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He’s on Izuku’s bed, lazily sprawled on top of the sheets staring up at nothing. They’ve been like this for only a few minutes, but it feels like hours—hell, maybe days have stretched between them. Neither of them move further away from each other, and if Izuku focuses, he can feel a shimmer of energy pushing for them to get closer. He wants to touch, wants to feel. He wants to make sure that Katsuki really is alive.
He sees the slow rise and fall of his chest.
It’s not enough for him.
“ Deku . Stop staring at me,” Katsuki grumbles, eyes flickering over to meet his own in a half-hearted glare. Izuku swallows reflexively. He can’t help it.
“I can’t help it,” he blurts out, proceeding to slap a hand over his mouth as a blush appears on his cheeks. Katsuki snorts quietly—lacking any mirth, any derision. He’s just… there. Quiet and calm and alive. Days ago, he hadn’t been. He had been eerily silent, cold and dead to the world. Izuku had taken all of this—the fiery warmth that exudes from Katsuki—for granted. He never will again. He makes a silent vow in his head, promising to never forget these small little things—these intricate details about Katsuki, to keep them locked safe in his mind to cherish for as long as he lives.
Katsuki rolls over onto his stomach, hands cupping his chin as he gazes into what Izuku is sure is his very soul. His heart stutters in his chest for reasons unknown. It may have frustrated him a little bit if not for Katsuki, who looks at him with eyes bright and full of life. It takes his breath away. “You can’t help it,” he deadpans. “… Izuku .”
Izuku exhales shakily. Katsuki doesn’t have to say what he means, only has to murmur his name for his entire being to crumble to his will. Life is such a fickle thing, he thinks, and so why should he spend it lying to the boy who has been with him through everything, thick and thin? “I can’t help it, Kacchan,” he whispers again, the admittance tasting sweet on his lips. “I like… I like seeing you like this.”
Bandaged and bruised, blinded in one eye and an injury on his face that is sure to scar—Izuku doesn’t mind it because it’s proof that he lives. It’s become a strange sort of obsession, with the way that he can sit and gaze at everything that Katsuki continues to be but almost hadn’t been. Alive. Bold. Beautiful—
Izuku sucks in a sharp breath. Oh.
That’s… new.
Katsuki tilts his head, surveying him with a playful smirk on his face. That’s another thing that Izuku’s become obsessed with—Katsuki talks to him now. Teases him like he would a friend. Right now, they feel like something infinitely more unique. “You like seeing me beaten up? Think I’m uglier than you now, huh?”
Izuku sputters. “No! You’re far from ugly. You’re really—“ he stops himself. Freezes at the sudden increase of that energy—the one that makes him want Katsuki in ways he really shouldn’t have him—in the room. It thrums under his skin, yearning to feel.
Izuku really is quite obsessed.
Obsessed with the fact that Katsuki is alive. Obsessed with something… more. Something Izuku doesn’t want to admit yet because god, everything is both overwhelming and underwhelming at the same time. They’re here , alive and okay and safe. Alive and content with each other's presence. It’s everything Izuku had ever wished for and more.
But Izuku is greedy.
He wants—
And Katsuki must see this in the glimmer of his eyes. Izuku has never been able to hide anything from him, and why should this be any different? It almost feels dangerous, what they’re doing. Like they’re both treading a line made of thread, waiting for something to snap.
Katsuki reaches for him first. He takes one of Izuku’s hands in his own, gently holding it. Izuku’s brain short-circuits. He stares, mouth agape at where they’re now connected. Warm, warm, warm. It repeats in his head over and over again. Katsuki is warm and alive and his skin is oh so soft.
“What the fuck are we doing?” Katsuki murmurs, eyes flickering downward to watch his own hand trace shapes on the palm of Izuku’s. Star-like shapes over and over again, gently around his scars and bruises and mottled skin.
Izuku stares . “I don’t know.”
Their eyes lock once more. Emerald green and crimson red. And almost as if there’s an invisible rope slowly pulling them towards each other, they tentatively move closer at the same time.
“I think,” Izuku sounds strangled, even to his own ears. “That I would really like to hold you.”
It’s Katsuki’s turn to suck in a breath. Izuku tenses slightly, watching for any signs of irritation—anger. He finds none, even though he knows that Katsuki is not one to ever want to be put in a position where he’s the one being comforted, held, cared for. Izuku should’ve thought this through better, but the urge to make sure his closest, oldest friend isn’t just some figment of his imagination and wholly real is strong. Still, he expects disgust. Flat out rejection. And yet… and yet—
“Yeah?” Katsuki mutters quietly. “…Alright.”
Izuku goes still when Katsuki lowers his head into his lap, arms tense and held far away from the head using his thighs as a pillow. But oh, Izuku shudders. Part of him is still sane enough to recognize that this is a bit… far for two rivals turned reluctant friends, part of him recognizes that this whole interaction is rapidly moving into extremely dangerous waters, but again the thought repeats in his mind: ‘ warm. Bakugou Katsuki is warm and alive and okay, and so am I.’
They stay like that for a while. Stiff and uncertain. Izuku loses track of time.
“Kacchan,” Izuku whispers softly as Katsuki reaches up, hands gently wrapping around his wrists and pulling his arms down to rest on top of his hair. It had to be cut in the hospital. it’s slightly shorter. A little uneven. “Your hair is so…”
“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘ fucking fantastic’, I will murder you.”
Izuku laughs softly, shaking his head in fond amusement. “Okay, Kacchan. Your hair is fucking fantastic.”
Katsuki pauses, eyes widening just enough for Izuku to take notice. “I’ve never heard you swear before. What the fuck.”
“Surprise,” Izuku deadpans, mouth twitching up at the corners. “I’m no longer a child.”
“Glad you’ve decided to join the rest of us.”
“Oh come on Kacchan! I haven’t been a child for a long time.”
If they think about that for too long. it’ll sound more depressing than they actually meant it to. So they don’t. Izuku and Katsuki have experienced far too much pain to wallow in it now.
“That’s subjective,” Katsuki snorts, before falling silent once more. Izuku knows he’s working up to saying something—can tell by the way he subtly worries his bottom lip. Funny, how some things just never change. He used to do it when he was young—after doing something he needed to confess to.
Izuku wonders what it is and why he’s so worried about it. They’ve fought in a war, and Izuku is no longer a saint either. He’s seen good people murdered and has murdered someone himself—had watched as he dealt the final blow and stood unmoving as the light left his eyes. Whatever Katsuki has done, it won’t bother Izuku. It never will.
“I need to feel something too,” Katsuki admits brazenly, though hidden behind his confidence is a slight tremble in his voice. “Fuck. You make me feel things, Deku, and I used hate it so fucking much. But now I know what it’s like to be unfeeling, and I never want to experience that again.”
Izuku blinks through his tears. “ Kacchan—“
“I want to feel . I want you to hold me, Izuku,” Katsuki says softly. And then he does it— puts the final nail in the coffin as Izuku tries so very hard not to cry. It’s whispered quietly, but it’s ever so loud in his ears: “… please?”
That word coming out of his mouth is just—
Oh.
Oh.
It’s like a dam—all those built up emotions they held back breaking that barrier between them and surging forward along with their bodies, hands shaking as they desperately wrap one another in their arms, embracing like terrified children. They cling to each other like how they used to as kids, when they were afraid that one of their parents would pull them apart and take them home. The stakes are so much higher now, but the idea remains the same at heart. Keeping death—who has tried time and time again to steal them both—away from each other. Basking in the fact that they survived, that they’re exuding warmth and not coldness chilling to the bone. That both of their holds tighten instead of only one where the other just lays limp. Dead.
Izuku wants to hold him even closer than he is now and never let him go. He thinks Katsuki feels the same way about him.
It happens before Izuku can make sense of why he wants it. Katsuki, curled up into him, looks up into his eyes as he shakes, and it breaks Izuku in ways he didn’t know was possible. Gently, he tilts Katsuki’s chin up, face so close to his that he can feel the small puffs of his breath, growing faster… More strained. “I want to kiss you,” he breathes before his words can catch up to him. Izuku blushes. “I- wait. Sorry. I mean—“
“You fucking idiot. Then kiss me,” he breathes back, a quiet admittance into the silence of Izuku’s dorm, moonlight seeping in through the windows and illuminating them in bright blue light.
It’s funny how everything in their lives has always been so explosive. Their friendship, their rivalry, the war they just fought in. And yet their kiss is chaste at first. Soft and gentle and a quick, hesitant peck on the lips. Izuku’s heart pounds loudly in his chest when it ends. The next morning, Izuku will probably ask himself what this moment between him and Katsuki means for their relationship—he’ll probably panic and have a bit of an existential crisis. But now? Now he welcomes the spontaneity of it all. He welcomes the closeness to Katsuki, because it makes everything feel so much more lively. He welcomes the lack of aggression, the calm, languid way in which their lips meet because it’s new, and Izuku thinks it’s about time for some new beginnings. Much, much happier and exciting ones.
A beginning of an era where he and Katsuki can pave the rest of the way for their own lives, and he prays that their paths continue to intertwine. Water begins to fill his eyes and before Izuku knows it, he’s crying. Tears slipping down his cheeks as he gasps out a small sob against Katsuki’s mouth.
He can feel him now. Physically and emotionally, and it makes him so euphoric.
Katsuki’s hands rest on his waist, a gentle pressure that grounds him to this room—this special moment between them. “Don’t make our first kiss wet,” he snaps without any anger. “Deku, you crybaby .”
“I almost lost you, Kacchan.”
Saying that hurts. It’s true. Katsuki had been dead on that battlefield for a long time, and now that he’s not it’s like Izuku can’t get enough of him—can’t breathe without him right now. The wounds from the war have not yet faded into scars, but at least he’s got this —he’s not sure what to call it, but it’s perfect . They’re not heroes right now. They’re not Deku and Kacchan. There aren’t any labels necessary. They’re just them and alive and that’s enough.
“You have me now,” Katsuki says in between chaste kiss after chaste kiss. “You can’t get rid of me that fucking easily.”
Izuku hopes not. Because as Katsuki’s hold on his waist tightens slightly and his own arms wrap around the nape of his neck—as Izuku deepens the kiss, pushing the two of them down on his bed and crawling atop of Katsuki’s body, caging him in with his arms, he can’t help but continue to be greedy.
They have their whole lives ahead of each other.
And he can admit it to himself now.
Izuku would go through hell if it meant he got to spend his life with Katsuki like this. Through thick and thin.
Because not even death can keep them away from one another.