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It starts with an insistent beat.
The humming bass line drowns out the noise of the grand banquet hall, even as its walls swell with the clamour of Japan’s pro heroes. The static beat thrums, the weight of it forcing Izuku’s body lax against the bar where he leans. He sighs into it, letting the sound fill his chest. The champagne flute caught between his fingers threatens to spill its contents when he twirls it absently. He wonders how many he’s had tonight—then the song’s beat becomes too bold to ignore, and he lets the thought go. Its rhythm is subdued, almost wanting.
Izuku looks around the room. Joy, egos, harrowed eyes and bandaged wounds all dressed up in lavish gowns and sleek suits. He knows he should be celebrating too. He’s honestly just tired.
The glass meets Izuku’s lips and its bubbles send a pleasant jolt down his spine, stomach-deep. But it takes him a moment to realize that it isn’t the alcohol that’s caused this wave of something.
It’s those eyes.
The ones that find his from across the room, unprompted. They’re red, red even as the colours from the dancefloor glint in them—colours that slowly pulse from blue, to purple, then pink. And red. The kind of red that lingers behind eyelids in the sun.
He’s spent nearly his whole life—all twenty-something years of it, at least—trying to catch sight of those eyes like one looks into the sun: you just don’t. At least not for more than a beat, until they snap shut before the light burns and blinds in that all-consuming way. He can only hope that one day he’ll be allowed to look. As if any mortal ever really could. So he’s been trying not to linger. Until now.
Now, those red eyes find his and his champagne-fuzzy brain gets a little dizzy from it, a little bolder. So he lets himself look, holds that gaze in his and allows it to fill him like nothing else can.
The lights melt from one colour to the next all around them.
Blue Purple Pink Red Purple Red Blue Pink Blue
Red red red red.
Izuku’s lungs fill with a stuttered breath when Katsuki takes a step forward. Towards him. Towards Izuku. And suddenly he’s gone hot and awkward and jumpy like he’s fourteen years old again. Like they hadn’t fought a war and won. Like the two of them hadn’t been getting closer and closer ever since. He can’t help it. It’s like every other time that Katsuki ever walked into a room: Izuku lights up and there’s nothing else except It’s Kacchan! and…
Now he’s left frozen on the spot, drinking in Katsuki’s approach with hesitant, lingering eyes. A tight maroon dress shirt twists around Katsuki’s torso, over his shoulders, down the ‘v’ of open buttons on his chest. His black dress pants crease with each heavy step. Izuku’s eyes widen as the slow, flashing lights roll off Katsuki in a halo of warm tones.
Purple Pink Red Blue. So much red.
Izuku can feel that colour as Katsuki makes his way across the room—it’s the same as the one pulsing through his bruised-purple veins, should it spill out. He wants those red eyes on him no matter the cost. He’d give anything, pay any price. He already has.
Katsuki keeps moving towards him; he doesn’t look away but neither does Izuku, even when Katsuki nearly gets stuck behind a group of their friends. They try to pull him into their conversation, but those broad shoulders slide past with agile urgency, leaving the group wholly ignored. Katsuki keeps moving. He closes the distance between them just a little more, gaze stubborn and unwavering. And shit does the sight make something possessive crawl up Izuku’s throat.
Then Katsuki actually does get stuck behind a line of people leading up to the bar. His stare shifts into something deadpan and annoyed. Izuku can’t help but shrug and smile back helplessly: what can ya do? He watches Katsuki huff as he’s forced to loop around the long way. Whatever this is—this tension—only thickens with Katsuki’s delayed approach.
Izuku’s blood swells with anticipation. He feels himself start to fidget and sweat as the bass line thumps heavy in his chest. Each whine of the guitar leaves him swaying, slowly, until he’s shifting his weight from side to side. He honestly doesn’t know what he should be doing with his body right now. So, naturally, he gives in—starts nodding along to the music, lets his elbows stick out in a way that makes him look like he’s awkwardly rowing a boat. Then he’s rolling his shoulders back, slightly off-beat.
Katsuki’s steps falter at the sight of Izuku’s botched dance moves. He barks out a laugh, barely audible over the music and distance. Then Katsuki’s eyes suddenly go wide, like he’s shocked by his own reaction. But even that briefest smile has already turned fatal, dousing Izuku’s thoughts in white static. His dance moves waver and he stands still, waiting. Helpless.
Helpless even as he watches Katsuki—the molten core of his sense of self—knee something (someone?) small and purple and bulbous out of his way as he marches forward. Izuku snorts an airy laugh into his glass; Katsuki still doesn’t break eye contact as he closes the final bit of distance between them. Izuku lets out a shaking breath, rests his stomach along the bar and throws back the contents of his glass. He swallows.
The colours close in. Purple. Blue. Pink. Blue.
Then there’s a shoulder pressing up against his. “Too many people,” a familiar voice grumbles.
Izuku looks up from his glass and into the sun.
Red.
“It’s nice that so many made it out.” Izuku nearly winces at the thinly veiled exhaustion in his own voice, and at the grim reality behind his words.
“Mm,” Katsuki grunts.
And Izuku knows that he understands, in his own way. He bumps their shoulders together in tired solidarity and lights up when Katsuki doesn’t shy away from his touch. This is the first chance they’ve had to speak all night. As electrified and nervous as Izuku feels—for a reason he refuses to name, to give power to—it’s like he can finally breathe again.
“Hi, Kacchan,” he whispers, barely audible above the thumping beat.
It makes Katsuki turn to face him more fully, still half-leaning against the bar. His gaze flickers across Izuku’s face, his chest, down further, then quickly darts away. Izuku is only wearing a simple suit and tie, all deep greens and black. He wonders what Katsuki sees.
Katsuki clears his throat as he waves down the bartender. “Nerd,” he murmurs while making a gesture at Izuku’s glass. Then he holds up two fingers.
Izuku’s smile wobbles—both nervous and giddy because Kacchan found me. He came over to me—as he asks, “Are you having fun?”
Katsuki nods at the bartender in thanks when she drops off two full champagne flutes. Then he levels Izuku with a blank stare and a pointed brow, handing him a glass.
“S’alright, I guess.”
Izuku smirks knowingly. Their glasses clink together. Katsuki rolls his eyes.
Izuku can’t help but start to sway again as he takes another sip from his glass. The music intoxicates him in the way that alcohol can’t. It makes him more in tune with the room: hyper-focused on the air around him, on each pulse of colour and the warmth seeping through his suit jacket where Katsuki’s shoulder lingers against his. Izuku sees the tension melt from Katsuki as he swallows down the fizzy drink and wonders can Kacchan feel it, too?
Izuku stops swaying, caught under that sun fire stare all over again. “What?” he asks, curious.
“You like this song.”
It isn’t a question. Izuku doesn’t understand the intensity in Katsuki’s gaze, can’t read it for once. He turns his attention to placing his glass on the bar top and nods, a little unsure.
There’s a gasp and then Katsuki suddenly lurches forward, bracing his arms on either side of Izuku as he grips the edge of the bar. Fury shadows his features when he shoots a glare over his shoulder at the culprits: a small group of tipsy, greenhorn heroes unlucky enough to let one of their friends tumble into Katsuki’s back. They scurry away in a chorus of apologies.
The lights continue their lazy cycle as if undisturbed by the interruption: red blue pink purple red. And now it’s just them again. Just another pair of shadows. Not Deku and Dynamight—just Izuku and Katsuki, alone in a room full of people once more.
Katsuki lets out an annoyed huff and straightens out, one hand still resting on the bar while the other slides down and… curls around Izuku’s waist. Izuku stares up at Katsuki and feels himself blink once. Twice. Katsuki’s eyebrows shoot up as his gaze darts down to his own hand. He pulls it away with a jolt and leaves it frozen in mid air, hovering unsurely.
“Shit. Sorry,” he mutters, eyes darting between Izuku’s in apology. In search of something.
Izuku watches intently, heartbeat gaining momentum as the glowing lights from the dancefloor douse Katsuki’s cheeks in red. “No, uh. I-It’s okay.”
Then Katsuki looks down at himself. Izuku wonders what he could be looking at until he takes note of the warmth under his own palms—where his hands have apparently splayed across Katsuki’s chest.
Izuku tries to lift his hands away, he really does, but then Katsuki suddenly leans in closer like he’s chasing the touch, probably without really meaning to. But it’s too late. The damage is already done. They can both see it in the other’s panicked eyes, in the laboured rise and fall of their chests. It makes something shift inside Izuku. He just kind of… lets go. Inches a little closer to the sun and feels himself burst into flames as he hesitantly places his palms back on Katsuki’s chest. Then, slowly, only feather-light at first, Katsuki’s hand returns to Izuku’s hip. And they let themselves touch.
The only thought echoing through Izuku’s mind in this moment is that Katsuki was the one who’d found him tonight, the one who’d (fiercely) parted through crowds to be here with him. And if Izuku couldn’t meet him halfway now, then he didn’t deserve to stand by his side at all.
He glances over Katsuki’s shoulder to the source of the lights: a jampacked dancefloor in the middle of the grand hall.
“I think… I wanna dance.”
Katsuki opens his mouth. Closes it. Then he tries again. “Yeah. Sure, uh. Go for it.”
But Izuku won’t back down, not yet.
“Will you come with me?”
“You want—?”
The rest of Katsuki’s question goes unspoken, but Izuku swears he almost saw his mouth form the word me.
“Yeah. Uh. Only if you want to.”
Katsuki looks out at the dancefloor—with eyes that scream dread, dismay, downright anguish—before glancing back down at Izuku. But for what feels for the first time tonight, Izuku can read this particular look: Are you sure this is a good idea?
If there’s one thing they have now, after so many tumultuous years of stumbling over one another, it’s trust. So Izuku stares straight into the scorching light of the event horizon and nods. Katsuki’s eyes widen and Izuku almost wants to laugh—he must have been waiting for him to back down, to backtrack and stutter out some kind of apology. But right now, Izuku’s stubborn need to reciprocate and bask in this unnamed urge seems to eclipse all else.
Kacchan has to see need him to see me.
He doesn’t try to ask himself what all that means.
When Izuku pushes away from the bar and takes a few steps backwards, Katsuki follows. He turns around and walks on ahead but he can feel Katsuki there, just a few paces behind. After weaving through the crowd of swaying couples and groups of friends goofing around with one another, Izuku stops at a spot with enough space to breathe. He turns around, inhales and holds it. Katsuki steps up to him. It’s as if now that they’re here—where the beat drums bone-deep and lights stain skin—whatever it was that started when they touched a few moments ago is only growing in agency.
Izuku stands still, watches. Worships with the gaze of a follower. It makes his knees ache for purchase.
There’s always been something a bit more devout than normal in the way he feels for Katsuki. He isn’t entirely sure what he’s meant to feel for him, but he knows his center. His sun. Izuku is the way he is because of Katsuki, always in orbit. There just couldn’t be a Deku without a Kacchan, in name and every other facet of identity.
So when Katsuki reaches out a shaking hand, Izuku takes it. His other hand returns to Izuku’s hip while Izuku lays an unsure touch on Katsuki’s shoulder. Their other hands are clasped, raised just above their chests and kept close. Then there’s a pressure on his hip, a half step to the side, and they’re swaying.
Everything is haloed in warm light—pink purple red pink blue—and there are probably eyes on them but Izuku couldn’t care less. He’s used to it by now. He’s spent so much time working himself to the bone to rebuild their crumbled society. They both have. He’s given so much, and he’ll never stop giving—but here, right now, he finds himself wanting a taste of both: to give and take. It’s a feeling that always seems to surface when Katsuki is nearby.
“See? It’s not so bad,” Izuku challenges with a cheeky confidence he isn’t actually sure that he has.
Katsuki’s molten eyes finally snap down to meet his. “Watch it,” he warns.
Izuku laughs breathlessly. He tightens his grip, feels Katsuki do the same.
“Kacchan’s good at this.”
“S’not hard,” Katsuki grumbles. But he makes the mistake of looking down at his feet, which tells Izuku all he needs to know.
“… Auntie used to make you take dance lessons, didn’t she?”
Up close like this, Izuku can watch as Katsuki’s cheeks burn.
“No, it was at that fuckin’ remedial co—” Katsuki huffs. “Shut the hell up, Izuku.” He gives Izuku’s hip a firm shove, but it’s all bark and no bite because he doesn’t let Izuku go far before he’s pulling him back in. “Figured you’d be steppin’ on my damn toes by now, anyway,” he growls.
“Yeah? Well. I…” Izuku can’t bite back his smile. “Shut the hell up, Kacchan.”
His fumbled comeback makes Katsuki laugh for the second time that night. Because of him. I did that, Izuku chants to himself, nearly buzzing out of his skin in giddy satisfaction.
Katsuki settles down but doesn’t say anything. Neither does Izuku. He watches a flicker of thoughts dance behind Katsuki’s eyes, passing by too quickly to be deciphered. Izuku is left to focus on the warmth in his touch—the branding heat on his hip, the sweat-slick grip on his hand. He wishes he could focus on anything else. He can feel every point of contact between them and that buzzing pulse of magnetic force grows even stronger when Katsuki’s palm rubs absent circles along Izuku’s hip. He tries so hard not to press back into the touch. He doesn’t think he succeeds, but he can’t help it. It’s like Katsuki was trying to memorize Izuku with his hands. It’s too much he’s just so—
“Close,” Izuku suddenly whispers. Then he jolts, alarmed at how easily his treacherous lips allowed the thought to escape.
Katsuki’s grip starts to loosen. “… What?”
“You’re—you, uh.” Izuku stares down at Katsuki’s chest. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Is it…” Katsuki tries, sounding more breathless than Izuku has ever heard him, even mid battle. “Is this okay?”
Izuku’s head says yes but every cell in his body screams more. He can’t risk opening his mouth, couldn’t possibly say that out loud, so he shows him instead. Lets go of Katsuki’s hand and wraps his arms around his neck—reassuring and terrified all at once.
Katsuki wilts. He dips his head, knocks his forehead against Izuku’s and lets out a shaking exhale.
“Izuku.”
But he’s smiling a bit as he says it and Izuku knows why—he feels so seen by that smile, flayed open and raw. Katsuki has to know what it does to him when he says that name. Suddenly there’s this need to touch him back in some way, so that Katsuki can understand how hearing that name in his gravelly voice licks up his spine. Izuku’s grip tightens. Helpless.
He doesn’t know what to do anymore. Nothing makes sense except closer, please closer, c’mon fuck closer but that can’t be right because they don’t do that. This is the closest they’ve ever been, the longest they’ve ever touched, and Izuku can’t possibly be allowed more than this. But at the same time, it’s okay. It buries something like home deep inside his chest. It’s moments like these when Izuku is at his bravest, and he feels something foolish igniting in him before the urge to quell the flames can win. He blames the alcohol. Blames the song—the beat, the lights, those fire eyes and halo hair—for what he does next.
“Kacchan…”
And it’s enough. He knows that Katsuki understands, hears the permission (the prayer) in his voice. Izuku can feel the moment that Katsuki finally gets it when he tilts his face into Izuku’s space and sighs.
Izuku doesn’t know who moves first. Doesn’t matter anyway. What happens next is just a natural extension of their bodies, their story. Izuku can’t stop smiling through the kiss. It makes their lips slide at playful angles that quickly bring Katsuki to anger. His firebrand hands suddenly dig heavy into Izuku’s waist, sliding up his back and threatening to consume him whole. Izuku arches, melts, sighs and licks into that familiar anger. He’s known it all his life.
After bearing the weight of the world on their shoulders for so long, Izuku finally feels peace settle into the places where Katsuki’s lips meet his. Right now, he doesn’t have to be anything but Izuku. He feels startlingly, dazzlingly inconsequential.
Katsuki digs his teeth into Izuku’s lower lip and tugs. He forces them apart; Izuku tries clumsily to follow.
“Shit,” Katsuki breathes, lets his forehead rub and nudge at Izuku’s. “That was okay, yeah?”
Izuku doesn’t think there are words to describe this feeling, but he tries anyway.
“It was good so good, I—” Please. He doesn’t say it. But a whine escapes his throat and Katsuki perks up at the sound so, thankfully, he doesn’t have to.
Katsuki’s arms tighten around him, crushing them together with the promise of more when the song fades out and comes to an end. The hall swells with voices, the lights continue their fading dance—the spell is broken, and Izuku and Katsuki fall still.
Red eyes search green, hopeful and impatient.
“Get a room already!”
Izuku jumps. A group of their friends—Mina, Shouto, Tsu, Ochako, Eijirou, with Denki (the culprit) at their center—stand nearby. Reality slams back into him and Izuku feels his skin burn red. He cradles his face in his hands and groans.
“Yeah, Sparky? Die mad about it,” Katsuki barks with a smile like victory, still holding Izuku in his arms. Proud.
Their friends surround them, another song fills the hall.
Izuku looks into the sun and he’s home.