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Katsuki should have seen it coming.
It isn’t the first time he’s stood Izuku up on a date. Even if he does have a valid excuse, it doesn’t make him feel any less shitty about it. Right at the last minute of his patrol, headquarters had sent him and his colleague to apprehend a villain down the street they were at. The battle had only taken half an hour, but because Katsuki is still a rookie, all the mandatory paperwork that followed was also assigned to him and not the senior he was with. Fuck the hierarchal nature of the Japanese hero system, honestly.
By the time Katsuki reaches home, he’s guilty and frustrated and upset. There’s a bruise shaped like a handprint spanning the arch of his shoulder, lacerations painting his arms. That furnace of emotion burning behind his breast quickly turns into anger when he spots Izuku at the entrance of their apartment, waiting for him.
“Kacchan,” calls Izuku, immediately getting up on his feet at the sight of Katsuki.
“What the fuck are you doing out here?” hisses Katsuki, panicked eyes wildly darting around to make sure no one is watching them. “How many times have I told you not to wait out here where someone can see you?”
“I was worried,” retorts Izuku, eyebrows wrenching together into a dangerous frown. This isn’t the first time they’ve argued about this either. He unlocks the gate and storms inside, Katsuki following behind with thunderous footsteps and white-knuckled fists. When the door is closed, Katsuki starts again.
“You know how dangerous that was. I’ve already texted you and said I was going to be late. You just needed to stay here and wait for me. What if villains recognise you? What if people begin to target you? Why can’t you fucking listen to me for once?”
“And am I not allowed to worry about you?” Izuku bites back, voice shaking with raised volume. His eyes are already shiny with tears, scanning the fresh wounds that litter Katsuki’s skin. “Am I not allowed to be seen outside my own fucking house? Just because waiting around inside was worrying me sick—”
“And what the hell do you have to worry about?” shouts Katsuki, pointing an accusatory finger at Izuku. There’s a pyre in his chest and it burns; his blood is oil that’s caught flame. “I’m the hero here and you’re—”
Katsuki swallows back the word before it can tumble out of his mouth, but the damage is already done. What’s unsaid hangs heavily in the air between them. The corner of Izuku’s lip trembles and Katsuki immediately forgets about his anger, lunging forward and attempting to grab hold of Izuku’s arm. Shame drowns him in its tides. “Fuck, ‘Zuku, sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t have to say it. I heard it loud and clear all the same,” spits Izuku through clenched teeth, yanking himself out of Katsuki’s grip. “Yes, I’m quirkless. Yes, I can’t even protect myself so why the hell should I worry about you?”
No, Katsuki wants to say. Not quirkless in a way that means he’s weak and unable to stand up for himself. Izuku is easily one of the strongest and most intelligent people he knows. What Katsuki means to say is, he’s quirkless and people will be cruel to him because of it. Katsuki knows because he had been cruel to Izuku for this same reason before. What he means to say is, villains will use Izuku’s quirklessness against him if they find out they’re dating, and he can’t put Izuku in that kind of danger.
There’s a look in Izuku’s eyes that Katsuki can’t decipher. It’s as though he’s trying but failing to temper his heartbreak into resolve. Eyes sewing shut as if afraid to gauge Katsuki’s reaction, Izuku says, “This isn’t working out.”
Katsuki’s whole world stops.
“What?"
“We shouldn’t- this isn’t working out, Kacchan.”
There’s a rock pressing against Katsuki’s chest, cutting his flesh with its jagged edges. He can’t believe what Izuku just said, can’t believe the conviction with which he’s uttered it aloud.
“You’ve thought about this before,” states Katsuki. He feels like he’s going to topple over from the wind that’s been knocked out of his lungs. Just hours ago, he was looking forward to a long-awaited date with Izuku, in the comforts of their apartment. Sure, it’s tiny, but it’s theirs. How did things escalate to this?
(How did Katsuki miss the signs? He should’ve seen it coming—the missed dates, the conflicting schedules, the arguments about Izuku hovering outside their home where he can be seen.)
“You said it yourself, Kacchan. You’re a hero and I’m quirkless.”
“Fuck, you know I didn’t mean it like that.” Katsuki is shivering, his own eyes welling up with saltwater. It trails down to his lip, stinging the cut there. “I just wanted you to be safe, I- what does you being quirkless have to do with us? When I fucking love you all the same.”
Saying those words is akin to tearing his chest open and ripping his heart out for Izuku to see. Katsuki doesn’t say I love you often. The gravity of it makes Izuku falter for a second, but his resolve quickly returns, settling over viridian irises in a layer of ice. And how do you convince someone who’s already made up his mind?
“I love you too. Kacchan, you know that.”
“Then why are you leaving me?” Katsuki’s throat is hoarse and all the aches from the work day cannot compare to this pressure behind his breastbone. His heart is constricting and everything hurts.
“It’s me, okay?!” shouts Izuku. His whole face is wet with tears and what would Katsuki give to wipe them away with his hands? What would he give to rewind back in time and fix whatever he broke before the fissures spread and their entire relationship collapsed like a house of cards?
“This is all on me,” admits Izuku. “You’re right, I’m quirkless. But maybe, I can’t accept it. I thought I could live this down, watching you become the hero we dreamed of growing into from the sidelines. But it turns out that I really can’t.”
“So what, you’re gonna walk away?,” yells Katsuki, betrayal sprouting like vines over his ribs. It’s exactly the kind of punishment he deserves. “We fucking promised to be at each other’s sides.”
“I know. But Kacchan, there’s only so much I can take. This isn’t- this isn’t being by your side. This is me getting rejected from college because I’m quirkless. This is me whiling around at home with nothing to contribute because no sane place wants to hire a quirkless person, waiting for you to miss our dates because the world needs you more.”
“But I need you,” sobs Katsuki, his sadness clawing out of his esophagus without volition. “Give me time, I need time. For things to settle down and I promise I’ll have more time to spend with you then—”
“It’s not about that. I have this bitterness inside of me, Kacchan, and for as long as I have it I can’t love you properly like you deserve.”
Katsuki wants to beg. He’s never deserved Izuku to begin with so he’ll plead for whatever scraps of love he can take. But Izuku is looking at him with this finality and just like that, Katsuki’s knows it’s over in his bones.
“But what am I going to do when you’re gone?” How will I know if you’re safe out there? How will I know if you’re happy out there?
Here, Izuku takes a step closer to him, mangled hands coming up to curve around his cheeks. Katsuki subconsciously leans into the touch, relishing this one last salvation.
“You’re going to be the number one hero you said you’d be.”
At what cost? What does it matter without Izuku to come home to?
Izuku bumps their foreheads together, a goodbye.
“You’re gonna be happier without me.”
✺
Four years later, Katsuki becomes the number one hero.
There’s no euphoria rushing through his veins as his name reaches its ascent at the top of the charts. There’s no bone-deep satisfaction for fulfilling a dream he’d vowed to achieve ever since he was a little boy. There’s no wicked grin curving his mouth as celebratory messages from friends flood his phone. There’s no warmth in his chest as red eyes track the numerous accolades lining his shelves and walls.
There’s only the permanent ache etched into his palms from quirk overuse, exacerbated by the subzero temperatures of winter. There’s only the strain in his joints from exhausting his muscles without giving them enough time to heal. There’s only the ringing in his ears from explosions so loud the only sound that can measure up are the screams and cries of civilians he’d failed to save. There’s only the hollowness behind his sternum, a chasm that has proved impossible to fill, even with the victory of attaining number one.
There’s only an old, ratty cardigan in his wardrobe which has long lost the scent of its previous owner. There’s only the empty side of his bed, too big to sleep for one. There’s only an extra set of everything he owns—bedding and kitchenware and toiletries—covered in dust from years of disuse. There’s only the ghost of a person he loved, who chased him from his old apartment to every other space that followed, haunting their nooks and corners. Everywhere he turns, he expects to see green eyes. Everywhere he turns, he doesn’t find them.
✺
Four years later, Katsuki sees him again.
In a bakery cafe of all places, one of their favourite childhood haunts, selling the same anpan and chocolate cornets even after all these years. The sight of him stops Katsuki in his tracks, gooseflesh instantly rising on his skin despite the heat from the multi-layered disguise he’s wearing. He has to blink twice to make sure he’s not dreaming. That those green eyes and green curls are real, and not just a figment of his imagination.
And then Izuku meets his gaze and lets out a soft gasp.
In a sea of people, of course it’s Izuku who recognises Katsuki behind his disguise. He was the first person who really looked at Katsuki anyway, who’d stripped the title of pro hero Dynamight and seeked out the insecure boy underneath.
Age has only made him more beautiful. Beneath the soft fluorescents, Izuku glows, lashes fanning beautifully over his eyelids, cheeks rosy and full. Grinning, he stumbles towards Katsuki, and Katsuki’s stunned speechless, his hammering heart unable to keep up with the situation.
“Kacchan!”
God, he hasn’t heard that name in four years. It locks around his chest in a vice grip, squeezing it tight. His arms hang uselessly by his sides as Izuku wraps him in a hug. He still smells like petrichor, like the earth after being washed in torrential downpour. Katsuki thinks of the cardigan in his wardrobe and wants to burst into tears.
“It’s been so long,” says Izuku, withdrawing himself before Katsuki can move his arms up to return the hug.
“Hi,” breathes Katsuki, wincing internally at how stupid he sounds, so out of breath as if the sight of Izuku punched the oxygen out of his lungs. “What are you- what are you doing here?”
Izuku had moved out of the neighbourhood shortly after they broke up. The only indication Katsuki had that he was alive was Auntie Inko, whom the old hag still met up with sometimes. And as number one hero, Katsuki had the connections and devices to dig for Izuku’s whereabouts. But how do you go about searching for someone who doesn’t want to be found?
Right here, Izuku lifts his left hand, facing the back of it towards Katsuki; and catching the overhead light is a silver ring looped around his fourth finger.
The universe stops.
In his mind’s eye, their surroundings crumble into dust, and there is no feeling except the pressure behind his sternum, pushing mercilessly against his lungs, heart, throat. There is no sound—chatter of patrons and whistles of coffee machines quieting into white noise—except for Izuku’s voice when he says, “I’m getting married!”
It takes each and every one of Katsuki’s seasoned hero reflexes to keep the calm look on his face from distorting into something ugly and broken. What are you supposed to say to something like that? Pleasantries, politically correct things. “Congratulations,” replies Katsuki in a voice that sounds foreign to himself, “that’s- that’s amazing.”
“It is,” agrees Izuku contentedly. Glancing around the cafe as if he suddenly remembered where he’s at, he asks, “Are you free now? To catch up over coffee or something. I remember the shokupan here is your favourite.”
And really, Katsuki should make an excuse to flee. If he says yes, he’s walking headfirst into a disaster. Into the same hurricane that upended his life four years ago, leaving him a mess of blood and guts, wrecked earth and eroded soil. But the pathetic part of him that still loves Izuku, that won’t ever stop loving Izuku, latches onto the earnest look in his eyes instead. To the fact that even after all this time, Izuku still remembers his favourite bread, from their favourite bakery they grew up eating at.
And so he says, “Sure.”
With a table full of sweets between them, Katsuki listens to Izuku recount the past four years.
“When I first moved out of Musutafu, I really didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I just remember being dejected from all the college and job rejections,” explains Izuku wistfully. Katsuki’s chest twinges as nebulous memories from yesteryear flash in his head: the light in Izuku’s eyes dimming day by day with each failed application; the ensuing crestfallen look on his face; their final argument before the breakup.
“I was doing odd jobs everywhere, whatever work I could find. And I’m not gonna lie, those initial months were torturous. But I found myself in Airin-chiku eventually, and that’s when my life changed forever.”
Airin-chiku. One of the areas with the biggest quirkless slums. Katsuki’s breath catches in his throat as he readies himself for what Izuku is about to say.
“There were many quirkless people there, like me. Living under bridges, in dilapidated houses. Unemployed, abandoned by their families. By society.”
Under the table, Katsuki’s hands curl into fists. Those callous words he’d once uttered to Izuku ring in his head: if you think you’ll have a quirk in the next life, go take a swan dive off the roof! They’d stitched Katsuki’s sin into the fabric of this insidious society, so interwoven he doesn’t know if any amends are enough to untangle the threads.
“I was angry at first. For them, for myself. But meeting so many people like me for the first time also made me feel less lonely. There, I found friends who understood my pain, as much as I understood theirs. I found empathy, not just sympathy. And that had to count for something, right? After so long of trudging through life without a dream—”
Katsuki tries to swallow around the lump in his throat but to no avail. It was a dream they’d shared, but Katsuki had left Izuku behind to chase it on his own.
“—I finally had a new purpose again. To help these friends, be there for them.”
To become the hero they needed. To become the hero I sorely needed myself.
Here, the corners of Izuku’s mouth lift into a smile as he says, “So I volunteered at a quirkless shelter. Together with the other volunteers, we taught kids how to read, teenagers and adults how to defend themselves. We cooked meals in the kitchen together. Kacchan, I know how to cook now!”
Despite everything, that makes Katsuki smile too. He remembers just how helpless Izuku used to be in the kitchen. And maybe pride is the last thing Katsuki deserves to feel, but it swells beneath his chest anyway.
On his next words, the light in Izuku’s eyes dims just a little. “The people in the shelter… they’re like a second family to me. And for the longest time, I struggled to accept this quirkless part of me. But I thought to myself, if I could love these friends, fight to the death for them, quirkless parts and all, how could I not extend that love to myself? That acceptance to myself?”
Katsuki is speechless in the wake of Izuku’s revelations. His heart shudders with every one of them, and each constriction hurts as much as it leaves him breathless. When Izuku leans closer across the table, Katsuki feels his chest seize again. The cafe is suddenly transformed into a turbulent ocean, and he can only let himself be pulled by its waves.
“It’s here that I have to say… I’m sorry, Kacchan. I needed to leave where I was to find myself again.”
I needed to leave you.
“But it wasn’t honourable, the way I did it. I hurt you so much in the process. I’m glad I met you today,” says Izuku, the edges of his mouth crinkling up into a grateful smile, “so I could finally apologise. In person. You never deserved to have me at my worst.”
Katsuki bites on his tongue so hard he can taste metal. If he doesn’t, he might say something stupid and shameless. Like, I would have you in any way, shape, and form. Your best, your worst, I’ll take anything that you are willing to give me. But they haven’t spoken for four years and Izuku is getting married to someone else. That bitter knowledge is enough to have Katsuki clenching his fists, nails digging into palms as he says, “That’s nothing to be sorry about. What I did to you… was worse. I must have fucked you up so badly that you had to go through all of that to get to where you are today. I just- thank fuck you’re here now, in a better place.”
Izuku shakes his head, and the sight of his glossy viridian eyes renders Katsuki so weak. He feels soft like ice-cream that’s been left out in the sun.
“No, Kacchan. We’d talked about this so many times before, remember? I’ve forgiven you a long time ago, and you made up so much for me. Please don’t forget you were a victim of this society too.”
But Katsuki’s amends hadn’t been enough to wash away the repercussions of his cruelty. Izuku leaving him is testament to that. He doesn’t argue though, because he knows how stubborn Izuku can be about this. Back when they were still together, they had countless conversations circling around Katsuki’s guilt. Katsuki remembers them with a pang in his chest.
“Will you be going back to the same shelter?” he asks, just to change the subject.
“Yeah, after the wedding! I met my fiancé at the shelter actually,” quips Izuku, the brightness in his voice a stark contrast to Katsuki’s darkening thoughts. “His name is Shirabu. He’s a medical staff there.”
“Does he—” asks Katsuki, the ache behind his breastbone compounding with each word punched out of his throat, “—does he make you happy?”
“The most,” answers Izuku immediately, honestly. There’s no hesitation, just a dreamy smile curling his mouth upward. Katsuki grits his teeth and mirrors that smile. It’s bittersweet, but he means it when he says, “Well, I’m happy for you.”
“Thank you Kacchan.”
✺
Katsuki doesn’t have any excuse to seek out an engaged man.
Still, he looks for Izuku everywhere he goes, chasing invisible shadows down supermarket aisles and turning his head whenever he hears laughter that sounds too much like spring. Izuku shows up once after four years and all of a sudden, Katsuki is brought back to the initial months following their break-up, searching for him in every little thing like a madman without a compass. There’s Izuku, in the roadside puddles they’d used to splash in as children. There’s Izuku, in that exact Family Mart at Omotesando where they shared kisses between bites of egg mayo sandwich. Katsuki had complained about his breath, but still leaned in to return the kiss anyway.
His chest aches.
Eijirou told him once that if you see someone once, chances are you’ll see them again. Katsuki gets his stroke of luck ten days after their encounter, at the park near their family homes. Izuku’s on a run, and his hair and eyes blend with the forest green of the cypress trees. Katsuki’s chest squeezes at the sight of him. He’s the first one to approach him this time, jogging over pathetically to say hi.
“Hey Kacchan,” greets Izuku, eyes blowing wide in surprise. But he’s smiling and keeping his pace, cheeks flushed and beads of sweat dripping down his temples. “Do you run here often?”
“Not really, I prefer the gym,” answers Katsuki honestly, “but I have time off and just decided to hang around here.”
He doesn’t tell Izuku it’s his first day off in over a week. He doesn’t tell Izuku that he’s already spent half of it trying and failing to fall asleep then exhausting himself at the gym with a two-hour workout because he hasn’t felt strong in a long time. He doesn’t tell Izuku that disguising his identity under the hoodie he’s wearing makes his skin hurt in the summer heat, but he could not stay a minute longer cooped up in his house with his thoughts. He doesn’t tell Izuku that just this run alone is making the dull ache in his knees flare up.
“Coming out to the park during your breaks is good,” affirms Izuku. The way he says it makes Katsuki afraid that Izuku still sees him, the barely veiled monster who’s struggling to keep himself together, who’s not taking care of himself like a number one hero should.
“Wedding planning has been really hectic so I make sure to go on runs in my free time,” he adds and all of a sudden, Katsuki is brought back to reality, to the metre’s distance between them that Izuku has maintained in the time they’ve been running, when four years ago they’d never failed to bump shoulders wherever they walked.
Right, Izuku is getting married.
Izuku tells him about his and his fiancé’s plans to bring everyone from their shelter over to Musutafu for the wedding. He tells him about the venue they’d gotten for cheap and how they’re attempting to spruce it up on their own. He jokes that he and Inko are sure to flood the hall with their tears.
At the mention of Inko, it’s as if a fist has closed tight around Katsuki’s chest, rupturing him completely. Once upon a time, he’d promised Izuku’s mother to make her son happy for the rest of his life. He quickly shuts down that memory, lest he starts throwing up on the pavement.
Where they finally stop running, Katsuki realises it’s near the creek that they’d once loosely dubbed as their spot. A place that has seen them through every stage in their adolescent years, from catching butterflies as children to having secret dates as high school students. Where Katsuki had not taken Izuku’s hand at the river.
Izuku seems to notice too, charging past the clearing where a canopy of ferns lies overhead. But the smile on his face is tinged with the kind of nostalgia that’s purely platonic. It doesn’t look broken. Meanwhile Katsuki is fighting to suppress all the memories from yesteryear, from the love that still underlies all of them.
“Oh my god,” gasps Izuku, “this place is still around.”
Katsuki doesn’t tell him all their old haunts had never left. He doesn’t tell him that on sleepless nights, he’s wandered around an empty city only to wound up here at this creek over and over again, crying with only the company of a river where he’d committed his gravest mistake.
“We used to do everything here,” laughs Izuku, eyeing a butterfly fluttering above a log on the grass. “Playing catch, competing to see who captures the most butterflies…”
Bullying you. Hurting you. Not taking your hand when you had reached it out to me.
“Yeah,” replies Katsuki, unable to say much with the lump in his throat.
“Do you still remember when we had this huge fight here? You were getting close to this junior of yours at school and I got so jealous. God, I was so dramatic,” laughs Izuku, like a memory of their argument is just something casual to joke about now, and not a dagger that cuts him from the inside out. Katsuki clenches his fists because he’s not capable of laughing at these memories. He’s not capable of pretending they mean nothing now.
Everyone used to think that Katsuki would be the jealous one in a relationship. They don’t know how possessive Izuku could be. It drove Katsuki crazy in the best of ways. And darkness swirls inside of him at the thought that Izuku’s possessiveness is targeted at someone else now. Shirabu gets all of Izuku’s jealousy and selfishness and Katsuki is left with nothing.
He wonders if Shirabu alleviates Izuku’s insecurities the same way he used to—with feather-light kisses and quiet acts of service.
Katsuki should really stop wondering at all.
Above them, the sun begins its slow descent below the horizon, staining the sky in pastels. Katsuki stares at the murky river that reflects its colours.
“Ah, it’s nearing dinnertime,” notes Izuku.
“Oh. Do you need to go back soon?”
“Yeah, I really wanted to try this niku jaga recipe that Shirabu loves.”
“Let’s head back then,” says Katsuki quickly before he can let the jealousy fully sink in with its claws.
“Do you have dinner plans, Kacchan?”
“I’ll whip something up for myself.”
There's a pause, as if Izuku is hesitating something. But then he asks, “Do you want to come over and have dinner with us instead?”
Katsuki stills, heart skipping a beat. He wasn’t expecting that at all. Every bone in his body screams at him to say no. The storm that Izuku left in his wake has only revived at full force with his return, and Katsuki has done nothing but burrow deeper into the pain. Has done nothing but let the rain crash down on his skin and splinter it open.
Has done nothing but wish desperately and selfishly for more time with Izuku. So really, how could he say no?
At least he’s polite about it. “I don’t wanna trouble you guys.”
“You couldn’t,” insists Izuku. “Just don’t come into the kitchen. You might have a heart attack watching me handle a knife.”
Despite everything, Katsuki barks out an endeared laugh.
“Besides, I really want you to meet Shirabu,” adds Izuku. “Our place isn’t anything much, we’d rented it just for our stay here. But it’s cosy.”
The smile on Katsuki’s face wavers. “Okay,” he replies, “okay.”
Izuku’s apartment turns out to be just a three minute walk from Inko’s house, which makes a lot of sense because Katsuki can’t imagine them bearing to be far from each other yet again. Underneath Katsuki’s chest his heart thrums an erratic rhythm, anxiety steadily increasing at the thought of peeking into Izuku’s new life. Of meeting the man who gets to live out all of Katsuki's dreams.
The door opens to a space that’s, surely enough, tiny and barely furnished. But in the nooks and corners, Katsuki finds details that render this place theirs, be it a polaroid tacked onto the fridge; or handwritten post-its, who’ve lost their stickiness, but whose owners clearly can’t bear to dispose of them.
“Please make yourself comfortable,” says Izuku as they leave their shoes at the genkan.
Then Shirabu emerges from the bedroom to greet them and he’s somehow nothing and everything like Katsuki imagined him to be. A head shorter than the both of them, he holds himself with a smile that’s quietly confident and self-assured. Shirabu tiptoes and Izuku kisses him on the forehead, easy and practised as if it’s a routine of theirs. Katsuki has to look away.
“Kacchan, this is Shirabu. And well, Shirabu, I’m sure you know who Kacchan is...”
“Dynamight, it’s an honour to meet you,” greets Shirabu so sincerely that the sceptic inside Katsuki immediately feels suspicious.
“You can just call me Bakugou.”
“Please take a seat. Our couch isn’t much but I’ll put on a show while dinner gets ready.”
Feeling extremely out of place, Katsuki bends low to sit on the sofa and tune out for the next hour or so. But the universe betrays him, the ache in his knee choosing that exact moment to exacerbate, shooting a jolt of pain along his leg. It is excruciating and he doesn’t manage to hide the pain in time. “Fuck,” curses Katsuki a little too loudly for his own liking. To his dismay, Izuku and Shirabu both notice immediately.
“Kacchan! Is everything okay?” The urgency in his voice makes Katsuki want to hurl. Shirabu is already at Katsuki’s side, inspecting where he has his hand clasped around his knee, and Katsuki shouldn’t have agreed to meet them. He shouldn’t have put himself up for humiliation, to let them witness his utter, utter weakness—
“Could I help you with the pain?” asks Shirabu.
“It’s just an old injury,” says Katsuki through gritted teeth, feeling his temper rise dangerously, “I’ll be fine.”
“We insist,” adds Izuku, “Shirabu’s quirk lets him relieve pains and discomforts.”
“I can’t fix anything that’s too serious but it might make you feel better,” adds Shirabu. He sounds like he means it and Katsuki knows he shouldn’t be feeling like this, but that grates on his nerves even more. For some sick, twisted reason, he was hoping that Shirabu would be resentful at his presence. Because maybe that’d make him feel less inferior, less like his four-year-old self who had a powerful quirk and yet was nowhere as heroic as his quirkless best friend.
Begrudgingly, he follows Shirabu to the bedroom while Izuku kindly excuses himself to the kitchen. He probably knows Katsuki would feel even more embarrassed if he were there. Shame is a torch that smoulders Katsuki from the inside out. The distinct scent of Izuku’s skin in the room—the one that’d completely faded away from his cardigan that Katsuki still keeps—isn’t helping. Like a loser, Katsuki bites on his lip hard to distract from the tears that are starting to prickle his eyes.
“Could you keep your leg propped up?” asks Shirabu gently after he’s placed a chair in front of Katsuki. Feverish anger sears hot beneath Katsuki’s skin as he obeys, raising his leg and keeping it on the edge of the chair. Here, Shirabu leans close, closing his hand over Katsuki’s knee. A soothing heat emanates from his palm, slowly dulling the ache. And Katsuki has to be the worst human being in the universe, a demon unbefitting of his title as a hero, because the relief makes him furious instead of grateful.
He hates himself so much.
The question slips from his mouth before he can stop himself from asking. “How are you okay with this?”
“What?”
“How the fuck are you okay with me being here?” repeats Katsuki, his voice shivery at the edges. “When I’m your boyfriend’s ex, when I’m the same guy who bullied him and ruined his life by telling him to fuck off and die. How are you okay with this?”
Control is slipping from Katsuki’s fingers and he feels like he’s bursting at the seams. On the contrary, Shirabu appears to be thinking carefully before he answers. Patient, quiet.
This is why Izuku chose him, the dark voice in Katsuki’s head says. This is why he chose him over you.
“I know what you did to him,” Shirabu starts. “Izuku told me everything. You isolated him and ganged up on him with your friends. You burned his skin with your quirk and hurt him with your words.”
The truths, lay out bare by someone else’s mouth, sting like an open wound. Katsuki waits for his punishment. But it never comes. In fact, the next thing that Shirabu says is something he could’ve never expected.
“For the longest time, I was resentful of you. I’ve met so many heroes who were just bullies in disguise and wondered if you were one of them. But Izuku told me he never stopped looking up to you, even when you acted like a tyrant. I tried to understand how he could admire someone who hurt him, how the both of you loved each other despite your history.”
It’s like that day at the cafe all over again, being at the receiving end of words that unravel him layer by layer. Katsuki is breathless.
“I can invite you into my home and treat you with kindness, Bakugou, because Izuku has told me all these other things too. About how you’ve spent years protecting him, standing up for him, taking care of him. Loving him without expecting forgiveness. I’m okay with you being here, because I’ve kept up with you too, Bakugou.”
“What?”
“I’ve watched you in the last two years. How you’re one of the only few heroes in Japan who publicly advocates for the quirkless. How you’d saved those quirkless kids from being trafficked in that rescue mission, all by yourself. I’ve worked with many quirkless shelters and I know just how generously you donate to them.”
“I—” Katsuki starts but stops, choking on the wetness in his throat.
“And so while I can’t fully understand Izuku’s reasons for admiring you, because what you guys had with each other is something only you guys would understand— something beyond even love itself, I think I can see why it’s you of all people.” Something beyond love itself. Katsuki thinks of their histories and how they’ve intertwined so intricately it’s impossible to tell them apart. He briefly wonders if Shirabu has the power to relieve the ache behind his chest, too.
“You’re his ex but you’re also his best friend. You’re someone who changed him irrevocably and I think Izuku will always have love for you. It’s different from what I have with him, but I respect it. I respect you as a person and as a hero. And Izuku loves you, has forgiven you. But, pardon me if I’m crossing a boundary— none of this will matter if you don’t learn how to forgive yourself.”
There’s salt in Katsuki’s eyes and in his mouth. He ducks his head in one last shoddy attempt not to be seen crying.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever deserve it,” Katsuki quietly admits.
“You’ve punished yourself enough, Bakugou.”
“What the hell do you mean?”
“That injury in your knee,” explains Shirabu, “it’s come from years and years of overworking your body. And you haven’t stopped.”
Katsuki doesn't have a retort for that. Luckily, a shout from outside the room telling them the food is done brings their conversation to an end. Shirabu gets up first and with a pat on Katsuki’s back, leaves him in the room to collect himself for a minute.
Truth be told, it’s not as if the jealousy and self-hatred have completely dissipated from his system after their conversation. But Katsuki also feels a new lightness in his bones, as if some of the tar in his lungs has cleared up and he can breathe a little more easily.
He hates to admit it, but the dinner that Izuku prepared is good. In between bites of tender meat and potatoes, Katsuki disguises his praises as complaints in his usual Bakugou fashion. Izuku and Shirabu laugh at him for that.
Here in their apartment, though, Katsuki bears witness to moments that feel like a hundred and one little daggers across his chest. The way Izuku and Shirabu hold hands beneath the table. The way Shirabu picks out the spring onions in Izuku’s plate. The way Izuku subconsciously leans closer to Shirabu when they’re sharing an anecdote about their relationship. Katsuki learns of the charities and programs they’ve built together at their shelter, and remembers bitterly how when he and Izuku were still together, he’d left Izuku alone at home while he was out chasing a dream they shared. Izuku had not glowed with Katsuki, the way he’s glowing with Shirabu now.
But it warms him as much as it hurts him at the same time. Katsuki had told Izuku he was happy for him at the cafe. He still means it.
The evening gradually draws to a close. Katsuki is about to say his goodbyes when Izuku and Shirabu both stop him at the door. Crimson eyes widen as they spot a closed envelope in Izuku’s hand.
“Kacchan, I know it’s a little last minute but we’d really like to invite you to our wedding.”
Katsuki is speechless as he takes the invitation, the ringing in his ears amplified as his thoughts scatter all over the place.
“It’s no pressure though,” Izuku rushes to add, “I know you’re really busy and yeah, it’s a small wedding but people will definitely recognise you and I get that won’t be the most comfortable so—”
“Hey,” interrupts Katsuki before Izuku can spiral, even though he very much feels like spiralling himself, “I’ll go.”
“Really? You don’t have to feel obliged to—”
“Am not,” Katsuki forces himself to say even though his throat feels like razors, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
✺
All his life, Katsuki has imagined putting on a suit for Midoriya Izuku.
Today, he’s doing just that, except he isn’t the one walking down the aisle.
His reflection in the mirror looks like a corpse going through the motions. As he buttons his blazer and ties a half windsor, old memories of getting dressed together in the mornings with Izuku at their old apartment dredge up without his permission. Katsuki wills himself to push them down. Today is a day about Izuku and Shirabu, not him.
A twenty-minute taxi ride takes him to the wedding venue, which is small but beautiful. Dome windows allow tons of daylight to stream through, dappling the walls and fixtures in warm white. The hall is simply furnished, with touches of Izuku sprinkled here and there, from the sprigs on the tables to the All Might topper on the two-tiered wedding cake. Katsuki has to hide a teary chuckle under his breath.
Barely concealed are the gasps from the other guests who have clearly recognised him but thankfully do not approach him. Izuku had told Katsuki they were mostly trusted friends from their shelter. Near the stage, though, stands Inko, who quickly hobbles over to Katsuki when she sees him. Katsuki’s heart ricochets, fists clenching behind his pockets because while he’s heard about Inko frequently from the old hag, he hasn’t spoken to her in years.
When you have a history with someone like Midoriya Izuku, you’re bound to have a history with his mother, too. It had taken a long time for Inko to get to trust Katsuki again, much less approve of their relationship. Katsuki can only think, very bitterly, that he managed to fuck that up all over again. But Inko clearly feels otherwise, her eyes glossy with joyful tears as she wraps her arms around Katsuki. When she finally withdraws, Katsuki notices signs of age, like the wrinkles on her forehead and the brownish spots dotting her cheeks. How did he let so much time pass him by? How had he spent the past four years not in contact with two of the people he loved most?
“Oh, Katsuki-kun,” she greets, “it’s been such a long time.”
“Auntie,” replies Katsuki, “how have you been?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard enough about me from your mother. How are you?”
“And I’m sure you’ve heard enough about me from the news,” quips Katsuki.
“Still a smart mouth,” teases Inko good-naturedly. “I’m so glad you’ve reconnected with ‘Zuku. This is such an important day for him.”
The ever-present heaviness returns, weighing down on Katsuki’s bones. “I’m happy for him,” he says, as though if he repeats this statement like a mantra enough times, he’ll believe it one hundred percent.
“And so am I. But really, I’m glad you’re here.”
Why would you? Katsuki wants to ask. Because all he’s ever done is ruin the one good thing he had. Even when Izuku kept coming back to save him—from the violent river, the sludge villain, Katsuki’s innermost demons—Katsuki had broken him down repeatedly. Until finally, one day, Izuku became the one that got away.
And now, Katsuki is watching the love of his life get married to someone else.
He expects their small talk to end there, but it’s as if he has his heart sewn on his sleeve, or maybe Inko just knows how to read him. Because she adds, “Turning up here is not the bravest thing you can do for yourself, but the kindest. Because it means, maybe, you can finally begin to forgive yourself.”
When the ceremony is about to begin, Katsuki hides in the back row of seats. To his surprise, a kid who must be no older than twelve stalks up to him, a piece of paper that looks as though it was roughly torn off outstretched in her hand.
“I don’t have any Dynamight merch with me right now because Midoriya-san never told any of us you were coming, so this will do.”
“What?”
“It means, please sign your autograph for me. I hope you have a pen.”
There’s an air of snarky confidence to her that amuses Katsuki more than it annoys him. He smirks, and is glad Yaoyorozu once gave him a media lesson on always having a pen on him, because he does, taking it from his pocket and signing very carefully on the kid’s paper.
“You like heroes?” Katsuki’s not usually one to talk with fans but knowing she’s acquainted with Izuku fascinates him somehow.
“I do! Especially Shouto and Uravity. You’re just a back-up plan.”
“You brat—”
“I’m kidding,” giggles the kid, her eyes crinkling into crescents.
“Do you want to be a hero then?”
“I’m quirkless,” she answers honestly and for a second, Katsuki’s heart drops, an all-too-familiar guilt burgeoning behind his breastbone.
“Don’t get me wrong though,” she quickly adds, bringing Katsuki’s mental breakdown to an abrupt halt. “Even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t want to become one. Not one like you or Shouto or Uravity anyway.”
Here, her eyes brighten as she says, “Humans are heroes too. Midoriya-san and Shirabu-san taught me that. You can find heroes in doctors and nurses and teachers and janitors and service staff. I don’t have to be a hero like you to become a hero too!”
Katsuki is stunned speechless. There’s something about what she said that strikes a chord so deeply within him, lighting his nerve endings with what feels like the start of an epiphany. He can’t put it to words but all he knows is that it juxtaposes everything else that’s dark in his life—the friends he lost in battle, the civilians he failed to save, the ache in his joints that no doctor can seem to cure.
This feeling stays with him as the ceremony begins and some of the guests go up on stage to share anecdotes about the grooms. Katsuki hears them speak about how Izuku and Shirabu have helped the quirkless community in Japan, and he thinks he’s finally beginning to understand.
Then the music starts and the world falls quiet, because Izuku appears, arms entangled with Shirabu’s as they march towards the stage.
Katsuki doesn’t process the roaring cheers of the guests or the petals that seem to fall from the ceiling in slow motion. His eyes are fixed on Izuku and Izuku only, who looks like an angel disguised as a human. The sage tuxedo he’s dressed in matches his hair, which appears chartreuse right now because of the daylight catching in it. His green eyes are half-moons from smiling too hard, and he’s glowing so beautifully that it physically aches to look at him. Katsuki grabs his chest as if that could relieve the blooming pain under it.
The reality is kicking in now—Izuku is getting married to someone else. He’s getting married to someone else. And Katsuki mourns the could’ve beens because a lifetime ago, he was supposed to be the person holding Izuku’s hand. He was supposed to be the man walking down the aisle with him. He was supposed to say, I do.
But matching up to that grief is an inexplicable joy. When you love someone so much, seeing them happier with someone else makes you happy in an almost indescribable way. He knows that later, the guilt and darkness and jealousy will return to consume him. But for now, letting go makes sense. Because Katsuki sees the love Izuku and Shirabu have for each other, and when you witness something like this firsthand, there’s no other choice but to let go.
Katsuki thinks of what Izuku said to him at the cafe. Of what Shirabu said to him at their apartment as he healed the pain in Katsuki’s knee. He thinks of the kid who asked for his autograph, and all of the quirkless people in this room celebrating their lives and the love that Izuku and Shirabu share. Even now, when Katsuki and Izuku aren’t together anymore, Izuku still finds new ways to save him.
That cresting wave in his chest— it has to be hope. It has to be forgiveness.
Tomorrow, he’ll awaken with the same darkness that’s plagued him his whole life. He will grapple with guilt and shame; and the hole that Izuku had left will still be there, gaping and nowhere close to being filled. But today, Katsuki is grateful that someone like him had someone like Izuku to love at all in the first place. Even if it wasn’t for forever, they’d spent a good, long part of their lives loving each other.
On the stage, Izuku and Shirabu kiss.
The music rushes back into Katsuki’s ears at full volume.
✺
Dear Izuku,
I hope this letter finds you well.
Scratch that. Look at me trying to be polite and just sounding awkward as fuck.
But it’s been half a year since you and Shorty went back to Osaka and really, I hope you guys are well.
You know I’m not good with sappy things but meeting you again, and Shirabu as a result, has changed a lot of things for me. I can’t put it exactly to words because I’m fucking terrible with words but I know for sure it’s a good kind of change.
Anyway, I’m writing this letter because I wanted you to be the first person to know that by the end of this year, I’ll be retiring from being a pro hero.
Shorty was right. I overworked my body. But apart from that, the past few months have made me reflect on pursuing what’s really good for me. What makes me happy.
So it’ll take a while to iron things out but I’ve decided to try being a teacher instead. A General Studies teacher.
My days as GEMG Dynamight may be coming to an end, but here’s to becoming a hero like you and Shirabu instead.
I’ll always have you both in my thoughts.
Love, Katsuki