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Katsuki is dying. He’s not all that angry about it, all things considered.
Todoroki strokes sweat-slick hair off his pale forehead. “You don’t deserve this,” he says firmly. “Everyone should—everyone should love you.”
Katsuki fights back a mirthless laugh. Just need you to love me, he thinks. Just you. But you don’t, do you? You don’t love me, pretty boy, and it hurts just enough to die from it. The Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, slain from love. Quite literally. The petals are just pretty, the first few times. White and red and dainty. They don’t even hurt. Just mild discomfort. And then they’re more bloody than they are red, and you’re coughing on the bathroom floor, and Todoroki Shouto is offering to kill someone for you.
“The one that matters doesn’t,” Katsuki says. And isn’t that sad? Todoroki’s so fucking pretty. His eyes and his mouth and his delicate hands. Soft even with all the training they put themselves through. Katsuki would bet good money he and Ponytail share a skincare routine, that Todoroki owns multiple pairs of those fluffy cat-ear headbands that come in pastel shades and are supposed to hold your hair back. That he was self-conscious about his scar the first few times he let Ponytail touch him to show him how to do it. That he hated himself for taking up space, for taking up other people’s willingly offered time.
Todoroki’s mouth purses. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I wish I—I wish I could do something.”
He looks determined. Eyes sharp. Fists clenched. Mouth pursed. Katsuki would kiss him, if the certainty that it’s not wanted wasn’t choking him from the inside.
“This is good,” Katsuki admits. “This is nice. Not—not every day that the class prince takes care of you.”
Suddenly, Todoroki is all red, red, red. “Bakugou,” he says, like an admonishment. Like what does it matter when you’re dying? Like you’re going to leave me here all alone, aren’t you? Like—and maybe at this point Katsuki’s just delirious—stay with me. “You could—it’s a very simple procedure, you know.”
“No,” Katsuki says. He’s always been stubborn. It is a simple procedure. Simple, but irreversible. Routine surgery, really. But the heart doesn’t take kindly to being altered without being asked. Removing the physical root of the illness—fucking flower petals killing him—removes the feeling too. For good. You can’t fall in love with the same person twice. It happens once, and then it just—keeps happening. Keeps itself alive, a self-sustaining flame. And loving Todoroki Shouto matters too much to let it slip through your fingers like it never was, like it never meant anything at all when— (When it means everything, when it is everything. He is everything.)
“Why not?” Todoroki asks, arms crossed over his chest. Holy—he’s pouting. Actually, genuinely pouting. Looks about to huff and blow his bangs out of his pretty face.
“Baby,” Katsuki says, means it to be a joke, only teasing, but it spills out raw and bleeding.
Todoroki’s eyes go wide. “Bakugou,” he says, again.
“Don’t wanna forget,” Katsuki interrupts. “Doesn’t matter if I—I just. I don’t want to fucking forget, okay halfie?”
Todoroki looks like he’s fighting back tears. The kind that leave you angry and blotchy and breathing hard. Katsuki had always guessed he would be a pretty crier, had pictured making him cry in ways they would maybe both enjoy. Had pictured taking him out, maybe to one of those sickeningly cutesy cat cafes, watching him try to kill himself with sugar and then getting used to the sweetness by sucking it off his pink tongue. Because—
Katsuki has always been selfish. Todoroki Shouto is not the rare exception, he’s the perfect example of it.
“But—,” Todoroki tries. The love of his goddamn useless life. The one filling up all of Katsuki’s thoughts.
“Hey,” Katsuki says. “Don’t cry.”
Todoroki bites down hard on the inside of his mouth. “I can do whatever I want,” he says. “You can’t stop me. Especially if—”
Katsuki feels sick. Too cold and too hot. Skin clammy, mouth dry, head spinning. “Could you love me?” he asks. “If—if I needed it to live, do you think you could love me?”
Todoroki looks like he’s been slapped. Like he wants to cradle his heart away from Katsuki’s ravenous, reaching skeletal fingers. Like Katsuki is being entirely unreasonable and cruel just for asking.
“Can’t,” he says, choked up. “Don’t be mean, you know—you know how I grew up.”
Huh? God, his head hurts. His brain is waging a protest, pounding angrily against his skull. Just let it all go, it begs. Forget your body and your dreams and give in to the unreasonable demands of this cruel thing writhing inside your chest. (Kiss him, just this once. You won’t get another chance. Come on, hero. Reach for the fucking sun.) “What’s that got to do with anything, sweetheart?”
“Where—where would I learn how to love, Bakugou?” Todoroki asks. “Who bothered to show me?”
And—
God, that hurts. There’s a lot Katsuki could say. Your mother loved you. Your family loved you. One shitty bastard doesn’t get to ruin your whole life for good. I’ll leave Japan heroless if you ask me to. I’ll get my hands bloody for you, baby. I’ll do anything. Just stop looking at me like I broke your heart when you did it first.
“I’ll show you,” Katsuki hisses.
Todoroki scoffs. “You’re dying,” he says. “You’re dying, and I bet—I bet whoever it is doesn’t even care, doesn’t—doesn’t realize what they could have, doesn’t know how—how good you are when you let yourself, when you stop being terrified of people noticing. I just—don’t leave, Bakugou. Don’t leave me. Okay?”
Don’t leave me. “Halfie,” Katsuki says. Laughs. He’s dying, what more is there? How can it get worse? “Keep talking, and I might start thinking this is all just. A mistake or some shit.”
Todoroki blinks. “What’s a mistake?”
“Well—,” Katsuki shrugs. “A little weird to be dying over someone not loving you when—when you’re standing there all worried looking at me like you’re about to kill me for having the audacity to make you live without me.”
Todoroki laughs wetly. “I will kill you,” he says, wiping at his face. “Learned from the very best. I can hide a body, Bakugou.”
Katsuki waggles his eyebrows. “That’s hot,” he says.
It pulls a small laugh out of Todoroki. He bends down again, cups Katsuki’s face with both hands, looks at him until Katsuki forgets how to voluntarily breathe, and then he moves just the slightest bit closer, and presses his lips on Katsuki’s forehead. When he moves to pull back, to pull away, to leave Katsuki cold and alone all over again, Katsuki grabs his wrist. Tightly enough to hurt, probably. Tightly enough to show how truly terrified he is. He doesn’t want endless darkness, he wants—a lifetime of waking up by Todoroki’s side. A lifetime of cooking for him and calling him spoiled and kissing him to shut him up when they’re arguing over dumb shit like who forgot to buy lettuce because they’re both stubborn as hell, and Todoroki is a petty brat. (Katsuki loves him. Has he mentioned that yet?)
“Don’t,” Katsuki whispers. “Love me.”
“I—,”
“Love me,” Katsuki repeats, more firmly. “I know you can. You’re filled to the brim with it, Shouto. With the capacity to love. With love for your friends and dumb cats and the whole damn world. But—love me first, okay?”
Love me first. He’s dying, and begging for love still. Begging to be picked first. To be special. To be wanted. To fill up the empty spaces in Todoroki’s chest.
“It’s—because of me?” Todoroki asks, incredulous. “I’m the one—you’re dying because of me? I’m the reason—?”
Katsuki shakes his head. “I’m dying because of me,” he says. With difficulty, he moves closer to flick Todoroki on the forehead. “I chose this, so you can fuck right off with that self-flagellation bullshit.”
“But if I—,”
“If you what? If you loved me?” Katsuki asks. “Guess what? I don’t give a shit what you do, I’m going to love you anyway. For the rest of my stupid life.”
“Until tomorrow, you mean?” Todoroki asks bitterly. “Recovery Girl said you’d be lucky to make it to the end of the week. I told her you’d do it just—just to prove her wrong. Tell—tell me I’m right, Katsuki. Tell me you’re stronger than this. Tell me you don’t need me to survive. Tell me you’ll claw your way up with teeth like you always do if you need to. I don’t—I can’t keep breaking my friends without meaning to.”
I can’t keep breaking—god, Katsuki’s so fucking stupid.
“This about Deku?” he asks. “Is that why—” Why you can’t say it back? Because he beat me to this too? Was kind and good and selfless way before me, and that’s all it takes, really? That’s all it always takes, that’s how these stories go. The hero gets the pretty prince, rides off into the sunset while the childhood bully dies cold and alone. Katsuki made his own bed a long time ago.
“What?” Todoroki asks. “No. No, I—Izuku is a friend. I told you.” He takes Katsuki’s clammy palm, places it over his beating heart, says, “Can’t love. Don’t know how.”
“You’re stupid,” Katsuki blurts. “You’re so fucking stupid, Shouto.”
“If I could,” Todoroki says softly. “If I could, I’d choose you.”
“Yeah? Why’s that? Deku’s nicer. Ponytail’s smarter. Even—even Shinsou likes you.”
“Don’t want nice,” Todoroki protests. “Want it mean. Want it to hurt. Want it to be you.”
“Could never hurt you,” Katsuki says. “You’ve been hurt enough. I just want—just wanna make you feel good, baby.”
The tears are slipping down Todoroki’s cheeks one after the other now. Not stopping. Kissing him would probably taste like salt. Katsuki still wants to. Wants to lick them right off the center of Todoroki’s bottom lip. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry. I want—I want to. I really do. I just—can’t hurt you.”
Katsuki doesn’t point out the obvious. What use is there? He’s dying. This is how the story ends. Fairytales aren’t kind, but we need stories to tell little children before bed anyway. Kind lies to convince them the world is kinder than it will ever be. When it just—is. It doesn’t care about Katsuki or the bloody flower petals spilling out of him like secrets he’s never known how to keep or the fact that he might be loved in every way except the one that matters.
Katsuki cups Todoroki’s face in return. “Hey,” he whispers, “you’ve never hurt me. Not even once.”
Then—
Todoroki kisses him. It’s wet. And salty. And kind of—like he’s never done it before. Clumsy. Uncoordinated. It’s perfect, perfect, perfect.
Of course, Katsuki hardly has anything to compare it to. Hasn’t kissed anyone himself. But he’d guessed the class pretty boy got to try whatever he wanted. Kiss and be kissed until his mouth was all wet and red and swollen.
Katsuki must taste like blood.
Todoroki keeps kissing him. “Want to love you,” he says, breathes it against Katsuki’s mouth. “Want to love you so bad, Katsuki. Want to love you for the rest of my life. Want—want a house with a big library and ugly paintings that cost too much and at least two cats.”
“Just two?” Katsuki teases. He feels—a little better maybe? Like Todoroki touching him with intent is making the strength that has seeped out of his body flow back in, return where it belongs, settle comfortably back home.
Todoroki kisses him again. And again. And again. “Three,” he says. “Four. Five. However many we can take care of. I just—I want it with you. Okay?”
Katsuki’s heart feels like it might burst. Too full. “I love you,” he says. “I love you, and you don’t have to love me back, don’t have to do anything, I’ll love you enough for the both of us, but—I think—god, Shouto—I think you already do. I think you’re just scared and stubborn. I think we both are.”
Todoroki pulls back. Considers. Opens his mouth to speak. Says, “But I don’t feel any different. Haven’t—haven’t in a while.”
Katsuki smiles. He’s tired, but Todoroki is close, so the cold tile under him feels warmer. The sky feels closer. Like he could touch it if he wanted. If Todoroki was there. “Then you’ve loved me for a while. That so bad, sweetheart?”
Todoroki shakes his head. Steels himself. “No,” he says. “Of course not.” Then, softer, rolling the word around his mouth, marveling at it, “Love? I love you? Is—is that what it feels like? I thought—I figured it would be different. That I’d realize. That I couldn’t do it. Not that—it wasn’t hard. You’re angry all the time, and you think you’re god’s gift to humanity and it takes so much work to get you to stop being stubborn sometimes, but—it wasn’t hard at all. Loving you, I mean. Look—look at me. I didn’t even notice. I almost let you die. God, Baku—Katsuki. You should hate me.”
Katsuki shakes his head. Kisses Todoroki again. Tastes the salt of it all over. “Never gonna hate you,” he says. “Okay?”
Todoroki nods. “Okay,” he says. “Do you—is this enough? Do we, um, need to do something else to make sure you’ll get better? Something more physical, maybe?”
“Easy,” Katsuki teases. “I’m still fucking convalescent over here.”
Todoroki shrugs. “Just want to help,” he says. “Want to help you get better.”
“Yeah?” Katsuki asks, brushes a thumb right below the outline of his scar. The proof that he’s survived so much horribleness only to come out of it good and kind and pretty and perfect. Made for Katsuki to love. “You gonna be a diligent nurse for me? Stay by my bedside and convince me to take my meds?”
“I think I’m your meds,” Todoroki points out. Stupid, unfairly pretty bastard. Made to be loved. Made to be kissed. Made to be taken care of. Soft and squishy all over. “So… you’re supposed to take me.”
“Oi,” Katsuki laughs. “You doing it on purpose now or what?”
Todoroki nods. “I’ve decided,” he says. “I’m going to love you on purpose for the rest of my life.”
Oh.
Well, that’s obviously fucking okay. Great. Peachy. Worth a month of throwing up fucking flowers. Worth everything. All the pain in the world, as long as Todoroki Shouto chooses him. Wants him. Loves him.
“Me too,” Katsuki says. “Is that a problem?”
Todoroki shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Of course not. Just—live for me. Please.”
Katsuki takes both his hands, kisses his trembling fingers. “You live too. For yourself. But for me too.”
“Yes,” Todoroki says.
And—
That’s all there is to it, isn’t it? A choice. Love is a choice. Love is the way Todoroki Shouto looks at you when you’re both sitting on the cold bathroom floor at three in the morning with the knowledge that tomorrow is going to be considerably less bloody. Endlessly warm. With the knowledge that they could probably both fit in Katsuki’s bed. And that definitely requires empirical testing.
“So,” Katsuki says, “does this mean I win?”
“Win what?” Todoroki says, indulging him.
Katsuki shrugs. “Dunno,” he says. “Life, I think? Like, in general?”
“I don’t think I’m a prize,” Shouto says, and—
Yeah, okay. He’s right. “You’re everything,” Katsuki says. “You’re everything, Shouto.”
Everything. The goddamn sun holding Katsuki in orbit.
“Sorry,” Todoroki says. “Sorry, I’ll—I’ll do my best, I promise.”
“I know you will,” Katsuki says. Doesn’t doubt it for a single goddamn second. “You always do.”
And—
It’s not so bad, really. Dying or almost dying or even having to live. As long as it leads to Todoroki Shouto holding on too tightly because he loves you, he loves you, he loves you. And you’re both young, and you’ve got a lifetime, still. A whole life filled with each other. A whole life to fill with each other. To choose to. To choose each other. Over and over and over. Until it stops hurting. Until Katsuki's heart isn't scared at all to beat in the shape of Todoroki's name. (Love, it's called love.)