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“Izuku,” Kacchan clasped his bandaged hand. “I love you.”
Wait.
What?
Kacchan loved him?
Izuku stared in disbelief at his childhood friend, who was sitting in a chair next to Izuku’s hospital bed. There was a book resting on his lap. Kacchan must have been waiting for him to wake up. Judging by his patched-up state, he should probably have stayed in his own hospital bed, not be sitting here with Izuku.
“What—” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.
Maybe he was still sleeping.
Dreaming.
The war had left them both broken in more ways than one. Maybe this was an aftereffect of his injuries. There were wounds too deep to be healed by hospital procedures. Wounds on one’s heart and mind, creating scars invisible to the outside world.
Izuku took a shuddering breath before opening his eyes. Everything looked the same, the stark light in the room, the blanket drawn up to his torso…and Kacchan. The gaze that met his was firm, determined, yet gentle.
Kacchan gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.
It wasn’t a dream, but then—
How?
Why?
Izuku had so many questions, but no matter how much he tried to vocalize them, nothing came out.
The buzzing and the beeping of the medical equipment filled the silence he couldn’t.
Still, Kacchan heard his unspoken questions, "I fell in love with you because you loved me when I couldn't love myself.”
What?
Izuku just opened and closed his mouth.
“I used to hate myself for being weak,” Kacchan continued, voice low but resolute, like he had carried these emotions for a long time. “I hated how I treated you, how I hurt you just to make myself feel better.”
Kacchan inhaled slowly.
“But you…you still saw me for who I really was. Who I am.”
Izuku held back a sob, but tears were already streaming down his cheeks.
“K-Kacchan…” his voice finally managed.
“You saw me as a hero when I felt like a disappointment.”
His hand felt warm where Kacchan touched, his thumb gently stroking the back of Izuku’s hand.
“You valued my feelings and faced them head-on when I didn’t know what to do,” Kacchan’s voice began to quiver, and Izuku ached at the sound of it. “And I realized how amazing you are for seeing something in a shitty idiot like me.”
“You’re not—“
“Lemme finish.”
Izuku bit back his protest.
“The way you constantly admired me made me want to live up to the image you had of me, I wanted to be better,” he huffed a laugh that sounded more like a sob. “The best, even.”
Then Katsuki leaned forward, crimson eyes shining with unshed tears as he wrapped both hands around Izuku’s.
“I want to be the hero you see. I want to be your hero.” With a quiet mumble, he added, “Even though I don’t deserve it.”
“Kacchan,” Izuku spoke in a voice so soft and collected it surprised even himself. “You always have been,” he tried to smile, hoping it would convey his feelings. “Always will be.”
Tears finally found their way down Kacchan’s cheeks and Izuku was only so strong. His own weak smile turned into a wail as he cried, “I love you, too, Kacchan.”
If a nurse were to peek into the room half an hour later for a routine check-up, the boys wouldn't hear a thing. For they would be fast asleep in the narrow bed, clinging to each other with slightly swollen eyes and cheeks sticky from tears.
But they would smile.