can speak, and she’s back to her side of the hall in a flash. The resounding slam of her door reverberates in the ground beneath Katsuki’s feet.

The silence is interrupted. “You really think those things?” 

Katsuki shifts his focus onto Kirishima, squinting. “Hah?”

“That our friends are lousy heroes,” Kirishima says flatly, and he doesn’t say it with hesitation, like Katsuki has room to deny it. And, fuck, Katsuki’s never seen this guy so pissed at anyone but a villain before.

Katsuki blinks. “What.”

“That’s not an answer,” Kirishima mutters. “It’s not a difficult question, bro.”

Oh. 

Katsuki had spoken aloud. 

Fucking hell.

Before Katsuki can explain himself, Kirishima continues. “Just like all of them. That’s what you said. That includes me, doesn’t it? We’re all just shit under your boots? That’s what it is?”

“No,” Katsuki hisses immediately, and he furiously grabs Kirishima’s shoulder in lieu of using his words – something he always, always scolds himself about. Something he thinks he’s making progress with. Correction: thought. “No.”

Kirishima’s quirk activates right away, but more as an instinctual defense mechanism than anything. “No? I just heard you.” Kirishima is not convinced by Katsuki’s denial in the slightest.

“I was mad,” he spits – his go-to excuse. 

“You’re always mad. But you don’t say shit like that.”

“I’m not always mad, Kirishima,” he grits out, “and if you think that, you obviously don’t fucking know me.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Kirishima suddenly pulls himself away from the grasp on his shoulder, and Katsuki watches the hard ridges beneath his sleeve smooth out. “Guess I don’t. I thought you were growing up, Bakugou.”

“What the fuck I’m older than you, you –”

“Not the point,” Kirishima stabs, and there’s a laugh bubbling in his throat, but it’s so strained, as though he’s a breath away from breaking down. “If you don’t consider us equals, Bakugou, maybe – ” his voice trembles, “ – maybe you should find friends you do.”

Katsuki sucks in a breath. “I didn’t mean what I fucking said, Kirishima. Don’t be an idiot.”

“Bye, Bakugou.”

And he’s out the door.

Katsuki stares at the spot where Kirishima stood. 

His hands burn. He feels every groove in his hand seeping smoke, rising in the air, infiltrating his flaring nostrils, his room is too hot, his head is too stuffed with cotton, his vision is too blurry, the shrill ringing in his ears is too LOUD.

The voice.

You hurt them. You always hurt everyone you care about. Why do you do that, Katsuki? Why won’t you change? Why won’t you GROW UP. I thought you were growing up, Bakugou. I thought we could have normal conversations, Bakugou. You don’t think we’re equals, Bakugou? Why is that, Bakugou? Who are you, anyway? Who the hell are you you shouldn’t even be ALIVE you’re supposed to be dead dead dead. If you were dead Edgeshot wouldn’t be the way he is and he’d still be a hero and you’d be dead and the world would still have him and you would be dead and you would no longer hurt them so. 

But the world doesn’t have him. It has you. You call yourself a hero, but you never seem to be able to keep the people you love. What kind of hero are you, Bakugou? What even are you? Why are you here, really? You think you belong here? You think they’re rooting for you, when you’ve given them every reason not to? You don’t belong here. It’s a fluke. It’s a mistake. A miscalculation. Why do you think the League targeted you? Why you and nobody else? You don’t belong here Bakugou you never did belong here you never did rightly so you should be dead you should be beneath the ground you are disgusting and cruel and pathetic and they are all laughing at you in their hearts at your foolishness. Izuku doesn’t need you anymore and he never will.

Something in him snaps. 

“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up shut the fuck up shut up shut up SHUT UP.”  

His screams bounce off of nothing at all. 

He blinks, and he realizes the searing heat around him is not just in his mind. His whole room is smoked to a crisp. Everything is black and charred and covered in soot and –

The magazine. The magazine from — from - from him.

Katsuki dashes towards his nightstand, sweat dripping furiously down his brow and onto his lips. His hands tingle with aftershock as he gingerly pulls the drawer open, and the knob is searing hot, but the burns on his palm are for future him to worry about. Not now.

He almost doesn’t want to look. 

But when he sees that familiar, too-white smile on the front cover, Katsuki lets out a puff of relief. The edges of the magazine are singed, but the pictures and words are intact. He hasn’t ruined the gift. At least, not yet.

Katsuki looks around his room with irritation. The scent of smoke wafts through the air, and he wonders if the others on his floor have taken notice. Maybe they have, and they just know not to bother intervening. The only person who always thought to intervene was. Well. Kirishima. And obviously, he won’t be doing that right now. Good.

Despite the fact that Katsuki is clad in light sweatpants and a hoodie, he grabs the magazine and heads downstairs. 

It’s the evening, and most of his classmates are in their dorms or out studying. The few who aren’t give him semi-curious glances. Maybe they notice the sooted ends of his hair, or the way he reeks of bananas – the odor produced by nitroglycerin – but they leave him to his own devices. 

Except for one person.

As Katsuki makes his way down the last flight of stairs and turns his heels towards the commons, he sees Shinsou lounging on the floor. Literally lying on the fucking floor, staring at the ceiling.

Freak, Katsuki thinks, and nothing more.

But when he’s at the front door, putting on his slippers, the fuckin’ newbie has the nerve to holler at him.

“Are you going out like that? In this weather?”

Katsuki’s eye twitches, and if he hadn’t already let out his pent-up anger seven minutes ago, he would’ve been far less civil towards Shinsou.

Katsuki doesn’t even turn around to face Shinsou. “Yeah,” he says gruffly, hoping it kills the conversation at once. 

Shinsou doesn’t fucking back off. “You’re gonna get sick. Weren’t you sick not that long ago? This time of year is –”

“I know that,” Katsuki hisses, whipping his head around. “Ya fuckin’ joined the hero department a year late ‘cause of yer dumbass quirk. Think you know better than me?”

When the words leave his mouth, Katsuki immediately regrets them. He’s not sure if they’ll actually offend Shinsou or not. 

Fortunately, the boy in question appears unfazed. He rises to his feet, and Katsuki has no shame looking him up and down with judgement as he does so.

Shinsou tilts his head, his stare more bags than eyes. “I may have joined the hero department a year late, Bakugou, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t start experiencing the weather a year late. Put on a jacket, at least. You can’t make up finals if you miss them.”

“I don’t care,” Katsuki mutters, and he’s not sure where the words come from, because he’s pretty sure he does care about finals, just maybe not at this particular moment. 

The other boy is not convinced. His eyebrows are terribly bushy, Katsuki observes, and they furrow against each other like two angry pendulums. “They won’t take care of you if you get sick this time, you know,” Shinsou finally says.

And now Katsuki wants to die. Well, he wants to kill Shinsou first, and then die. How does Shinsou even know about the argument with Kirishima?

To be fair, word spreads fast around their class, but still. Not that fast. Though, it wouldn’t be crazy to assume Shinsou had come to his own conclusions after hearing Katsuki screaming. And for that, Katsuki wants him dead.

But – “I know,” he snarks, hating the resignation in his voice.

Katsuki kicks off his slippers, grumbling with annoyance, and only now does Shinsou walk up to him. He’s looking at the magazine tucked in Katsuki’s arm.

“What’s that?” Shinsou gestures towards it, and Katsuki just hates the fact that this freakazoid is taller than him, ‘cause it makes Katsuki feel less intimidating. 

Katsuki shoots him a glare, and chooses to ignore him. He will not go outside, but he certainly will not hang around Shinsou. But he can’t go to his own room, either. Not in its current state. He’ll have to do something about that, but he really doesn’t want to tell Aizawa right now. It can wait.

It’s like Shinsou reads his mind. “You could stay in Midoriya’s room,” he suggests with a shrug, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

“I would rather die.”

“Okay,” Shinsou scoffs. “Then die.”

And Shinsou leaves him be, turning and heading up the stairs to the fifth floor, presumably.

Katsuki flops onto the couch in defeat, and for some odd reason, his ribs tingles with sharp pain. 

Had he imagined it? His injuries had mostly healed months ago. Besides the scar on his face, which Katsuki did most everything to ignore the existence of, Katsuki hadn’t felt the effects of his, well, death, in a long time. 

He’s prone to soreness constantly, sure, but – he knows what this feels like. It feels like… like that time.

“The only thing about you that catches my interest is how you’re closer to Izuku Midoriya than anyone else.”

Katsuki stands up and tries not to vomit.

He can’t think about this. He cannot think about him. About that. Not when he’s repressed it for so long. He’ll shatter into a million pieces and die if he tries to think about it. 

He realizes Shinso’s suggestion hadn’t been so awful. Upon reflection, Katsuki really would not rather die than go to Izuku’s room. So he dashes for the stairs.

—

Izuku’s on his way back to Heights Alliance from a training session with All Might – when he receives a text.

Sero

7:06 P.M.

yo

do NOT and i repeat do NOT go to the 4th floor

ik ur on the 2nd floor so u probably wouldn’t but

for ur own well-being bro 

Izuku scrunches his nose. Fourth floor? That’s Kacchan, Uraraka, Ashido, Kirishima, and Shoji. What could that mean?

Sero

7:07 P.M.

is something wrong?

7:08 P.M.

ye

Bakugou

nuff said

bro i’m in todoroki’s room and bakugou’s below us and he’s either recording his new death metal album or having a mental breakdown

my bet’s on the album

7:09 P.M.

should i check on him?

7:09 P.M.

u fr?

what if he takes his anger out on u

i think he wants to be alone

7:09 P.M.

that worries me sero

7:10 P.M.

nah he’ll be fine

he’s come back from the dead i think he’s a big boy now

Izuku shuts off his phone and pockets it. He’s not sure why, but he’s thoroughly annoyed now, glowering and gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

But he’s found that, unfortunately, it’s best to leave Kacchan alone in this type of situation. He doesn’t react well to concern, no matter how many times he’s told it has nothing to do with him being lesser in some way. 

So upon his arrival back to the dorms twenty minutes later, with great reluctance, Izuku decides not to trudge up to the fourth floor, despite every bone in his body urging him to. It’s too fresh. There is nothing in the world Izuku wants more than to talk it out with Kacchan, even comfort him (a forbidden verb around the guy, usually), but Izuku knows better. 

He shakes the snow off his jacket as best he can, and enters. 

The dormitory is awfully quiet. It’s been like that the closer finals approach. 

Finals. Tomorrow. Well, the written ones. This isn’t a good time for Izuku to worry about Kacchan. Really, he should be focused on his own grades. He still needs to cram in some studying, considering how much school he’s missed.

He heads up the stairs, and –

And. His door is shut. But it’s not shut the way Izuku shuts it. Izuku never shuts it all the way. There’s always the slightest fraction of it cracked open, a habit he’d developed when he had a job, so he could sneak out when he needed to without the door creaking.

But it’s completely shut. And he knows that it couldn’t have been his own doing. So someone is there. And for some reason he cannot fathom, Izuku simply knows who the intruder is before he lays eyes upon them.

Izuku turns the knob ever so carefully, and he peers inside. The lights are off. He flips them on, and recognizes the very not-floor-shaped individual crumpled on his floor.

“Kacchan,” he murmurs. No response. Strange. Izuku frowns, eyes scanning Kacchan’s body up and down for sign of any injury. His back is to Izuku. From what Izuku can tell, the ends of his hair are singed, his hands are sooty and bruised, but he’s breathing, which eliminates Izuku’s utmost fear. He cannot bear to ever think about That Time.

Izuku shuffles forward and crouches down in front of Kacchan. His red eyes are open a fraction, and he’s certainly conscious. The Bakugou Katsuki, lying on his side, nonverbal, on Izuku’s floor, looking like he’s just seen a ghost.

Okay, then. There’s a first time for everything.

Izuku sighs. He’s not sure what to do. He thinks about the time he was at Kacchan’s house, and Kacchan let him lay his head on his lap, and it’d made him feel less like a waste of space. So he sits beside him, legs straight in front of him.

He reaches out a hand with utmost caution, as though he’ll scare Kacchan away. When Kacchan doesn’t react with more than a weighted glance, Izuku takes it as silent consent. He places a calloused hand atop Kacchan’s hair, and begins to card his fingers through it.

Izuku watches Kacchan’s shoulders stiffen, and he pauses, his voice a quiet whisper. “Do you want me to stop?”

Kacchan doesn’t respond, but his shoulders loosen up, and he doesn’t make any noise. Izuku continues, and soon, he gently lifts Kacchan’s head up and lays it on his lap, and Izuku tenderly brushes off the soot in his blond hair. 

They stay like that. The silence lingers for a while, until Izuku hears faint pops resounding from beneath him. 

Kacchan is crying. The last time Kacchan cried in front of him, he had been yelling loud enough to cover up the sound. But this time, he is quiet, and Izuku listens as the nitroglycerin rolls down his cheeks in lieu of regular tears. They patter down his pale face and make little sizzling noises with every pop. Izuku imagines every tear Kacchan sheds brings him physical pain. 

That fact makes Izuku want to cry, too. 

“Kacchan,” Izuku says in the quiet. He brushes a tear off Kacchan’s cheek, ignoring the sting as it pops! against his thumb.

“Don’t touch it,” Kacchan mutters, shoving Izuku’s hand away. And he wants to sound angry, but he sounds more sad than anything. 

“What happened?” Izuku asks, ignoring his request.

“Nothing.”

“Kacchan,” he repeats, pleading.

“It was my fault,” he spits, as though it pains him to admit so.

Izuku frowns, but he understands. He wipes another tear from Kacchan’s face. “I see.”

Kacchan shifts onto his back, so that he can look up at Izuku from his spot against his legs. “You weren’t here.”

A wave of guilt ripples through him. “I was with All Might. I’m sorry.”

Kacchan blinks slowly, and then turns back onto his side. “It’s whatever.”

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Izuku says, “but it might help to talk about it. Maybe I can give you advice.”

Kacchan looks like he’s considering the suggestion. He sits up. “I didn’t know who Casanova was until today.”

Izuku’s face remains blank. “...I’m not following, Kacchan.”

Kacchan scratches his jaw sheepishly, sitting criss-cross. “I thought he was a student here. And fuckin’ Mina made fun of me for not knowing who he was. And I felt like an idiot. And I got mad. I said some stuff I didn’t mean. And I wrecked my room.”

Ah. That’s why he’s here. He had nowhere else to go.

Izuku tilts his head with concern. “She made fun of you?”

He opens his mouth, and then closes it, rehashing what he wants to say. “No. I was… overreacting.” 

“Nothing new,” Izuku says with a snort.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you,” Kacchan scoffs, but it’s not a real threat. “I just felt weird. I don’t know. The way she laughed made me mad. Like I was a real moron.”

Like you felt lesser, Izuku thinks, knowing it’s how Kacchan feels, even if he will never say so. “So you got mad at her?”

“...Not to her face.”

“How, then?”

“Dunno. Kirishima heard me fuckin’ talking to myself or something. I called her a lousy hero, and said everyone else is one too. They both got pissed off, or whatever.”

Izuku raises an eyebrow, trying not to chuckle. “Talking to yourself?”

“Your influence, obviously, you freak,” Kacchan snarks. 

“Of course.”

“Well. That’s it. Fuckin’ happy?”

“I’m not happy about that, Kacchan!” Izuku protests. “Why would I be happy about that? Would you be happy if I had a falling out with Uraraka and Iida?”

Izuku expects an immediate response, but Kacchan puts a finger to his chin, pondering. “Good question.”

“Kacchan.”

“I’m fuckin’ with ya, stupid nerd. ‘Course I’d be pissed. ‘Cause why the hell would they fall out with you, anyway? It’d be their loss.”

Izuku pouts. “Hey. It could be my loss, too.”

Kacchan looks him up and down, and concludes, “No, not really.” He huffs, cracking his neck as he flexes his shoulders. “What were you and Round Face talkin’ about anyway?”

“Huh?” 

“Casanova. She said that Casanova himself thinks I have no game. The hell is that s’posed to mean?” 

A dangerous shade of red creeps onto Izuku’s face. “Oh. That.”

Kacchan scowls. “Why’re you fuckin’ overheating. Who the hell was she referring to.”

Izuku considers possible answer choices, but decides he cannot find it in himself to lie. Curse you, Uraraka. “To me,” he gurgles out.

“Hah? You’re the most romantic man who ever lived?”

“No! It was sarcasm.”

His eyes thin into red slits. “‘Kay. Sure. But why do you think I have no game.”

“Ahaaaa, did I say that?”

“Don’t even dare, shit-face. Tell me.” He’s dead serious now. It’s hard to believe he’d been crying on Izuku mere minutes before.

“Well, ‘cause you – you don’t. I mean, as far as I know, you’ve never asked anyone out, or even tried getting someone’s attention.”

Kacchan stares holes into his skull.

Izuku winces meekly. “What? Am I wrong?”

“You think I haven’t tried getting anyone’s attention,” Kacchan breathes out, and his glare never leaves Izuku, eyes blown wide. It’s uncomfortable. Izuku tries his very best to maintain eye contact, lest he look like an idiot in front of Kacchan for the ten millionth time. 

“Like, not anyone in particular,” Izuku manages. 

Kacchan’s eye twitches. “I hate you, you know that? I really hate you.”

Izuku knows he doesn’t mean it, but still, he can’t understand why Kacchan’s declaring his undying hatred for him right now. 

“Okay…?” 

Kacchan rises to his feet, and gestures lazily to Izuku’s desk. “Your magazine. Have it back. I read it. Can’t keep it in my room.”

Izuku stands, and sees the magazine. It’s sort of burned at the corners, but otherwise, it’s intact. “It’s a gift. You’re not supposed to give it back.”

Kacchan decidedly ignores Izuku. “Oh, and – don’t tell anyone about… whatever this was.”

“I mean, yeah, obviously.” He gaze lingers upon Kacchan’s face, questioning. “...Where are you gonna sleep?”

Kacchan gives him a cold once-over, and then turns away, ignoring the question and making his way out.

“Wait,” Izuku blurts, desperately trying to salvage the conversation, for he just doesn’t want to let this end. 

Kacchan stops, but doesn’t turn. “What.”

“I never said thank you. For talking to All Might about my mom’s situation.”

But Kacchan doesn’t say anything. He walks out and shuts the door. 

Okay. Kacchan has officially lost his Crying on Izuku’s Floor privileges.

Chapter Text

Katsuki sleeps on the couch.

His bed is ruined. All of his clothing smells like fire. It is four in the morning and he has finals – or, well, midterms, but whatever – in three hours, and he wants to die. 

He’ll do… fine, he’s sure. But not stellar. Not the way he wants to. Not the way he’s supposed to.

Though, what does it matter? It’s not like future hero agencies are going to care more about how he ranked on his midterms than his field experience. And he has more fucking field experience than his brain can process. So it’s fine.

He shoots up from his position on the couch. No. No. It’s not fine. Absolutely fucking not. He’s going to rank in the top fucking three, at least. Why the hell wouldn’t he? And risk being publicly embarrassed? He can’t be anything but excellent. 

Three hours is a lot of time. He can work with this.

Then, he realizes his notes are burnt to a crisp. That. Might be problematic.

—

Izuku’s door is open the slightest fraction. As it always is. Katsuki sees the faintest of light spill through the crack. 

He pushes the door open, and it feels wrong to do it so gently, but he really, really doesn’t want anyone else to stumble upon him.

Izuku is at his desk, and he turns his head at once, eyes widening. He quickly lowers his headphones to rest comfortably around his neck just as Katsuki shuts the door.

“Hey,” Izuku murmurs, and there’s a question there. 

“My notes are gone.”

He gazes at Katsuki with too-tired eyes, like the words delay to register in his mind. Katsuki hears J-rock crooning softly out of Izuku’s headphones. His music taste hasn’t changed, he thinks, though he swallows the thought before he starts thinking about the past too hard and before the panic can float to his head.

Izuku blinks sluggishly, shaking out his shoulders. “Which subject…?”

The Izuku in front of him is exhausted. An eternity ago, Izuku was similarly exhausted, but they were at Katsuki’s house, and neither of them actually knew what it was to be exhausted, and everything was simpler. Izuku didn’t want to sleep because All Might was on the news, and he wanted to see everything, school night be damned. 

Katsuki had sworn under his breath (well, whatever a five year old constituted as swearing), and angrily negotiated with the twerp to get him to sleep. Obviously, Katsuki stayed up to watch it himself, but he was three months older, so it made perfect sense why he wasn’t falling asleep as easily.

(It definitely had nothing to do with the fact that Izuku was slumped against his shoulder, and he had to keep an eye on him. Not at all.)

“Everything,” Katsuki mutters, still standing. “I don’t know anything.”

“Liar,” Izuku muses, and his quiet laugh is dandelion pappi wafting through the air, as if Katsuki’s just wished upon him in a prairie.

Katsuki steps closer to Izuku’s desk, leaning over to see what he’s working on. “You obviously don’t got yer shit together, either.”

“Yeah. I don’t.” 

All that cutting class, Katsuki wants to say, but he doesn’t, because it doesn’t need to be said. “Physics.”

“I can do that.” Izuku shuffles through his pile of notebooks, and throws a purple one to Katsuki. “Notes for the entire semester.”

He catches it with ease. “Nerd.” 

Izuku offers him a small grin. “A useful nerd.”

Katsuki scoffs, refusing the smile locked inside of him to appear. “Yeah. That, at least.”

Only when he’s facing the small of Izuku’s back does Katsuki smile in return. 

“You’re welcome,” Katsuki mumbles, “for telling All Might.” But the words shudder through the air and fail to land in Izuku’s ears.

—

They work in silence until the sun begins to rise. Katsuki goes downstairs before everyone wakes up, back to his perch on the couch, before anyone can notice a thing. As the sun gently slants upwards, footsteps resound like thunder as their class begins to wake up. 

Kaminari is the first one down, oddly enough. And he’s panicked.

“Bakugou!” He rushes up to Katsuki and has the nerve to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, amber eyes wide and alarmed.

Katsuki shrugs his hands away at once. “Fucking get off!” 

Kaminari complies, and his hands are shaking, and he looks two seconds away from running into helpless circles like a dog chasing its own tail. “Bakugou. Bakugou. It’s over. It’s so over, bro. I’m cooked.”

Katsuki sits up, tousling his own hair a bit so it looks like he’s just woken up. “Didn’t you study with Ponytail? You’ll be fine, shit-head.”

“Being in Momo’s presence doesn’t mean I absorbed her knowledge, man!”

Jirou strolls in next, arms crossed. “How much time have you spent panicking versus actually studying, Kaminari?”

“Leave me alone,” he groans, and he collapses against Katsuki’s legs. “I just might die today.”

Katsuki snarls, and proceeds to push him off. “Shut up.”

Kaminari falls to the ground on his back, and simply wallows, staring at the ceiling.

Annoying. Katsuki grits his teeth, looking down at Kaminari in huffy exasperation. “You’re not gonna fucking die. We used to go to war.”

Kaminari looks at Katsuki, and he lights up. He jumps to his feet all at once, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re right! I need to stop freaking out. Who cares about some dumb test?”

“What? It ain’t dumb either, fuckface,” Katsuki hisses, but the words fly over Kaminari’s head.

No longer terrified, Kaminari skips away, content. He doesn’t actually skip, but that’s what he looks like to Katsuki. 

Jirou steals a glance at Katsuki, and offers him a thumbs-up and a little smile. Katsuki doesn’t react. He hasn’t done anything special to warrant a positive fucking gesture. She understands, and she walks away.

It’s then that Katsuki realizes Kaminari is either a really good actor, he simply doesn’t care at all what Katsuki said about him, or Kirishima and Mina haven’t told him. Haven’t told him yet? Katsuki’s not sure. He doesn’t know if they’d tell him or not. But it’s probably that option – Kaminari doesn’t know Katsuki called him lousy. 

They won’t tell him, probably. Because they’re good. Katsuki is not good. As much as he’d like to feel good for helping Kaminari de-stress just now, it doesn’t cancel out what he said yesterday. He knows he has to apologize. But every time he has to apologize for things it makes his stomach churn and his lungs collapse and his kidneys fail. It makes his brain hot and furious and petrified. 

After the tests. He will. He thinks. He thinks he will. If he can find the words.

But he isn’t good with words. Words are shallow. Something else. There must be something else. He’ll figure it out. For now, he just has to avoid eye contact with the two of them.

Oh, and he probably has to tell Aizawa what happened, so he can actually get his fucking room fixed. He can’t wait for that conversation.

—

Midterms go smoothly. Katsuki finishes each exam with time to double check his answers, which he doesn’t do, because he doesn’t like overthinking things. Unlike a certain someone. Katsuki hears Izuku behind him finishing early, and then proceeding to panickedly triple-check his answers until time is called. 

Katsuki attributes panic to Izuku because he can hear the way his pencil frantically flies across pages, the way his scarred hands rapidly flip through his test booklet. Like a panicked fucking deer. 

Katsuki’s ears merely pick up on all that by chance. Nothing else. No way Katsuki would pay attention to the fucking dork in the middle of an exam. Seriously.

Regardless. 

“I think you’re a pineapple,” Izuku says to him as everyone spills out of the classroom, their last exam finally over.

Izuku’s isn’t often an enigma to Katsuki, but this time, Katsuki has absolutely no fucking idea where this is going. “What.”

Izuku’s eyes sweep across the classroom, watching as Katsuki’s friends tactfully remove themselves from the vicinity instead of rushing up to Bakugou, for some reason.

“I don’t know. You just are. You’re all prickly on the outside, but sweet on the inside.”

Katsuki cannot fathom what he’s hearing. “How the fuck did you come to that conclusion. Don’t piss me off.”

“I’m serious!” he insists, his voice bubbling with a flowery laugh. Revolting. Katsuki should kill him. “When I finished the Japanese test, I started thinking about metaphors for each person, and you just. You’re just a pineapple. Your hair really ties it all in.”

“I don’t care what you think I am,” he scoffs, pretending he isn’t insanely giddy at the thought of Izuku thinking about him, even if he was thinking about everyone else, so it isn’t like Katsuki’s special or something. “I think you’re a piece of shit. Gross on the outside, and even grosser on the inside.”

Izuku cringes, smile faltering. “You’re awful sometimes.” He says this, but still, it’s a bit odd that Izuku has the guts to say what he thinks so easily now. That’s a good thing, probably. 

“Yeah, yeah. Gonna fucking write down the pineapple metaphor in your notebook about me?”

Izuku appears momentarily affected by the mention of said notebooks. But he straightens out and, with resolution, “Bit presumptuous to assume I have one just for you, Kacchan. What if I only have one page? One paragraph?”

Katsuki bristles. “Then you wouldn’t be you.” He’s so confident that if Izuku doesn’t have a notebook dedicated to him, Katsuki’s going to be so embarrassed he’ll have to hire someone to assassinate the fucking dork. 

Izuku smiles with all his stupid teeth, green eyes crinkling. “Pfft. What do you know about me?” 

The question is so obviously a trap, so obviously a cry for acknowledgement, for Katsuki to acknowledge their closeness, but Katsuki cannot help himself. “Too much,” he snorts, and prays to the heavens above that Izuku doesn’t register the ghost of a smile flickering upon his face.

“Agreed.” Izuku’s grin only grows, and Katsuki wonders if Izuku’s cheeks hurt from all his compulsory smiling. “I have three notebooks about you, actually,” he admits.

Katsuki’s steps are in line with Izuku’s as they stroll through the hallway. He has no idea where they’re going. He’s following Izuku, he thinks. Or maybe Izuku’s following him. He doesn’t know.

“Three,” Katsuki breathes out, because it’s something to be marveled at. “You fucking stalker. You freak.”

“Hey! I’ve known you forever, okay? It’s not weird.” Izuku’s face is steaming, the red of his cheeks and the green of his hair making him look like a shitty Christmas tree. “It’s not that weird,” he repeats, voice teetering sheepishly.

“Uh-huh. And I like taking pictures of you when you’re asleep.”

Izuku stammers like a fool. “Y – You do?

“Fuck no, idiot! But that’s what you sound like!”

“That’s hardly the same thing!” They’re in the hallway now, and Katsuki’s beside Izuku as they walk. Katsuki’s not actually sure where they’re going. He doesn’t have anywhere to be, so whatever.

“It’s on the same fuckin’ spectrum of things,” Katsuki retorts. 

Izuku stops all of a sudden, because there literally isn’t anywhere else to go.

They’re in front of All Might’s office.

Katsuki shoots Izuku a wary glare, as though to ask what the fuck they’re doing here. Katsuki doesn’t like this one bit.

“I think telling All Might you burned your room would be better than telling Aizawa-sensei,” he managed, smiling if only to ease the tension.

Katsuki scrunches his nose. “He’s gonna find out anyway.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have to hear it from you.”

“He’ll still fucking yap my ear off about it.”

“Kacchan. Just let me do the talking. It’s okay.”

It’s okay, he says. Fine. If Izuku says it’s okay, it’s probably okay. It disgusts Katsuki that he thinks that way, but no one can see inside his mind, so it’s probably fucking fine. 

Izuku continues. “But you still have to apologize to your friends, you know.” He stares at Katsuki expectantly.

It takes everything in him not to explode. “Whatever.” And Katsuki steps inside. He lets Izuku do the talking, for once. Maybe it’s okay. Maybe he can learn to live with it.

—

Winter break is brutal. Breaks are always lonely for Katsuki, because yes, he has friends, and no, he will not make an effort to go out with them every day. But he’s never been the one to make plans, and now that Kirishima and Mina, the only people who make plans in his group, are convinced he despises them, Katsuki doesn’t exactly think he’s getting invited to any birthday parties.

The train ride home is too crowded and too sweaty and too loud. People clamoring in every corner, exhausted arms holding onto the hanging straps, infants who never know when to shut up.

But despite it all, despite the way his body jerks and careens into the old geezer beside him with every stop, despite the beads of sweat trickling down his forehead, Katsuki can only think of one thing.

The woman simply can’t work.

The woman simply can’t work. The woman simply can’t work. She can’t work. She simply can’t. It’s so simple. It’s so obvious. 

His mother enunciated the sentence with such a sense of finality it had taken Katsuki back there. Black uniform, torched notebook in his hands, – before they’d been scarred by excess quirk use – and the shell of Izuku quivering before him. 

It’s too much. But he knows he has to see her. It’s not right of him to not show up for the holidays, even if his parents aren’t religious like that.

Katsuki doesn’t know why his moral compass seems to be demanding more and more of him these days. So greedy. It used to just be about not being an asshole outright, but now it’s starting to be about being a decent person at the get-go. It’s exhausting.

Katsuki’s father is sitting at the bottom of the staircase when Katsuki walks in.

He stands up, smiling crookedly as he pulls Katsuki in for a hug. “Hey, Kats. Welcome home.”

Katsuki slinks out of the hug as quickly as he can without being offensive. “Hey,” he grumbles.

“Been a while,” Masaru says quietly, that subtle edge all too present beneath his grin.

The boy shrugs one shoulder, tearing his gaze away from his father and towards the kitchen, where he faintly hears the faucet water pat-pat-pattering against the silverware.

Katsuki gestures his chin in that direction. “She here?” 

Masaru nods, looking at Katsuki like he’s the most fragile thing in the world. 

The boy scrunches his nose sourly, and begins trekking up the stairs. Masaru swiftly grabs him by the forearm, like the fucking bastard he is, and speaks all hushed. “Hey. You can’t avoid her forever, kid.”

“I can, actually,” Katsuki snorts, shaking his grip away. His dad underestimates Katsuki’s pettiness. 

“If you’re not going to reconcile, why would you come here? I’m sure you have friends you could be hanging out with over the break instead.” 

Katsuki twitches. He’s sure. Why is he so sure Katsuki has friends whose houses he can couch-surf at like a lost puppy? Why is he so sure Katsuki has friends at all? After all, the last time Katsuki had a friend over, it was his mother who had set it up.

He has Izuku. And maybe, yes, he’s a friend. But Izuku wants him to fix this. His closest friend at the moment wants him to fix shit with his mom. So fine. Fine. Katsuki can fix things or whatever the fuck and then dip. He’ll figure some shit out. 

Worst case scenario, he spends the rest of break at Yuuei. That would be fine. He could keep up with his training while everyone else fattens up on Christmas dinner or whatever the hell they do. Katsuki doesn’t discriminate – they all eat like pigs on the holidays. 

So with great reluctance, and a dramatic eye rolling sequence, he trudges down the stairs and into the kitchen, where his mother leans against the counter, waiting. 

She looks him up and down with those awful, cunning eyes, so much like his own, and then crosses her arms. “About time.”

Katsuki makes a nasty face, but doesn’t say anything. He places his backpack beside a chair and walks up to the sink, beginning to scrub the leftover dishes.

In his peripheral vision, he sees her raising an eyebrow, and then she scoffs softly. He expects a slap, a punch, and he readies himself for the impact.

But it never comes. She runs a cold hand through his hair, massaging his scalp soothingly instead. And although she doesn’t say anything, he thinks they’re okay. He thinks she means to say she missed him, and when Katsuki doesn’t push her hand away, he means to say he missed her too. 

Maybe Katsuki’s break won’t be total hell.

—

Izuku’s break isn’t total hell, but it is potentially hell-adjacent. In the lower depths of Purgatory, if you care.

The instant he steps off the train, his mother is strangling him in a bear hug, blubbering at him angrily with tears streaming down her face. 

She’s lost weight, Izuku notices. And though his mother had gained the weight in the first place from the stress of Izuku being quirkless, and she’s always wished she could lose it, he has the uncomfortable feeling her weight loss isn’t the result of anything healthy.

“I missed you so much, baby,” she sobs into his shoulder, and at last, she allows him to pull away. “Everyday.”

“I missed you too,” Izuku says sweetly, and they begin to walk through the bustling streets of his province. “How’re the kids at work?”

“Nevermind them,” she chuckles, which isn’t like her at all! She always gushes about those kids. She takes off her scarf and wraps it around Izuku’s neck. “I can’t believe you aren’t bundled up. You’ll be the death of me one of these days.”

He feels sheepish. “Sorry, Mom. The train wasn't cold, so I kept it in my bag.”

Inko accepts the answer for what it is, and finds a new issue to pursue. “Speaking of trains. Why didn’t you come yesterday? Mitsuki told me her son got home yesterday. Is everything okay? Did your teacher make you do extra work? Was there trouble with your finals? It’s okay if there was. It’s only natural considering your family situation, and how much you’ve been helping me. Does your teacher know about that? Do you want me to talk to him for you?”

Izuku staggers as his mother hooks his arm into his. Does he ever sound like that? Speaking a mile a minute? Hopefully not.

“Everything’s fine, Mom. I was helping the kids who are staying for the holidays decorate the dorms.”

“You didn’t need to do that,” Inko chided sadly. “Those kids should spend time with their families, anyway.”

Not everyone wants to, Izuku bites back. He’s very privileged to have the home that he has. Other people are not as lucky. But his mom might not understand that, because she’d think it would mean there’s a possibility he could one day not come home too, and that would scare her. So he shrugs it off.

“Anyway,” he shifts the topic of conversation, dirty snow crunching beneath his boots as they walk to their apartment complex. “How have you been?”

“Oh, I’m just fine,” she replies automatically, and Izuku resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“Mom.”

“It’s no big deal, Izuku. You deserve a break. That means a mental break, too. You should be having fun with your friends and going Christmas shopping and, and –” She pauses, glancing at Izuku. “And not worrying about your old mom. I’m really fine.”

Izuku doesn’t want to accept her word at face value. “Is the money from All Might enough? I can–”

“Izuku.” She grabs his hand gently, squeezing it. “It’s more than your father ever made. It’s enough.”

“Fine,” Izuku concedes, his debt to All Might skyrocketing, somehow not already at its maximum capacity. “You could move, then, you know. Get a nicer place.”

“No.” Immediate response. She pulls her hand away. “I couldn’t possibly.”

He wants to ask her why, but he decides against it when he sees the stony look on her face. “Okay, Mom. Do whatever you want. It’s okay.”

She says nothing the rest of the walk home. And nothing when they get home. There is no Christmas tree. There is no dinner simmering on the stove. There are empty bottles strewn across the living room, dirt collecting on the windowsills, coffee stains left uncleaned on the kitchen floor.

Izuku doesn’t mention it, and it evidently does not bother Inko. 

“Did you want to eat out?” he asks her cautiously. She rarely liked outside food, especially not fast food. 

“Oh, I already ate,” she says hollowly, melting into the couch and picking up a suspicious bottle of… something. “You should go have dinner with your friends, Izuku.”

Something is wrong.

There’s no way his mother already ate. Izuku knows this in his gut, and he knows it surely when he opens the fridge and finds nothing, and looks in the trashcan and finds nothing, and looks in the dishwasher and finds every single dish dirty, but the filth is so crusted and old that he knows she didn’t just now put them in the dishwasher. Something is wrong. It’s not new for his mother to brush off Izuku’s worry, but her lying to him is unheard of. 

He takes a look back at her, her pupils beginning to dilate as she stares at the ceiling fan mindlessly. He wants to reach out to her, to console her, and he steps forward to do just that, but her words resound in his head. 

You deserve a break.

Maybe she’s wrong. She probably is wrong. Izuku doesn’t deserve anything of the sort. But for a little bit, maybe she can be right. Maybe it’s okay if he goes out with his friends, even if he doesn’t deserve it at all.

So he does just that. He makes a few calls, and he’s out the door, his mother all too quickly forgotten the moment he’s surrounded by white bliss and unkind gusts of wind. 

His mother is safe and sound inside their apartment. At least, she will not freeze.

Chapter Text

Katsuki nearly vomits when he sees Izuku.

Yaoyorozou waxes poetic about a science experiment to Jirou and Kaminari when Izuku walks into the bowling alley. Katsuki hears the door swoosh open, but he doesn't look, because he has no inclination to fucking care, hello? He needs Yaoyorozu to hurry the fuck up so he can ask her to be his partner in duos so he can fucking win. He’s never seen her bowl, but she’s good at everything she touches, so he’ll take his chances.

“Deku! I’m so glad you could make it!”

Nausea roars in Katsuki’s gut. His eyes snap over to the entrance, where Uraraka leads Izuku inside, stupid fucking smile on her face with her stupid fucking hand on his ugly coated arm and holy fuck has her voice always been so fucking annoying? 

No, no, it hasn’t. Katsuki needs to get a fucking grip. Green isn’t his color.

He can’t hear Izuku’s response over the stupid noise Kaminari decides to make at that exact moment. But he discreetly observes Izuku, and he knows something is wrong in an instant. Katsuki’s not good with people, but Izuku’s a fuckin’ picture book. Katsuki’s good with Izuku.

He’s smiling back at Uraraka, but it’s so wrong, his jacket is wrong, his shoes are wrong, his hair is wrong, his face is wrong. His skin is the wrong color and his eyes dart in the wrong directions and his lips quirk in the wrong way. They’re supposed to quirk up and make his eyes all crinkly and gross. But he’s forcing them up, his eyes are hollow and sad, and he looks like he’s on the verge of death. 

Okay, dramatic. Whatever. 

Yaoyorozu stops talking, and she smiles pleasantly at Katsuki. “Oh, Bakugou, what was that about being partners?”

Katsuki glares at her. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Her brows furrow mournfully. “I know. But I’m already Jirou’s partner. Next time?”

Katsuki shoots Jirou a nasty look. She knows damn well he hasn’t been standing here for the past seven minutes because he thinks Yaoyorozu nerding out is cute. The freak smirks, shrugging one bony shoulder, and she’s very fucking lucky Katsuki doesn’t hate her that much.

“I thought you were gonna be my partner, dude!” Kaminari protests.

Katsuki can’t listen to Kaminari whining right now. He exhales and walks away, hands shoved in his pockets. Okay, fine. Ponytail’s taken. He normally would just ask Kirishima, but they’re still… not on the best terms. Kirishima cowers away whenever Katsuki makes eye contact with him. So not happening.

Scanning over his remaining classmates, he does not feel optimistic. He takes one glaring swoop over them before turning around in frustration.

And Izuku’s still beside the fucking coat rack near the entrance. His coat is already hung, but he’s just standing there. Staring at the rest of them, like he’s not supposed to be here. Okay? We do not give a fuck, Katsuki thinks to himself, rolling his eyes. 

But a minute passes of Katsuki throwing cautious glances back and forth, and Izuku just doesn’t fucking move. He keeps shuffling in place like a lost animal, his gaze lingering on a little boy struggling to put his bowling shoes on.

And then, Izuku looks like he’s going to fucking – spring into action??? Stupid hero complex. Weirdo. Izuku steps forward and reaches out a tentative hand, but then a woman appears and begrudgingly helps the boy – her son? And Izuku stands still again, knowing his help isn’t needed. And that makes Izuku sad, Katsuki thinks, even if it doesn’t show on his face. Izuku always wants to help. 

Holy shit. This is insufferable. Move. Move your fucking feet, stupid bitchass nerd, Katsuki thinks.

It occurs to Katsuki now that he also hasn’t moved. He’s been focusing so hard on Izuku’s stillness that he’s been standing in place too. Oh, for fuck’s sake. 

Katsuki storms forward up to the counter. The workers are fucking chatting, as if Katsuki has all day! It’s like they’re trying to distract themselves from the fact that they’re gonna make minimum wage for the rest of their pathetic lives. They notice him, at long last, and one steps up to him all chipper. 

“Renting shoes?”

“Size nine,” he demands, and no, he doesn’t fucking know for sure, it’s just an estimate. He’s not that creepy.

“Okay!” She shuffles around, and then slides him a pair. She opens her mouth again, and Katsuki shoves an over-compensating bill at her, not waiting for the change.

He walks up to where Izuku still is, and seriously, why the fuck haven’t his friends noticed? 

Katsuki searches for them across the bowling alley, and it looks like they’re occupied, or something. Iida’s arguing with stupid Half ‘n Half, but it’s obvious only Iida’s taking it seriously, and Uraraka’s trying to settle their argument. And Tsu’s… recording a video with Mina or some shit, some fucking dance Mina’s tried making Katsuki do with her before. He doesn’t want to look at her. 

Okay, so basically, everyone is an idiot.

He shoves the shoes into Izuku’s hands before Izuku even acknowledges him.

“Hey,” Katsuki hisses.

Izuku blinks rapidly, and then focuses on Katsuki, manifesting that stupid wrong smile again. “Hi, Kacchan. Thank you.”

“Shut the fuck up. Quit standing here looking like a ghost.”

“Sorry. Distracted.”

“Don’t fucking apologize. Get your sorry ass over to the alley. You’re my partner.”

Izuku does a double take, stunned. “I’m your–?”

Katuski grabs him by the forearm and drags him to where the rest of their class is. “You got something to say?” He juts his chin, sneering.

Izuku scoffs softly, a fraction of his not wrong smile emerging back into place. “Don’t blame me if we lose.”

“What? Of course I’m blaming you, moron.”

“...Of course you are.” A pause. “Hey, since when did bowling have partners?”

Sero butts in, his voice startling Izuku. “Kaminari thought it’d be more fun that way.”

Uraraka appears in front of them too, the two standing beside Katsuki while Izuku flounders with his shoes. Are they too small? Was Katsuki wrong? 

No. It’s not Katsuki’s fault. Izuku’s feet are too fucking big. That’s all there is to it. 

“Who’s… paying for all of this?” Uraraka asks, and Izuku glances up too, the both of them staring between Sero and Katsuki for answers. 

Katsuki glares as if to say the fuck do I look like. 

“I think Yaoyorozu is,” Sero hums. Yaoyorozu’s a few steps away, tapping on the game screen and listing out the duos. “Yaoyorozu-san, you’re paying for this, right?”

She frowns, her stupid porcelain features contorting together perfectly. “I suppose I can if you need me to, but I didn’t organize this. Jirou invited me.”

Uraraka squints. “And who invited Jirou?”

“The idiot.” Jirou jabs an accusing finger in Kaminari’s direction. 

“Hey!” Kaminari smacks her finger away. “It was just my idea, I never discussed payment!”

Yaoyorozu raises an eyebrow, looking at the boy. “And I assume you don’t have the means to pay for your idea, Kaminari?”

“...Well.”

Katsuki’s classmates erupt into an argument over who-said-what and shit. Katsuki cannot fucking care less who pays. Hell, at this rate, he might offer to pay. He just wants to beat someone’s ass at bowling. 

Preferably Izuku’s, in an ideal world, but he has to work with him. It was either Izuku or — or Shinsou, and Katsuki’s not even sure Shinsou’s capable of lifting the fucking ball. So he’ll take his chances with the nerd. The guy he’s recently admitted to himself he has feelings for. But he isn’t doing anything about it, and he isn’t telling anyone about it. So it’s like it doesn’t exist.

Finally, Todoroki reveals to the rest of their class that he’d already paid for all their tickets and rented out the alley for three hours. Which makes Uraraka – the fucking plebeian – beam with joy, but it makes Katsuki pissed off, ‘cause why the fuck didn’t this bitch say so earlier and save them needless bickering?

But whatever. Whatever. Katsuki flips Todoroki off and moves on, heading over to where the gamepad is. 

Yaoyorozu stares at him expectantly, finger hovering over the screen. 

“What,” he barks. 

“Your partner?”

Katsuki twitches. Izuku’s an arm away, listening to Iida droll about something boring, probably. Katsuki grabs him swiftly – not hard, just. Prompt. And he brings him a step closer, using his free hand to point to the dork’s fuckass face.

“This one.”

She opens her mouth, confused, maybe. But then she plugs in their names. Midoriya and Bakugou appear on the overhead screen. Katsuki’s mildly butthurt at his name not being first, but he sucks it up, because he’s trying his best not to act immature anymore.

Izuku shakes off Katsuki’s hold. “I haven’t been bowling in a long time. We might lose.”

Katsuki scrunches his nose. “What the fuck is your problem? We’re gonna win. It’s what we do.”

He regrets the words as they leave his mouth, but he’s not wrong. They always win.

Izuku laughs, and yes, yes, he’s smiling again, a proper smile, the one he was born to wear. “I don’t know. Todoroki and Iida on the same team might be tough to beat.”

Kaminari and Mina brisk by them, carrying bowling balls and bouncing excitedly. They’re first up.

“I don’t think we have to worry about them, though,” Izuku says, chuckling light-heartedly. 

Katsuki can’t hide the faintest ghost of a smile from creeping onto his own stupidly ugly expressive face. “Oh, the idiot brigade? We’ll crush them.” 

“You call your friends the idiot brigade?” 

Katsuki wants to mention that as of current, Mina probably does not consider him a friend. But he doesn’t want to dampen their banter, so he tactfully represses it – and anyways, Izuku surely knows.

“Yes? I call you every insult there is. Are you fucking surprised?”

Izuku arches a bushy brow. “I don’t get what your point is.”

Katsuki wants to kill him. His point is that if Katsuki’s calling Izuku mean things, and Izuku’s the closest one to him, then Katsuki calling other people mean things is an indicator of affection for them. Fucking obviously. But Izuku’s too stupid to piece together that Katsuki thinks of Izuku as close, and Katsuki’s too stubborn to admit it. 

There’s gotta be someone out there with a quirk that can let other people read minds. Like, one that lets Izuku read Katsuki’s mind, so he can know everything that Katsuki thinks of him without Katsuki having to spell it out. 

Nevermind that! They’re gonna fucking win.

Katsuki fixes his gaze ahead. It’s Shinsou's turn. He’s not partnered with anyone, and Katsuki almost feels bad, but then, he watches as the sides of the alley begin to rise, and all his sympathy evaporates.

The stupid cunt is using the bumpers! What the fuck?! 

“HEY!” Katsuki storms up to him, snatching the ball out of his grasp. “You can’t use those, dipshit! Are you five?”

Shinsou rolls his eyes. “No one said I couldn’t. They’re an option for everyone.”

“But you’re not playing the game correctly, motherfucker. I’m gonna skin the fuck out of you, put you on a goddamn skewer, and –” 

There’s a sharp tug on Katsuki’s arm, and he snaps his head around. “Kacchan. Calm down.”

That’s a tall fucking order coming from someone three inches shorter than him. Katsuki yanks his arm away, but he clutches the ball to his chest regardless. “He’s being a little bitch.”

Izuku looks exasperated. “Wouldn’t it make you feel even better if we win against someone using bumpers?”

“When we win,” Katsuki snarls. 

“When we win,” he agrees. “Now give his ball back.”

“Fuck you. Fine. I still hope he dies.”

Shinsou grins at him like the shit-eating bastard he is. “It’s okay to have dreams, Kacchan. Don’t hope too hard, though.” He snatches the ball back.

Wow. Katsuki wants everyone to die. Truly. 

He glares back at Izuku. If Katsuki didn’t know better, he’d think Izuku was sick of his shit. But he knows better. Izuku has other things on his mind, and Katsuki’s too shitty of a person to offer him a fucking therapy session, so this is the next best thing. They’ll win, and maybe Izuku will forget about whatever other shit is making him all weird. 

“I don’t like to lose,” he mutters to Izuku, as an excuse for his blow-up.

Izuku blinks at him wryly, as if to say I know that, of course I know that, I know everything there is to know about you, Kacchan. 

Fine. So be it.

—

They’re losing. 

By one singular point. Koda and Uraraka make for a strange team. No one has any idea how they’re winning. 

Izuku swears he hears Kacchan chanting eeny meeny miny moe under his breath as Uraraka steps up to the lane.

“Kacchan, what are you doing.”

“Deciding which one of them to kill first.”

“You can’t kill our friends, Kacchan!”

Kacchan glares at him as if Izuku is a mild annoyance. “Okay, can I drop a bowling ball on her foot?”

Izuku stares.

“Actually, why am I asking you for permission?”

“Kacchan.”

“Ugh.” He pauses. “I’ll make it look like an accident, obviously.”

As if that makes it better. Izuku groans, rubbing his face with his palm. He knows Kacchan isn’t serious, ever. All bark and barely bite, unless an actual villain is involved.

Tokoyami’s ball always falls into the gutters, every turn, without fail. Kacchan thinks it’s the funniest thing ever, barking up laughter without a care in the world. Tsu advises him to use the bumpers, but Tokoyami refuses – it’s a matter of pride. How Kacchan-ish of him. 

Uraraka keeps staring at Izuku from across the sofa, an obnoxious taunting grin on her face every time Kacchan speaks to him. Way to make it obvious! Izuku half-wishes he didn’t tell her. But then again, it’s nice that someone knows. He doesn’t have to hide things from her anymore.

Plus, he doesn’t think Kacchan will catch on. He’s too focused on strategizing. With every play their classmates make, Izuku can see the cogs whirring furiously in his mind. 

It’s. Endearing. It’s very grounding, reminding Izuku that this guy is most definitely on the same sphere as him – he’s just a guy. He just wants to win this inconsequential game. Same as Izuku. He’s not unattainable, or unreachable, or so far detached from Izuku that Izuku can’t get a read on him. He’s right here, right in front of Izuku, very real, very alive, very much a possibility. 

Izuku smiles.

Apparently, Kacchan has a problem with that, red eyes snapping up and locking onto green. 

“What the FUCK are you SMILING for? We’re in SECOND FUCKING PLACE. Ain’t NOTHING to SMILE about.”

Izuku smiles harder. 

His mother is shoved to the back of his addled mind.

—

Katsuki focuses. He focuses so hard. He focuses so hard he thinks his brain will leak out of his skull and it’ll trickle out his nose and ears and mouth. 

His sweaty fingers dip and hook into the ball’s holes, and he swings it back and forth a few times, getting a feel before he makes a play.

“You’ve got this, Kacchan!” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki hollers back. His ears are certainly not pink. And if they are, it’s just ‘cause he’s sweating so hard.

They’re now eight points behind Round Face and what’s-his-face. Eight. This is the last round. Izuku already went, closing the gap enough for Katsuki. But Katsuki doesn’t just want eight. He can’t win by just one point. He wants ten, so they can win by three. An indisputable victory. No room for questions.

Katsuki makes eye contact with Mina, and she holds it for a moment before tearing it away, sheepishly turning and whispering something to Kirishima instead. 

Fuck them.

Katsuki rolls the ball with all his might, feeling Izuku’s eyes boring into his head, and that, too, infuriates him. 

Time distends, like a fucking bitch, and Katsuki watches in horror as the ball rolls, and rolls, and never seems to stop. 

But it does. It makes contact down the middle of the pins, and Katsuki grins knowingly, eyes lighting up as he watches the pins collapse one by one. And he’s counting. One two three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. A pause. Eight. Nine. A pause – the pin flounders and stumbles, attempting to regain its balance. But it’s pitiful. 

Ten. 

Katsuki’s ecstatic, his cheeks quickly hurt from the stupid cheesy smile on his face, and he hears his classmates roaring behind him, and he’s so happy, though he doesn’t know when he permitted himself to be this happy.

And he whips his head around, smiling wildly at the one person who actually matters. He imagines Izuku’s doe-eyed, teddy bear grin so vividly he thinks he can touch it, and –

Katsuki’s face falls. Izuku isn’t smiling back. 

Why? Katsuki thinks desperately, frozen in place. There’s this horrible look on Izuku’s face, and he has his phone pressed up to his ear. His lips are pulled taut and his brows are contorted and his stupid eyes are watering. 

“Izuku.” Katsuki trudges up to him at once, his limbs shuddering beneath him like crushed glass.

Glassy eyes flit up to Katsuki’s, and Izuku’s brows contort further, and he’s turning away at once, steps hurried.

What? What the fuck? 

Katsuki can hear his classmates scrambling after Izuku, confused and uncoordinated and nosey. 

But Izuku’s ignoring them. He tears his jacket off the coat hanger and makes for the door, and Iida’s shouting something about the snowstorm, but Izuku still does not stop. He slings out rushed apologies, making it clear he wants everyone gone.

Yet Katsuki finds himself at the door, beside Izuku, keeping up with him as he spills out of the bowling alley. The cold is mind-numbing, and some part of Katsuki’s brain reminds him that he’s abandoned his jacket inside, but he fails to care.

Izuku appears to notice Katsuki just now. “I need to go,” he murmurs, picking up his pace as he stumbles through the parking lot.

“Okay,” Katsuki says. “I’m coming.”

“If he’s coming, we’re coming,” Uraraka says insistently, and holy fuck, why are they all here, they don’t know anything, they don’t know anything! 

“Nobody’s coming,” Izuku bites, the words so cold and harsh and so very not Izuku.

Their classmates roar in protest – they’re all so tight knit it makes Katsuki physically ill. They all care for Izuku so much, and Katsuki is reminded of the fact that he is not special, not one bit, because everyone loves Izuku. Everyone gets all broken up inside when they see Izuku like this, everyone wants to be there for him, everyone feels guilty for him.

Katsuki isn’t special. His guilt doesn’t differentiate him.

Wait, no, he thinks. He is. He is. He’s known Izuku the longest. He’s the one who convinced Izuku to come back to Yuuei. He — he was the first one Izuku offered his hand to. And yeah, okay, Katsuki didn’t take it back then. But. He nearly died for him. It makes up for it. Doesn’t it?

Does it?

Oh, for fuck’s sake, Izuku has three notebooks about him. That has to mean something.

Katsuki grabs Izuku by the wrist urgently, just as he’s pulling out his car key. “I’m coming,” he repeats, and his glare is so serious and angry, he probably looks disgustingly insane.

Izuku stares, and Katsuki wishes so badly he could read his mind. And then, he slips his wrist away, the fucker! Katsuki immediately wants to latch on again, but Izuku simply says “okay.”

Iida and Uraraka and the others protest somewhere beside Katsuki, but he doesn’t care. He flanks around the hood and slips into the passenger seat. The moment the door slams shut, he watches the little antenna click and lock. 

Katsuki turns and looks at Izuku. He’s shoved the key into the ignition, but he’s holding onto the parking brake with hands so trembling you’d think the guy had hypothermia.

And then Iida’s fucking banging on the window, holy shit. 

Katsuki grabs the brake stick and pulls it down. “Hey. Fucking drive.”

Izuku seems to snap out of his stupor. Katsuki half-worries their classmates will be persistent enough to block Izuku from pulling out of the lot, but thank hell they don’t.

And then Izuku’s soaring out of the plaza, teeth chattering, eyes frenzied. 

“Kacchan.”

“What.”

He shoves his phone into Katsuki’s lap. “Put the navigation to the district hospital.”

The hairs on Katsuki’s arms raise, but he doesn’t want to ask now. He opens the phone at once. “Passcode.”

“Your name.”

“What?”

“Kacchan. Hurry up. No caps.” There is no awkward blush to accompany this wildly embarrassing revelation. 

Katsuki isn’t sure if this flatters him or creeps him out. He’ll decide later. “…What the fuck. Kay. Navigating.” He turns the audio all the way up, the pleasant robotic voice making the ride not entirely uncomfortable. 

Izuku turns a corner a little too fast, rolling over a curb so hard the seatbelt nearly chokes Katsuki.

“What the hell!” he yelps on instinct. “Watch where you’re going, idiot!”

Izuku doesn’t acknowledge him, tightening his fingers around the wheel. 

“Don’t ignore me,” Katsuki sneers, and he fears the croak in his throat reveals his frustration, but he can’t undo it.

“It’s so dark,” Izuku murmurs, shaky. “Snowing hard.”

Katsuki squints suspiciously. “Uh, yeah, I have eyes.”

“They’re closing the roads,” he says, eyes wide, and he’s smiling, but it’s not a nice smile. It’s a bitter one, a pitiful one.

“What?” Katsuki looks up ahead, and yes, Izuku’s right, they’re putting up roadblocks on the streets, and people in orange suits are directing drivers to turn back to the residential areas. 

Izuku starts to laugh. “Ohhh. Ha. Haha. This is so funny.”

Katsuki twitches, flaring up in Izuku’s direction. “You good, or do I have to fucking drive?”

Then Izuku pulls over to the side sharply, and Katsuki holds onto his seat frantically so as not to careen head-first into the window.

“No. I — I’m really sorry. I didn’t want to drag anyone into this. But I couldn’t say no to you, and I didn’t wanna waste time arguing. But now it doesn’t even matter.”

Katsuki wishes he would never apologize for anything ever again. He doesn’t know what to say. For a while, there is no sound beside the awful droll of the engine and the squeaking windshield wipers.

Izuku speaks again. “My mom.”

Katsuki nods solemnly. He knows.

“I left her alone,” he starts. “She — She told me to just go out with my friends, said I deserve a break, and I knew she hadn’t eaten, I — I knew she was going to drink, I knew she wasn’t doing well, and, and, I let her, I let her, I thought maybe I did deserve a break, and—”

Izuku bangs his head against the wheel, and the horn blares loudly, enough to startle Katsuki. “I don’t,” bang, “deserve,” bang, “ANYTHING!” Bang.

Katsuki grabs Izuku by the shoulder at once. “Stop that right now,” and he wishes he sounded more angry than devastated. “You’d better fucking stop. Stop.”

He looks at Katsuki with hot tears staining his cheeks, snot trickling down his lips, and a furious bruise blooming above his brows. 

“It’s all my fault,” he sobs.

And all Katsuki can think to do is firmly wrap him up in his arms, and he does, not minding the snot on his shoulder. It’s unhygienic, and gross, but it’s okay, because it’s Izuku, and it’s just this once. 

Izuku clenches Katsuki’s back so tightly Katsuki thinks he’ll leave nail marks, or scratches. He cries, loud and uncontrollably, so Katsuki sits very still. 

He watches white specks of light dance across Izuku’s shoulders as the windshield wipers scrape tirelessly at the heavy snow. He watches the cars passing by, turning back and heading home, their yellow headlights flashing across Izuku too. Katsuki is vaguely aware that he himself is trembling from the cold, and Izuku’s car heater seems broken. 

He waits until Izuku’s sobs have quieted down before speaking. “It’s not your fault, stupid. Don’t beat yourself up over shit you can’t control.”

Izuku pulls away from his arms, wiping his nose with the back of his palm. “My — My neighbor called me. Said she heard a loud thud, and the door was unlocked, and my mom was on the floor, and she was. Seizing. I don’t know. She didn’t use that word, but the way she described it made it sound like that’s what happened.”

Katsuki frowns. “Why would she have a seizure?”

“I don’t know. Alcohol poisoning?”

“I didn’t know she drank that much.”

Izuku exhales sharply. “It’s a new problem, honestly. I didn’t think it would get this bad. I should’ve known.”

“Shut up,” Katsuki murmurs. “You can’t know everything, Izuku. She’s not your responsibility. She’s a grown woman.”

“She’s my mom. She has no one else. She’s my responsibility.”

Katsuki’s eye twitches. “She’s your caretaker.”

“Maybe, but she needs my help more than I need her’s. I owe it to her.”

“For what.”

Izuku blinks, incredulous. “For raising me? For caring about me?”

“That’s the bare minimum!” Katsuki exclaims.

“To me, it wasn’t,” Izuku snaps back, and he’s agitated now. “Don’t discredit her. Don’t ever say a bad thing about her. Not you.”

Every muscle in Katsuki’s body tightens. It’s as if the wailing gusts of wind from outside have infiltrated the car, and they’re whipping against Katsuki’s skin like hail. He fears he is going to take a stray icicle to the chest and it will pierce his heart and kill him, but not swiftly, no.

It’ll drag the the very life out of him, and he’ll be panting out each breath and it will be agonizing and Izuku will stare down at him and not lift a finger as his blood drips torturously down his skin and he will feel his lungs rupture and gasp pathetically and then he will die, and Izuku will watch with unkind eyes, and he will say “not you” in that accusing tone and he will walk out of the car and leave Katsuki there to rot forever and he will mumble “not you” the whole way as he trudges over to the hospital to see the person who actually cared about him his entire life. 

Izuku’s voice cuts him off.

“I’m sorry.” Izuku’s clearly rattled, and Katsuki now realizes his hand is squeezing Katsuki’s, and they are both ungloved this time, and the skin-to-skin contact makes him strangely light headed. 

“You look pale,” Izuku says wearily. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just scared. I took it out on you.”

“Stop saying sorry,” Katsuki mumbles, and his hand is shaking from the cold, fuck this stupid car. “I hate it.”

Izuku opens his mouth, but then closes it, probably because he was about to just apologize again. He pauses, and then supplies a simple “okay.”

Katsuki doesn’t let his hand go, for reasons. Perfectly normal ones. He decides to abruptly change the subject so Izuku doesn’t notice their intertwined fingers and pull away. 

“You can’t drive,” Katsuki scoffs. “We’re underage. Whose car is this?”

“My mom’s,” he shrugs. “She’s too sad to care now.”

“I’m gonna report you and get your Provisional Hero License revoked, bitch.”

Izuku’s hand squeezes his all of a sudden, and Katsuki’s very lucky his face is already flushed from the cold. 

“I need to go to the hospital, Kacchan,” Izuku murmurs, brows pinched with urgency.

“We could walk. Twenty minutes away.”

“And leave the car?”

“Uh.” Katsuki brainstorms. “I’ll drive it back to your house or something. You can get a cab home tomorrow.”

“You can’t drive,” Izuku drawls, snorting.

“Yes I fucking can.”

“Have you driven before?”

“No, but I’ve watched people drive loads of times.”

Izuku balks at him, stumped. “You’re not serious.”

“Hey, you don’t have your license either, moron!”

“…” Izuku mulls this over, chewing on his bottom lip. “Fine. Just don’t get hurt. And try not to scratch the car.”

“Shut up, this piece’a junk’s gonna be just fine.” And Katsuki gives him a stupid little shit-eating smile, eyes narrowed like a jerk.

Izuku’s hand is weirdly clammy in his. 

And then, in an instant, Izuku’s lips are on his, and Katsuki’s eyes bulge out of their sockets, and he forgets how to breathe, and —

And it’s over just as quickly as it began, and Katsuki doesn’t have time to process what’s just happened. Izuku pulls away, cheeks violently red, and his gaze lingers hungrily on Katsuki for a fleeting moment before he slips his hand away and opens the car door.

“Drive safe, Kacchan,” he says all wobbly, with his soft teddy bear smile and his heinous crinkled eyes. His Izuku face. Not his wrong face.

He’s out of the car and running across the street in an instant, and Katsuki can only sit there watching him in his shock-induced paralysis.

Katsuki is dumbfounded. He stares at himself in the rear view mirror, unsure if he’s actually alive. Maybe he died and this is some sick prank in Hell.

He watches the last flemish of Izuku’s All Might scarf disappear down the corner of the block, and he aches with words left unsaid, and he wonders if this is something that they will ever address. If this is something that maybe, maybe they can try again. 

For now, Katsuki focuses on trying not to kill himself driving before he can think too hard about Izuku. Though he will always be thinking of him, with every painful breath he takes, like a ridiculous mantra forever resounding in his head. Izuku, Izuku, Izuku.

Chapter Text

Izuku’s lips sting urgently as he books it to the hospital. 

The emergency room is warm, a nice contrast to the mind-numbing storm outside, but the air grows thick and sweaty within a minute. And when Izuku feels all sweaty, he cannot help but think about –

No. No! This isn’t the time. He shouldn’t have kissed Kacchan back there! It wasn’t fair at all, and the mood was totally unromantic. Here he is, rushing to his ailing mother, too busy daydreaming about Kacchan to actually focus. It’s pathetic. Some son he is, let alone hero.

After what feels like an eternity, he’s called to her room by a nurse, and his fluttering heart shatters when he sees her, all its pink stupidity tugged out from under his feet and replaced with clawing, white fear.

“Mom,” he croaks out, tears blooming upon his face, and he rushes to her bedside, crouching down and hovering his trembling hands above her face. He snaps his head up to the nurse. “Is she okay? What’s wrong with her? What happened?”

“A mild seizure,” the nurse says simply, brows furrowed with some modicum of sympathy. “Likely due to alcohol poisoning. She’ll be okay, she’s just going to be here for a little while. When she gets out, she’s going to have to sober up.”

Izuku stares at her, wide eyes blinking tearfully, and she sighs. She’s an older nurse, the deep-set exasperated wrinkles on her face hinting at a lifetime of professional stress. Izuku can understand some of that. “The doctor will be here soon, okay? They’ll tell you everything, sort it all out. Don’t worry, young man.”

“Don’t worry?” he wants to spit back, but he doesn’t, just turning back to gaze at his mom again as the nurse leaves. He runs an easy hand through her hair. She has a ventilator hooked up to her face, and he crouches down further, leaning against the weight of the bed’s railing. A quiet, chest-wracking sob spills from his lips, as he blubbers out words he can’t single out – a steady stream of please, I’m sorry, I love you, I’m so sorry. 

Izuku feels dehydrated, head full of cotton when he stops crying a good thirty minutes later. He sinks into the cushioned seat across the room, curling his legs up and lying across it with his head to the wall.

He picks up his phone, and feels a semblance of warmth at all the messages from his friends.

Todoroki: I hope you’re okay, Midoriya. Call me if you need anything

Uraraka-san: i’m so sorry deku :(( idk what’s going on but im assuming it has to do with your mom. i hope everything is ok, please talk to us

He sees a trickle of more messages – Iida, Mina, Tsu, Kirishima, Tokoyami, Kaminari, Shinsou. He pauses when he sees a certain one.

All Might: Midoriya, please call me when you can. I’m very worried. Bakugou told me what happened. I’m so sorry, but I believe in my heart she will be okay.

Izuku’s eyes well up with tears. Oh God, oh God. He types out a shaky response.

All Might

9:33 P.M.

Sorry to worry you, All Might. She had a seizure. They said she’ll be okay. I hope they’re right.

9:35 P.M.

I’m very glad to hear she’s not in any danger, my boy. But please know, whatever you’re thinking, you are not to blame. She’s in my prayers.

Izuku sniffles softly. All Might isn’t religious, but All Might knows that Inko is, and the sentiment is unbearably kind.

9:36 P.M.

Thank you

I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?

9:36 P.M.

Ok. Please feel free to reach out. I’m here for you.

Izuku smiles shakily. He looks at the latest string of messages. The ones he’s been avoiding.

Kacchan

8:42 P.M.

[png]

It’s a picture of Izuku’s car, parked safely in the little garage beneath their apartment. He reads further.

8:42 P.M.

good luck with your mom. she’ll be alright

stop blaming yourself

Izuku blinks back tears.

9:39 P.M.

did you get home? you can stay at my place if you need to or anything like that. i’m sorry for burdening you with my car

It’s not like Kacchan would want to stay at Izuku’s shit-hole of an apartment either way. But he at least has to offer. Maybe that offer is offensive. Everything Izuku does to Kacchan can be offensive. 

Kacchan doesn’t answer right away, and Izuku feels antsy. But it’s fine, it’s fine, Kacchan’s probably busy, he’s never glued to his phone, he’s not ignoring Izuku. Right? Is he going to ignore Izuku? Is Kacchan just messaging him as a kind of courtesy to say goodbye to him forever and ever? Has Izuku actually ruined everything with that awful kiss?

Finally, his phone dings.

9:51 P.M.

please shut the fuck up

i took a cab idiot

worry about her not me

Izuku exhales slowly, gazing at the light of his phone screen tearfully, and types out a lengthy, regretful response.

9:56 P.M.

i’m so sorry for what i did. it was really wrong of me to spring that on you. i didn’t ask if it was okay and i think i made you uncomfortable. i know you don’t see me in that way and it’s really wrong of me to have expected that. i don’t need you to forgive me but i just really don’t want to mess up what we have now, because it took forever for us to get here. please don’t misinterpret me, i do like you a lot, more than as a friend, and i messed up. i really hope you can ignore that and we can continue on as just friends. but if you’re disgusted by what i did and you want nothing to do with me ever again i understand too. i care about you so much kacchan and i want you to do whatever makes you happiest

Izuku pauses, and then adds:

even if it means cutting me off

Izuku shoves his phone into his backpack, wiping his wet eyes. Just then, the doctor walks in, and Izuku’s glad he can be distracted for a while.

He’s informed that it’s a standard case of alcohol poisoning. She’s going to need to be ventilated for a while until her heart-rate picks up, and after that she’s going to have to remain sober for a very long time. If she can’t lay off the drinks, she might end up in a coma next time – brain-dead, or simply dead. 

Izuku listens, sometimes nodding his head, swallowing back the awful, choked-up sounds simmering inside of him.

When the doctor exits the room, leaving Izuku with a stack of paperwork, Izuku lunges for his phone. He feels nauseous as he shakily clicks on Kacchan’s messages.

10:05 P.M.

i’m not reading allat

Izuku blinks. Yeah, he’s fucked. But, there are more messages.

10:10 P.M.

im not talking about this over text

but stop acting like i rejected you

you make me sick

Izuku’s hands feel clammy, and he scrambles to respond.

10:21 P.M.

what does that mean

10:23 P.M.

idc that you kissed me

10:23 P.M.

wait so

do you forgive me?

10:24 P.M.

why would i FORGIVE YOU you fucking CUNT

i fucking hate you

die in a ditch

10:25 P.M.

what does that mean kacchan

10:25 P.M.

i’m not doing this shit over text

Stupid and gross

Izuku frowns, mildly disappointed. But Kacchan’s not mad. He’s not. Does he… does he like Izuku? The thought seems too groundbreaking to even consider. Izuku has always loved Kacchan, it’s like it’s a part of his DNA. Could Kacchan possibly love him a fraction of that?

Maybe. Izuku’s scared to think about what that would mean. Being with Kacchan isn’t something he’s even considered.

10:28 P.M.

ok you can come to my house

come over

im probably gonna sleep over at the hospital so can you come at noon-ish tomorrow?

10:30 P.M.

K

Izuku frowns. Is that all? Ouch.

Regardless of Kacchan’s astounding enthusiasm, Izuku’s got to get home earlier tomorrow to clean up his filthy apartment. He should do that. Yeah. He hearts Katsuki’s message, and then he drifts off to sleep, dreaming about Kacchan scolding him for dirty dishes, and his mother rising up from her hospital bed to pull the two of them apart.

—

Katsuki is going to lose his fucking mind. Today was not real. It couldn’t have been.

But it’s. Fine. He really wants to tell Izuku how he feels, because he does feel something for him, he just can’t articulate it in words. (That’s a lie. He can. He knows what it is. It’s just nauseating to think about.)

The prospect of honest-to-good communication is terrifying. Being terrified of Izuku is stupid, obviously, but he’s more-so terrified of the vulnerability of… admitting it. Admitting how much he wants Izuku. 

Katsuki’s doorbell rings. Weird. It’s, like, eleven. Even weirder is the fact that his mom says it’s for him.

“KATSUKI!” she hollers. 

He just groans, flopping out of bed and rubbing his face free of its incessant blush. It’s disgusting – no nauseating – how whipped Katsuki is. He can’t be caught like this.

“Coming,” he hollers back, but he has to do a double take and stop dead in his tracks atop the staircase when he sees Kirishima and Mina wiping snow off their feet on his doormat.

What the hell.

Katsuki can’t just – not go down. His mother has her arms crossed, raising a brow at him when he doesn’t descend right away. Katsuki swallows thickly, staring at the wall instead of at his friends (friends?) as he drags his heavy feet down the stairs. 

He squints his eyes and gazes directly at the two of them once he reaches the bottom of the stairs, calculating. They don’t seem angry? Maybe a little uncomfortable. 

“Sorry to show up unannounced, but ya left your jacket at the bowling alley,” Kirishima explains immediately, fumbling to hold out the article.

Katsuki steps forward, his nose twitching reflexively, and grabs the jacket, avoiding physical contact with Kirishima.

He hisses when his mom lightly smacks him across the head. “Katsuki, is that your dad’s?! Do you know how much that costs? You forgot it like that?!”

“Shut the hell up.” Katsuki shoves the stupid fucking jacket in her chest, and then keeps his trembling hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. 

Mina awkwardly interjects. “Uh, we’ll just get going then.” She begins turning around.

Mitsuki glances at them, and then glares at Katsuki with her “seriously?” face.

Katsuki lets out a long, drawn-out huff. “Come upstairs.”

Mina and Kirishima both visibly stiffen, and they look at each other, and then turn back to him. “That’s okay,” Kirishima says sheepishly. “We’ll just get a cab home.”

“Not in this storm,” Katsuki says flatly, and he feels his mom’s eyes boring into him with something like pride. Ugh, she’s proud of him. Sickening. She’s unaware of their falling out, but Katsuki thinks even if she was aware, she wouldn’t behave any differently.

“Jus’ stay the night,” Katsuki mutters. “‘S’not a bother.”

“...If you’re sure,” Mina says unevenly, the two of them hesitantly peeling off their layers of clothing and hanging them up on the coat rack. 

Katsuki waits for them awkwardly, shifting on his soles and keeping his hands in his pockets, looking anywhere but at them. His mom leaves them be, apparently satisfied, thank fuck.

When they finish, Katsuki begrudgingly leads them up the stairs. Once they’re in his room, Kirishima and Mina sink onto his bed with some hesitance but great familiarity. Katsuki sits on his desk chair and runs a hand through his hair, unsure what to say.

“Nice socks,” Mina says dryly.

Katsuki glances down at his socks. They’re fuzzy and reindeer-faced. “Thanks.” He opens his mouth again, like he should say something more, but Kirishima interrupts.

“Is Midoriya okay? What happened?” He furrows his red brows, sharp teeth worrying on his bottom lip.

“Not really my business,” Katsuki says automatically.

“Oh. That’s okay.” Kirishima is disappointed, but he doesn’t want it to show, even though Katsuki knows when he’s disappointed.

And Katsuki’s not sure what comes over him, but he blurts out: “He kissed me.”

They stare at him blankly. And then, they’re pouncing on him, all up in his face, like they forgot they’re supposed to be fucking mad at each other!

“What?!” Mina exclaims, shaking Katsuki by the shoulders. “What the hell?! When did this happen? Hello?! What did I miss?”

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me!” he growls, swinging a harmless fist in Mina’s general direction to get her to back off.

She pulls away, and she stands beside Kirishima, the two of them staring him down with a million questions as he’s cornered in his little desk chair.

“Bakugou, does Midoriya like you?” Kirishima asks plainly.

“I don’t fucking know,” Katsuki hisses, an ugly flush creeping up to his cheeks against his will.

“But he kissed you,” Mina breathes out, eyes wide. “Why would he kiss you?”

“I don’t know, I thought his bitchass liked Round Face or some shit,” Katsuki grumbles, slumping in his chair.

“But Midoriya never kissed her,” Mina hums.

“You don’t know that.”

“Of course I know that, what do you think we talk about at girls' night?” she exclaims, exasperated.

“Girls’ night?” Kirishima echoes, bewildered.

“You’re not invited.”

“I didn’t ask for an invite, I was just curious,” he sulks. “Hey, why can’t I be invited?”

“Shut the fuck up and pay attention,” Katsuki growls.

Mina barks up a laugh, watching Kirishima deflate. She focuses back on Katsuki. “So Midoriya likes you? I mean, it makes sense, with all that Kacchan’s amazing crap.”

It’s not crap, Katsuki thinks. It’s the only reason I do anything.

“Die,” he sneers instead, and he stands up off his chair and sprawls onto his bed. The two walk up and lean over him on the bed.

“Do you like him, though, dude?” Kirishima asks. “I didn’t know you were gay, but like, not surprising, you don’t really look at girls the way I do…”

“I’m not gay!” Katsuki shouts automatically. He pauses. Is he? He doesn’t really care. “I don’t fucking know. Maybe. Do I have to be? Why’s it matter?”

“Nah,” Mina shrugs. “You don’t need to define it. Labels aren’t for everyone.”

“I don’t care about any of that shit, I don’t even think about people like that,” Katsuki grunts, covering his face with the back of his arm as he rots on the bed. He’s not totally lying. He doesn’t think about anyone sexually or romantically, except – … no, way way way too gross to think about sex with Izuku. Okay, no. He’s lying to himself. It sounds weird, because any sex is weird, but… maybe it’s supposed to be with Izuku, even if Izuku is weird. Katsuki’s pretty weird, too. He’s not sure.

“So you do like him?” Kirishima asks.

Katsuki’s tongue feels like sandpaper. “I – … I don’t know.” He does know. He absolutely does.

Mina tilts her head, frowning. “Did you like when he kissed you?”

Yes. “I don’t know. He was fucking miserable when he did it. I don’t know why he kissed me.” 

“Miserable ‘cause of you?” Kirishima asks with concern.

“No, moron. Because –” Katsuki pauses. He clamps his jaw shut. “Doesn’t matter. Just wasn’t romantic an’ shit.”

Mina harrumphs and sits on the edge of the bed. “Okay, fine, but if he wasn’t miserable, would you want him to kiss you again? Would you wanna kiss him?”

Katsuki scrunches his nose. He glares at the ceiling. “Aren’t you two s’posed to be mad at me?”

Mina’s grin falters, and Kirishima wrings his hands idly. 

“I want to believe you didn’t mean what you said,” Kirishima says quietly. “Did you mean it?”

“No,” Katsuki says immediately. “I just – fuck. I felt so fucking insecure ‘cause Izuku basically said I’m unloveable.”

“What?” Mina bellows. “He did not!”

Kirishima frowns, scooting closer to Katsuki on the bed’s edge. “That doesn’t sound like him. Did he say that exactly?’

“He said I have no game. Basically the same thing,” Katsuki sulks, letting his legs dangle off the bed.

“That’s not the same thing,” Mina scoffs. “He probably just meant you don’t really know how to flirt. Which is true.”

“That’s not fucking true.”

Kirishima snorts. “Whatever you wanna believe, Bakugou. I just think you misunderstood him.”

“I hope you die.” He pauses, gazing unsurely between the two of them. “So you’re, what, not mad at me anymore?”

“...Well, yeah,” Kirishima says, smiling sheepishly. “We came here to bring you the jacket, yeah, but we thought maybe we could talk, too.”

Katsuki’s face softens imperceptibly. His friends. He needs his friends. They’re too good. What the fuck?

“We missed you, Bakugou.” Mina grins bittersweetly at him, and reaches out a hand to pat his shoulder. He doesn’t push it away.

He grumbles something that sounds vaguely like “yeah, yeah, big deal”, hoping it’s enough.

It’s sufficient. Katsuki is an undeserving bastard. But he’s relieved it’s over. 

—

Katsuki startles awake with goosebumps plastered over his skin. He’s up hours before his friends, the two of them draped across a pair of air mattresses he’d brought out for them. It’s not bright yet. If he held up a white string and a black string he would not tell the difference between them. That’s the sanctity of darkness, he supposes. It’s an all-natural veil, concealing what people are too afraid to do in broad daylight.

It would take Katsuki too long to count all his misdeeds. The sun would come up before he was even halfway done. It would take him eons to count Izuku’s good deeds. He could count and count without stopping for breath and he would die in the process before coming close to detailing Izuku’s accomplishments. His goodness.

So, it’s not fair to want Izuku to settle for Katsuki. It’s selfish. But Katsuki has always been selfish. Izuku makes it worse.

—

At noon, Izuku finds a puffer-jacketed Kacchan lingering in his hallway. Izuku finishes up the steps and prays he doesn’t look as abysmal as he feels. He fishes his keys from his pocket just as Kacchan catches sight of him.

“Hey,” Izuku says hoarsely, stepping closer until they’re a healthy three feet away from each other.

The first thing Kacchan stabs at: “Take a shower.”

Wow. Kacchan really isn’t cutting corners. Izuku’s lips curl into a rehearsed, dry smile. “I know.” 

He pushes his keys and turns them, the door creaking open. Before pushing through, Izuku turns to give Kacchan a sheepish look. “I wanted to get here earlier. To clean up. It’s probably a mess in there, sorry about that. I can tidy up and – “

But Izuku’s not even done talking when Kacchan lightly shoves him aside and pushes into the apartment with a dismissive grunt. He sets his shoes aside, hangs up his coat, and tugs at Izuku’s scarf.

Izuku purses his brows, tilting his head sideways. Kacchan attempts to pull the scarf off, but it doesn’t quite work that way. He only succeeds in tugging Izuku inside. Izuku closes the door with his boot. 

“This shit’s knotted tight,” Kacchan scoffs. He sounds amused, if a little irritated. “You tryna strangle yourself?”

Izuku shrugs one shoulder. “Didn’t want it falling off.”

“Didn’t want it coming off either, I guess. What’s with you and clothing malfunctions?” Kacchan drops his hands with a huff, letting Izuku do it himself. Izuku peels off his winter layers, watching as Kacchan heads to the kitchen. 

Izuku frowns, following him around the corner. He sees Kacchan opening up the dishwasher with that little squint of his. 

“Hey. Aren’t we gonna talk about this?” Izuku asks, despite the paranoia gnawing at his skin.

Kacchan doesn’t look up, toweling a clean bowl and opening up the cupboards to figure out where it goes. “About what.”

“What I did? In the car?” Izuku’s hands clench and unclench at his sides.

Izuku doesn’t miss the sudden stiffness in Kacchan’s shoulders. He finds where the dish goes and sets it inside, bending to pick up another plate from the bottom rack. Kacchan’s long-sleeve shirt peeks up to reveal a sliver of his back for a moment. Izuku berates himself for lingering on it.

Kacchan pauses before he speaks up, his back still facing Izuku. “I already told you, I didn’t mind. It’s whatever.”

“So – it didn’t bother you, is what you’re saying?” This is all confusing. He wishes Kacchan would just be straightforward. It’s not like him to mince his words.

“It didn’t,” Kacchan confirms begrudgingly. “You think I’d be here if it did?” 

Izuku doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to pressure Kacchan into being upfront about his feelings, but he needs transparency. He frowns, watching Kacchan’s back muscles contract as he moves across the kitchen, exploring the cupboards and slotting the silverware away like he’s lived here all his life.

He can’t take it anymore. Izuku grabs Kacchan’s wrist, whirls him around, and snatches the towel. 

Kacchan tenses up, his brows twitching, but he doesn’t look furious. He looks caught off-guard. It’s like the mask he puts up doesn’t exist around Izuku anymore. His reactions don’t go through that filter before being expressed on his face. Izuku could melt.

“What the hell,” Kacchan mutters, his voice soft and holy hell Izuku is whipped. “I’m cleaning up.”

“I don’t need you to do that right now,” Izuku says sharply, setting the towel down on the counter behind Kacchan. “I need you to talk to me.”

“What have we been doing this whole time?” Kacchan scoffs, baring his teeth a little. Izuku wants to kiss that snarl right off of him.

“I mean, I need you to tell me how you felt about it.”

Kacchan’s lips purse together. He falls silent, glaring down lightly at Izuku now. 

Izuku backs off a little, dropping his hand from Kacchan’s wrist. “Okay. Sorry. I know how you are. I know it’s not easy for you to just say things.”

Kacchan opens his mouth to snap at Izuku, but he looks like he genuinely doesn’t know how to dispute that.

“I’ll ask you something easier, then,” Izuku says, trying his best to sound encouraging. “Would you want to do it again? …Kissing?”

Kacchan mulls it over, his cheekbones rising slightly as he narrows his eyes. “...I wouldn’t mind.”

The answer makes Izuku hopeful, but it’s not what he wants to hear. “It’s a yes or no question. It’s not a casual thing.” Izuku chews on his lower lip, gazing at the floor now, simmering up with anger. “It’s not supposed to be a hard question, Kacchan. You know how I feel, and – “

Izuku is cut off. Initially, he’s not sure why. But he feels a soft hand holding his jaw, and Kacchan’s eyes are closed, brows furrowed upwards like he’s nervous as he presses his lips against Izuku’s. It’s clumsy. Hesitant. But it means more to Izuku than if Kacchan were to sweep him off his feet.

Izuku kisses back, his hand coming up to rest on the back of Kacchan’s neck and pull him impossibly closer. Izuku steps forward until Kacchan’s leaning against the counter, his legs somewhat slanted so Izuku can stand around them and not have to look up to reach him. 

Izuku thinks about parting Kacchan’s lips and feeling around his mouth, touching every crevice of his teeth. But he thinks better of it. He doesn’t want to overwhelm Kacchan, even if he’d try anything Izuku asked of him right then and there. (Plus, it’s not like Izuku has experience with any of that either. It would suck.)

Izuku pulls away, gaze fixed on Kacchan as he watches him blink his eyes open. He doesn’t say anything immediately, and Izuku’s stomach sinks for a fleeting moment.

“Well?” Izuku asks, hating the insecure waver in his throat.

Kacchan just visibly swallows, brows twitching, nose scrunched up. Izuku can’t tell if the flush dusting his cheeks and ears are from embarrassment or if the apartment’s just too stuffy. Maybe both. 

“Hey,” Izuku insists, frowning. “Was that okay?” He knows he sounds verbatim out of a consent info article, but he’d hate himself if Kacchan didn’t want any of this and they did it anyway. 

“It was fine,” Kacchan rasps out, glancing away. “You kiss like a girl, though. ‘Fraid to hurt me.” 

Izuku isn’t even offended. But an alarm rings in his head. “What girls have you kissed, Kacchan?” Izuku asks. There’s no judgement in his tone. Just mild disbelief.  

Kacchan scowls now and shoves him away from the counter a little, not enough to hurt. “You don’t know everything about me, nerd.”

“I want to,” Izuku blurts immediately, only mildly ashamed of how desperate he sounds. He’s been a fanboy all his life. Shame is a very abstract concept to him.

“You wanna know something? Take a shower.” 

Izuku gives him a pouty look. “Jerk.”

“Say that again. I dare you.” 

Izuku opens his mouth to bite back, but opts to chuckle sheepishly instead. “Yeah. Okay. You’re probably right.”

He shifts backwards a few paces before turning away, ears burning steam like a tea kettle.

—

Holy shit. It’s over for Katsuki. It’s really over. He’s in the trenches. He just stood there like a fucking idiot while he kissed Izuku like a middle schooler. But what was he supposed to do? What felt natural to Katsuki probably would’ve scared Izuku away. So he tried to be tame. But sure, Katsuki, make him think you’re a freakish loser who doesn’t know how to kiss, that’s the way to go about it. 

He debates bailing. It would be so easy to slip away before Izuku comes back out. And never talk about this ever again. Some awful part of him itches to do just that. Does he have issues? He definitely has issues. He’s never been committed to anything but heroism — or at least, his perverse idea of it. To commit to a person other than himself sounds grueling. Hellish. 

He deserves better he deserves better he deserves better rings in Katsuki’s ears like a mantra. Maybe he has tinnitus. It’s never quiet up there. 

Katsuki wills himself to clean up Izuku’s living room. Tries not to snoop as he gathers the torn-open envelopes into a pile. Tries to convince himself he’s doing this with pure intentions. He always feels like he’s doing things for the wrong reasons even if he has no ulterior motives. 

After a while, the water stops running, and Katsuki has to put his mask back up. He can’t act stupid. As much as it pisses him off, Izuku is right to be irritated at him. 

Izuku comes out shortly after, wearing sweatpants and a navy quarter zip, the tips of his hair dripping onto his shoulders. Katsuki doesn’t miss the nervousness in his gait, and it makes him feel good about himself. 

“Hey,” Izuku says, padding over to the living room and sinking onto the couch. “You don’t have to do any of that, you know.”

Katsuki pauses and sets one last envelope onto the pile he made. “Wasn’t for you. I can’t sit still in a place that isn’t clean.”

Izuku winces a little, but keeps a smile on his face. Damn it, what the fuck is wrong with Katsuki.

”I mean, not that your place is dirty, or whatever, just, messy,” Katsuki explains gruffly, but Izuku’s voice overlaps with his halfway through.

“It’s fine, Kacchan, you don’t have to explain,” he chuckles, glancing at his own lap. “I get it. It’s honestly my fault. I’ve barely been home these days.”

Katsuki wants to say it’s nobody’s fault but Inko’s, but that wouldn’t be very empathetic of him. He’s never been good at putting himself in other people’s shoes, which is why it astounds him that Izuku can so easily forgive Inko for her blatant self-sabotage. If it were Katsuki’s mom, he wouldn’t have given her half the grace. 

He decides to change the subject as he sinks down onto the couch beside Izuku, not quite close enough to touch. “Can’t blame you. Finals were brutal. I was never home either. Bullshit that we had to do all that even after…”

“Everything,” Izuku fills in with a snort.

Katsuki rolls his eyes and slouches against the couch. “Yeah. As if we didn’t fucking save the country. One day it’s medals of honor and the next it’s back to physics. Well-rounded education my ass.”  

Izuku doesn’t respond, so Katsuki peeks at him sideways, and his head spins when he catches sight of the little smile Izuku’s giving him. It’s too good to pass up. Katsuki can’t help it. 

“Can I — ?”

The words aren’t fully out of his mouth before Izuku’s on him. He means it this time. 

Izuku’s stupid calloused hand is in Katsuki’s hair and his eyes are closed and his brows are thick and pretty and furled together as he kisses Katsuki, one thigh thrown over Katsuki’s as he tugs him closer. 

Katsuki figures he should close his eyes, but he can’t bring himself to. It’s the only time he can gaze at Izuku without fear of being caught. 

“You don’t have to ask,” Izuku whispers against his lips, and wow those things are chapped. Someone hasn’t been listening to Katsuki’s skincare advice, and that kind of pisses him off, but he’ll bully him for that later. 

Still, he can’t help the smile that creeps on his face. “Good t’know,” he chuckles. “I won’t ask next time.” 

Katsuki’s hand reaches up to brush against Izuku’s cheekbone, and his heart echoes like a gong in his chest because it is the utmost intimate thing he has ever done. 

Izuku’s eyes open halfway, and Katsuki knows at this moment that if his heart ruptured, he’d die happy. 

“I like your freckles,” Katsuki mumbles, not sure if he’s ever told Izuku that. Or complimented him so directly at all before. His thumb grazes over each little speck. 

“I like you,” Izuku replies, his calf squeezing over Katsuki’s knee. “Everything about you.”

Katsuki has the urge to say some stupid shit back, like, that’s cool and all, but I actually think your quadriceps are your best feature. 

“You don’t have to say it back,” Izuku says with a little laugh, and the uncertainty in his tone pisses Katsuki off. How can Izuku be uncertain? 

“I feel the same way,” Katsuki mutters begrudgingly. “And I’m not just saying that, fucker. You could never guilt me into saying anything.” 

Izuku blinks slowly, and he laces his fingers carefully with Katsuki’s free hand. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’re, uh, gonna be okay.”

Katsuki doesn’t know what this is. But he knows he’s going to make it work. He knows there’s nobody else for him. It started, and it was always going to inevitably end, with Izuku.