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The night before the battle, Katsuki couldn’t sleep. He’d been in Todoroki’s room earlier, right after they returned from patrolling the area around the makeshift fortress and making their final preparations. Iida and Kirishima had been there as well, all of them still in their hero costumes. Like Katsuki, the other two were reluctant to leave Todoroki alone, knowing the burden he carried. They were all facing the unthinkable but the emotional load was far heavier for him. With a family like that, Katsuki supposed, it always had been. Of course, Todoroki had tried to assure them that he was fine, but the exhaustion in his eyes even as he laughed at Katsuki’s quip about his deranged, not-dead-after-all brother liking piping hot udon told another story.
He was silent at dinner and didn’t linger in the common room with the others after they had eaten and washed up. The atmosphere was subdued that night; even Kaminari had no jokes to lighten the mood but it seemed that none of them wanted to be alone. Katsuki couldn’t blame them but even as Kirishima and Ashido tried to draw him into one conversation after another, he couldn’t get his mind to focus on anything they were saying. Eventually, Iida, ever the diligent Class President, reminded them that they needed their sleep and they all made their way to bed.
After lying in his temporary room, staring up at the ceiling for half an hour, Katsuki gave up trying to sleep and a few minutes later, he found himself in front of Todoroki’s door. Todoroki didn’t seem surprised to see him and let him in without a word before taking a seat at the desk again. It looked like he hadn’t even touched the bed.
“You should be asleep, idiot,” Katsuki said.
“You’re still awake and you’re usually the first to go to bed.”
Any other day, Todoroki’s smart-ass response would have been comforting and Katsuki would have rolled his eyes and continued their familiar dance, indulging in the half-hearted bickering that might be confused with something more if he ever had the nerve to hope. But for once, Katsuki didn’t rise to the bait.
Instead, he took Todoroki by the arm and gently led him to the bed. Katsuki resumed his earlier position, reclined at the foot of the bed, hands clasped behind his head but instead of lying down, Todoroki just sat at the edge of the mattress, looking down at where his feet brushed against the floor.
After a few minutes, he said quietly, “I’m not used to this kind of bed.”
“Really?” Katsuki scoffed, “Everything else we’ve got going on and that’s what’s bothering you?”
Todoroki pulled his feet up off the floor and hugged his knees into his chest.
“It’s not the only thing,” he said, “It doesn’t help though.”
Katsuki propped himself up on his elbows and turned to look at Todoroki. He had never understood Todoroki’s aversion to tile flooring or western-style beds but he seemed more than a little uncomfortable as he continued to curl into himself like a child.
“You wanna talk about it?” Katsuki asked.
Todoroki shook his head.
“What’s there to say?”
There were a lot of things they could say. The anxiety about the battle ahead, for one. The fear that, despite their meticulous planning, something could easily go wrong. For Todoroki, there were surely some complicated thoughts about his family mixed in with everything else. But he was right. None of that was worth saying out loud because the only appropriate response would be empty reassurances, promises of things that no one could guarantee. Still, Katsuki knew he needed to say something to try to make things better.
“I’m worried about Izuku,” Katsuki said finally.
Maybe if he opened up for once, Todoroki would do the same, or at least feel less alone in whatever worries were running through his mind.
“You are?”
There was a note of surprise in Todoroki’s voice, probably not so much at the knowledge that Katsuki was actually worried about something, but at the fact that he had admitted it aloud. Katsuki lay back again and stared up at the ceiling because it was easier than looking at Todoroki as he continued.
“Yeah,” he said, “It’s not that I don’t trust that he can win. I know he can. But the idiot is self-sacrificing to a fault, always has been. And he can see the good in everyone.”
Katsuki felt a pang of regret as he said it because Izuku had always seen the good in him even when he’d done nothing to deserve it.
“I don’t think he wants to defeat Shigaraki,” he continued, putting his suspicions into words for the first time, “I think he wants to save him.”
It was essentially the same worry he had about Todoroki. Except unlike with Izuku, Katsuki wouldn’t be with Todoroki to keep him safe, to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. He was talking around the issue but he hoped Todoroki would understand.
Todoroki nodded slowly. Of course, he would know better than anyone. In a way, Izuku had saved him too by convincing him to embrace his full power at the sports festival even though it cost him the match. Moreover, Katsuki knew that Todoroki’s goal was not to defeat Dabi the villain, but to save his brother Touya. In spite of everything he had been through, Todoroki was kind and selfless, a true hero, unlike his bastard of a father. He was someone who would rush headlong into deadly flames in hopes of saving a brother he barely knew, a brother who had tried to kill him more than once. And that was what terrified Katsuki. Because heroes would give up their own lives before letting anyone else die.
“Do you think he’s wrong?” Todoroki asked quietly.
Katsuki knew they weren’t really talking about Izuku anymore.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, “Saving people is how we win but it’s gonna be different this time.”
It would be different because some of the people they were trying to save didn’t want to be saved by heroes at all.
Katsuki didn’t say that of course, but the thought hung heavy in the air between them. He watched as Todoroki frowned, lost in thought. Shit, he had come here to make him feel better, not worse. He wanted to give Todoroki the words of reassurance he craved but he also wanted to make him promise that he wouldn’t sacrifice himself for his family. Because the world still needed him. Because Katsuki still needed him.
“Hey,” Katsuki sat up and put a hand on Todoroki’s shoulder.
“We save people. We save each other. We win. Everything else will come after.”
He didn’t even know what he meant by ‘everything else’ but there would be time for that once they got through tomorrow.
Todoroki nodded, then raised his eyes to meet Katsuki’s.
“I’m ready,” he said, “To face Touya and to bring him home.”
“I know,” Katsuki said, “You’re gonna be a fucking hero. You’re gonna save the world and save your shitty brother and I’m gonna make the best spicy udon you assholes ever had.”
“You said ‘piping hot’ earlier, not ‘spicy’,” Todoroki said.
There was a faint smile on his lips and Katsuki wondered if he was remembering the first cold soba vs. hot udon argument he’d had with Baldy during the remedial course, back when their biggest worry was passing a stupid test. God, that felt like years ago now. Katsuki shook his head.
“I’ll make whatever I want and you’ll fucking like it.”
Todoroki gave a small laugh, but then his expression turned serious again.
“What about you?” he asked, “Will you be okay?”
“You know me, Half and Half. I always win.”
Todoroki nodded but his eyes remained troubled. Tonight, Katsuki’s trademark confidence was just for show and they both knew it. He could guess what Todoroki wanted from him. It was the same thing he couldn’t bring himself to ask for. The promise that he would stay alive.
Katsuki believed in his own abilities and those of the other heroes. He believed in their plan. But he also remembered the last battle, the way his body moved on its own as he launched himself between Izuku and Shigaraki even though he had no idea if he would survive. He knew any promise not to do it again would just be empty words. Todoroki knew it too and that was probably why he didn't ask. Because when it came down to it, a true hero would always protect, no matter the cost.
They sat there in silence for some time, the minutes ticking closer to midnight.
“You need to sleep,” Katsuki said finally, "Can't save the world if you're too tired to wake up."
When Todoroki made no move to lie down properly, Katsuki stood up.
“Are you leaving?” Todoroki asked.
There was an uncertainty in his voice that Katsuki had never heard before, like he wanted to ask for something but was afraid of the answer. Katsuki had an idea what it might be but he wasn’t sure if it was just wishful thinking on his part.
“Nah, I’m just turning off the lights,” he said.
He would go if Todoroki wanted him to but Katsuki thought he saw a look of relief wash over his face.
“You want me to stay?” he asked, just to be sure.
Todoroki hesitated, eyes searching Katsuki’s face for reassurance.
“If you want to,” he said.
Katsuki sighed. That was clearly as close to a straight answer as he was going to get. Even now, Todoroki refused to acknowledge his own needs, to take up space, to ask for the tiniest bit of comfort if he thought it might inconvenience someone else. Katsuki knew it had a lot to do with his messed up childhood but that was something they could work on after they were done saving the world.
The bed was a bit small for two people and it was awkward at first, being so close together as they lay side by side, shoulders brushing. The room was dark except for the faint glow from the moon outside and Katsuki stared up at the shadows that drifted across the ceiling while he listened to the rise and fall of Todoroki’s breathing.
He could have said it then, how he felt about him. How he believed that Todoroki could do the impossible, that his mere existence gave Katsuki hope, that the reason he had always denied that they were friends was because he wanted so much more.
But he didn’t say anything. He knew that it was stupid to be scared of rejection when there was a battle looming but it was more than that. He didn’t want to confess now because part of him was afraid that if he acted like this was his last chance, it actually would be. Bad luck, tempting fate or whatever superstitious bullshit people believed in. This wouldn’t be Katsuki’s last chance to tell him. He would do it properly after they won, when they could take their time, when Todoroki wouldn’t feel pressured to say yes just because they could die tomorrow. They would have a chance after, when Katsuki would be able to give him all the happiness he deserved, not just this thin excuse for comfort.
Any other night, Katsuki would have fallen asleep by now but he knew Todoroki wasn’t asleep either. He hadn’t said anything since telling Katsuki he could stay and had seemed temporarily comforted by his presence but now his shoulders were tense, his breathing too shallow, like he was trying not to cry. Like he believed he didn’t have the right to show weakness even though Katsuki had heard him tell Izuku countless times that even heroes were allowed to cry. Katsuki wondered if anyone had ever told Todoroki that it was okay. Somehow he doubted it.
On instinct, Katsuki rolled onto his side to face him. At first Todoroki tried to turn away but Katsuki put a hand out to stop him, pulled him closer, then reached up and slowly ran his fingers through his hair. He meant it to be a comforting gesture, but it was also a selfish one because he had wanted to do this for a long time, had always wondered what it would be like.
In his half-repressed daydreams it had been different. They’d been happy, for one thing, safe in some vague, imagined future where Katsuki didn’t care about how stupidly romantic this shit was as long as Todoroki was by his side. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, overwhelming fear and one-sided longing, but the universe obviously didn’t give a shit about what either of them wanted. Todoroki still didn’t really cry, maybe over the years he’d trained himself not to, but after a minute he curled into Katsuki’s chest, hand clutching the fabric of his shirt as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
Katsuki wished he could say something reassuring but his own throat was tight and nothing that came to mind felt like enough so he just continued to thread his fingers absentmindedly through Todoroki’s hair as he held him close. He didn’t know how long they stayed like that but eventually Todoroki relaxed against him and his breathing evened out. Katsuki drifted off into an uneasy sleep soon after.
They didn’t say much the next morning and Katsuki didn’t linger, instead returning quietly to his own room to prepare for the day ahead. The class gathered in the common room again, an unspoken agreement to spend a few more precious minutes together. Todoroki was there too this time, standing off to the side with Izuku and Iida, his face a mask of quiet determination.
Kirishima appeared at Katsuki’s elbow. He was more serious than usual but his smile was as warm as ever as he flung an arm around Katsuki’s shoulders.
“When this is all over, we gotta go hiking again. I feel like you were going easy on me the last time.”
“You say that like you weren’t out of breath less than halfway to the top, Shitty Hair,” he shot back as he shoved him off.
“I’m telling you, it was the altitude,” Kirishima repeated the argument he’d been using for almost a year now, “But after all the extra training, it should be no problem.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes but he was grateful for Kirishima’s words and the subtle reassurance that something so normal would be a possibility again someday. He prodded Kirishima in the chest, where his hero costume left his bare skin exposed.
“You better be fucking unbreakable today,” he said.
Kirishima grinned and gave him a thumbs up.
“You too, man. We’ve got a lot to protect.”
Katsuki nodded. He glanced across the room toward Todoroki again. Kirishima followed his gaze and gave him a knowing look but Katsuki just shook his head.
“Look after Pinky,” he said instead, “She’s a fucking badass but you know how she gets sometimes.”
“Aww, you really do care,” Kirishima said with exaggerated surprise, “The world must be ending or something!”
“Don’t even joke about that, man!” said a horrified Satou, who happened to be standing nearby.
In no time at all, it was time to go. As they exited the fortress, their group merged with students from 1-B and the other classes. Those in support roles and stationed at peripheral locations gradually peeled off to join the pro heroes in their squadrons until all that remained were a handful of them headed for the front lines.
Beside him, Izuku’s face was filled with a quiet resolve. After they checked in with Best Jeanist and the rest of their group, he would be departing first, off to meet with Aoyama to set their plan in motion.
Todoroki was on Katsuki’s other side. He stared straight ahead but a faint heat warmed the air between them. It could be a practical action, a sign that he was readying himself for the battle ahead, but Katsuki was reminded of the times during their winter work study, when he had gravitated toward Todoroki’s left side to warm himself up faster so that he could take full advantage of his own quirk. Even though he had yelled loudly about his personal space, he knew Todoroki had noticed. Maybe this was his own way of offering a small gesture of comfort when words seemed inadequate.
Seeing the top heroes gathered and ready for battle drove home the magnitude of what they were about to face and Kastuki suddenly wondered if maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe he should have said something, if only to remind Todoroki that he still had so much to live for.
Katsuki reached out to grab his wrist.
“Todoroki.”
“Hmm?” Todoroki turned to look at him, his expression unreadable.
There were so many promises Katsuki wanted to make, so many things between them that were still left unsaid. But even then, he couldn’t bring himself to ask for something that neither of them could guarantee.
“See you after,” he finally said.
It was all he could manage, the closest to a promise he could get.
“After?”
A flicker of confusion appeared on Todoroki’s face, as if he truly couldn’t imagine anything beyond the war. That thought scared Katsuki more than he was willing to admit.
“This ain’t the end of the world, Halfie,” he said, “There’ll be an after.”
We’ll have an after.
Todoroki nodded, seeming to understand. Then there it was, that blaze of fire beneath the ice, the quiet determination in his eyes that filled Katsuki with hope.
“Okay. See you after.”
The real promise remained unspoken but they both knew it was there. The promise that they would survive, that they would win, that they would see each other again.
In that moment, Katsuki promised himself one more thing. He promised that when this was all over, after the dust settled, he would tell him. Even if Todoroki didn’t want him the same way, Katsuki would stay by his side in whatever way he wanted. They would have an after, he would make sure of it. Because Katsuki never made a promise he couldn’t keep.