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It was… quiet after the war. Not the aftermath—the aftermath had been filled with noise, too much noise while Katsuki had tried his best to push through the exhaustion until he had finally collapsed and Izuku had caught him in his arms. It wasn't the aftermath, but it was the after that Katsuki wouldn't have— couldn’t have — imagined.
For one, their entire class—and Class 1-B too—had fought through a war that shouldn't have even been theirs to fight, and the scars that had been left behind would take a lifetime to heal. He could see it in the way most of his classmates flinched at the slightest touch, how the bags under their eyes got heavier each day, how none of them really felt like smiling anymore.
He could see it in the way Izuku smiled less, these days. Izuku had taken to sticking to Katsuki as closely as possible, though Katsuki couldn't help the selfish enjoyment he got from that—these days, he had less qualms about admitting the fact that he loved the nerd. He always had, really, and all the fight with Shigaraki, and dying, had showed him was that he would do anything in the world to make Izuku happy.
(He felt a tug in the battlefield, a choked gasp and a teary voice that he knew better than he knew his own. That was what had woken him up, the desire to get to Izuku, to catch him before he broke apart. That was what had driven him to get up, despite Togata's protests, and painstakingly make his way to the battlefield, the ache in his arms and his legs secondary to the ache in his heart that wanted to piece Izuku back together.)
(He had spent too long trying to catch up to Izuku to resist the impulse then.)
The urge had only grown stronger the past few months, the urge to keep closer to Izuku growing day by day. He knew Izuku felt the same. If Katsuki had to go through a war again—and he wished he wouldn't—he knew he would have chosen Izuku every time. Knew he would stay by Izuku's side every time, every day if he granted him the privilege.
(What plagued him in his dreams, in his nightmares, was not his death. What plagued him was the scream that Izuku had let out when he had seen Katsuki's body, battered and broken in the battlefield—haunted and filled with so much pain that Katsuki had no choice but to keep fighting against the weight that threatened to choke his heart.)
They had taken to hanging around the rooftop at UA these days, away from curious eyes that had come up to Izuku and Katsuki more than once, filled with questions that neither of them felt the need to answer. He was sure the rest of the class knew where they were, and their teachers, too, but none of them had commented on it more than to caution them against leaving the grounds, even Iida. They deserved the rest. They all did.
Now, the two of them were sitting against the railing, soaking up the breeze and simply breathing each other in, Izuku's head tucked close to Katsuki's chest, both their hearts beating in tandem. And this closeness was new, but Katsuki was selfish enough to soak up every moment he got with the nerd, who had somehow become the person closest to him without his own volition. In these moments, Katsuki could pretend they were just two teenagers, that neither of them had had the weight of the world resting on their shoulders.
But this time, Katsuki didn't want to pretend. There had always been too many emotions that he hid underneath the anger, but this time, all Katsuki felt were the words that wanted to escape, words that started with an I and ended with a you, words that still didn't express the depth of emotion he felt for the boy sitting in front of him, so close that he could lean down and kiss him if he wanted to.
Izuku looked up, seeming to pick up on Katsuki's mood, his eyes curious. Katsuki had never understood why people had called Izuku plain faced—it was sunset, and the rays were falling into Izuku's face, lighting up his bright eyes and making him look ethereal. There were a few more freckles than the last time he had counted, he noticed.
And suddenly—
"When I died," Katsuki said abruptly, not even aware of what he was saying, the words feeling as if they were being ripped from his soul, a dam that had finally broken under a torrent.
"When I died," Katsuki said again, looking straight at Izuku's eyes which had gone wider by the second, glimmering with unshed tears. Katsuki reached out to wipe them away, and Izuku let him, and Katsuki felt the tension between them anew—a livewire that was about to catch. He breathed, and brushed his thumb across Izuku's cheek, feeling the wetness underneath. "All I could think of was you. All I've ever been able to think of was you."
(So, Izuku, can I still catch up to you?)
Izuku's breath hitched, apparently lost for words for once. Katsuki chuckled, and didn't try to disguise how that came out as a sob, how the force of his emotion would have rocked him backwards if it weren't for the wall holding him upright. "My love for you," Katsuki continued, feeling his cheeks burning, but knowing he should plough on before he lost his nerve. Is inexplicable. I've spent my whole life loving you. My entire life feels like a love letter to you. Even when we were at our worst, I couldn't imagine a world without you. You've carved a space out for yourself in my heart and I never want you to take it back. "Breaks me apart. It unmakes me and makes me yours again."
"Kacchan…" Izuku whispered, his eyes filled with something that Katsuki had always been too afraid to put a name to. He didn't know which of them leaned in first, but suddenly the tension between them snapped, their lips meeting as if they had been waiting for this moment their entire lives. Their first kiss tasted of salt and unspoken promises, of I love you s and finally s that they had been too afraid to utter aloud. He cupped Izuku's face and brought him closer, until they were a tangle of limbs and he didn't know where he ended and where Izuku began.
They had time to talk later. They had a lifetime to talk later. For now—for now, Katsuki was content, tangled up with the boy he loved underneath setting sun, two souls that had found each other despite all odds.