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When Izuku said he didn’t want to know, he meant it.
It’s none of his business, and it’s none of Katsuki’s to make it so, and there’s nothing he can do to help that Katsuki isn’t capable of doing himself. So, he meant it.
But of course, too little too late. He may not know the details, or be certain that Katsuki’s assumption was the correct one, but Izuku can read between the lines. He can pick things up from context. He knows where Katsuki’s mind had gone, and therefore his mind landed in the same place.
So, a few weeks on, and Izuku still struggles to shake their late night discussion from his mind. It gnaws at him.
He’s never been particularly close with Kaminari. He likes him, and they get along well when they find themselves interacting or partnered up for assignments or training, but Izuku isn’t sure if they’re technically friends. Knowing Kaminari, though, it wouldn’t be hard to reach that point.
Even so, Izuku is acutely aware of the facts:
1. This is none of his business.
2. He is not who Kaminari confided in. Therefore;
3. He can’t offer the comfort or help his classmate needs, even if he wanted to.
4. (And the truth is, he wants to. Desperately.)
They’re paired up for hand-to-hand. No quirks.
Kaminari has never been the best at quirkless combat. He isn’t particularly muscular, and his quirk burns through all of his energy at unfair speeds, so keeping his distance and using his quirk has always been his best bet when it comes to fighting. Izuku knows all of this, and he knows just as well that none of it is any excuse to go easy on him. If anything, it’s a reason to be tough on him. Kaminari needs the practice.
He has dark circles under his eyes. Heavy and deep-set.
Izuku dodges an attempted punch.
His hair is frizzy and unkempt.
Izuku retaliates a second too late, and earns a knee to the gut. He’s winded, coughing as he dodges a second blow.
He normally smiles, even during hand-to-hand. Even when he’s failing miserably. Those smiles are usually of the anxious variety, or exasperated. Today, he frowns.
“Aren’t you gonna hit back?” Kaminari asks. He looks puzzled. Maybe a bit frustrated.
Izuku nods.
He misses.
“Hey.”
They’re the last two in the locker room today. Everyone else cleared out moments ago, and now Izuku is sat on a bench, pulled from his thoughts to a disgruntled looking Kaminari.
“Why were you going easy on me today?” He asks.
Izuku tries to look confused.
“What? I… wasn’t?”
The lie tastes sour, like curdled milk. Already, Izuku feels sick to his stomach. He hates lies. And Kaminari looks less than convinced.
“Yeah, you were, dude,” he presses. “We both know I’m shit at hand-to-hand, and you’re really strong, even without using your quirk. You let me win. Why would you do that?”
Izuku’s mouth hangs open. Caught. Hand in the cookie jar. Red handed. Liar.
You’re making everything worse.
He doesn’t mean to, but his gaze drifts downwards. Kaminari isn’t hiding his throat anymore. Izuku never saw what Katsuki did, but he can picture them.
Dark patches of purple and blue, curling around his neck like a collar, climbing the column of his throat. Fading into a sickly yellow. Gone, now.
But they were there before.
By the time he catches himself, it’s too late. He forces his eyes back up to meet Kaminari’s, and his heart sinks.
Devastation. Kaminari’s eyes are wide, brow pinched, and his hand reaches for his throat—like it’s instinct. He takes a step back. Izuku thinks he might throw up.
“He told you,” Kaminari whispers. His voice has become thick, wobbling with distress.
Izuku stands. He has to fix this, fix it now, before it’s too late. Before he makes it all worse. As if Kaminari stumbling backwards isn’t proof enough that the damage has been done.
“No,” Izuku says. “W-well, sort of, but I promise he didn’t really tell me anything. He just- he started to? I- I stopped him, Kaminari, I promise. I just guessed. It wasn’t Kacchan’s fault.”
It isn’t helping. Kaminari’s chest heaves. He’s backed himself up against the lockers, hand clutching his stomach. His eyes shine. Izuku wonders when he last felt this helpless.
“You can’t tell anyone,” Kaminari pleads. Izuku watches a tear roll down his face as he says, “please, Midoriya, you can’t tell anyone.”
He shakes his head, hands raised. He feels his own lip quiver.
“I won’t,” he says. “I promise I won’t say a word. It’s not my place, and I’m so sorry I found out when I wasn’t supposed to. I-”
The door slams open. Both their heads whip around towards the sound, and as if Izuku didn’t already feel queasy enough, he feels positively ill now. Because it’s Katsuki.
It’s Katsuki, with an expression resting somewhere between anger and worry, his shoulders tight, his posture utterly stiff. Izuku realizes, in the millisecond of stillness, that he’s probably looking for Kaminari. He must have been worried when he didn’t come back from training. He must be so worried about him all the time right now. Maybe it wasn’t fair to tell him to keep it all to himself.
Izuku’s throat feels impossibly tight as he watches realization wash over Katsuki’s face, as he turns to Kaminari to see him glaring at Katsuki, enraged and horrified. Completely betrayed.
“How could you?” Kaminari whimpers, “I trusted you.”
Nobody can get a word in edgewise. Kaminari races for the door, shouldering past Katsuki.
“Kaminari, wait-!”
“Sparky!”
But it’s too late.
It’s too late, and now Katsuki is looking at Izuku, and it’s those eyes again. That scorn. The hatred that has never failed to make Izuku ill. His vision is blurring, and it takes every ounce of strength he has not to let the tears fall.
“Kacchan…”
“What. The fuck, Deku.”
Murder. That’s the only way to describe the rage on Katsuki’s face. Izuku thinks this might actually be the angriest he’s ever seen him. And, like always—somehow like always—it’s his fault.
“I’m so sorry,” Izuku says. He can barely keep his voice steady. “I didn’t say anything, I promise. I just- he figured it out. I- I told him it wasn’t your fault, I told him you didn’t actually say anything, I told him I figured it out on my own- God, I’m so sorry Kacchan.”
“Shut up!” Katsuki snaps, “just shut the fuck up. Fuck!”
He punches the door. Izuku slaps a hand over his mouth, stifling his yelp. He can’t hold back the tears anymore. Katsuki’s breathing heavily, glaring at the door and unnervingly silent. Izuku swallows around the lump in his throat.
“I- I can talk to him,” he croaks, “I’ll fix it, I’ll- I’ll explain what happened, and-”
“No,” Katsuki says.
He turns to look at Izuku again. The anger is gone. Now, he just looks exhausted. So much more tired than Izuku thinks he’s ever seen him, and it’s only now that he realizes he’s been so focused on Kaminari for the last few weeks that he never even noticed what was happening to Katsuki.
“You’ll just upset him more.” Katsuki continues, “this is my fault. I’ll talk to him.”
Izuku opens his mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to help. He wants to help. Not make things worse. Not leave Kaminari hurt and afraid, crying all by himself. Not force Katsuki into this terrible position. Izuku wipes the tears off his cheeks, but they just keep coming.
“Kacchan, I’m so sorry,” he says.
Even as he cries, as he surely looks pathetic and self-absorbed, Izuku watches Katsuki’s gaze soften. There’s nothing there but tired, soft, sad.
“Yeah,” he replies, “so am I.”