Chapter Text
Hero society never failed to continue thriving after the end of the world, it picked itself up immediately after it was saved and re-rooted itself into their daily lives. Heroes came back out of the woodwork, with humility and humbleness, to thank the students who put their lives on the line to save all of Japan where some of them had given up. As the days of recovery went by, videos circulated the internet and TV screens, displaying the heroic feats done; albeit in grainy or often distorted footage with the yelling of the crew alongside it.
Overnight, Deku became the equivalent of All Might for the span of a year. His sacrifice, bravery and courage being awarded with whatever people could muster once he lost his hero license through lack of use and a quirk. Medals and trophies adorned his shelves, spanning seven to eight years old and collecting dust alongside his All Might figurines and diploma. It’d been fifteen minutes of fame, a year with a quirk that helped him live his dream and the chance at being a hero all lost after fulfilling the quirks purpose.
And Izuku would be lying if he said he was fine with it. There was a vacant, silent void in his mind that was hollowed out with One for All. The voices, presence and warmth of the vestiges had faded over time with the embers until there was nothing but a silence left in its place. He knew he was no different than he was before his first year in UA, but it was the sort of longing and hollowness that came after knowing about it; one could not long for what they’d never known after all but they could for that in which they missed. Like when you can’t hear the buzz of voices in a room until they suddenly quiet down or you can’t feel truly alone until having been immersed by people all day then left to your own devices. He knew what it was like to not be alone in his head and now all that was left of it, of their voices and teachings, was his memories.
Aizawa hadn’t hesitated to offer him a chance to become a teacher at UA after graduation, having seen his determination and knack in understanding quirks he couldn’t help but reach out that hand. To see Izuku Midoriya fall into a distant somewhere, where his passions and skills couldn’t be utilized in helping the future generations like the hero he was, would be a pity, he’d said. So, after learning and training in his academics that’s what he did and soon after he wasn’t Deku, the hero who saved them at merely sixteen-seventeen but Sensei Midoriya who was the best teacher in helping those with even “unheroic” or “odd” quirks find their way.
He was forever grateful to those who didn’t forget him along the way, like the positive and heartwarming messages online he sometimes got even now eight years later from kids who’d seen him fighting and giving it his all on live television. He watched as his friends, colleagues and classmates moved forwards and strengthened themselves into being the best heroes he had the opportunity of meeting and often smiled when they invited him to events, or offered him free memorabilia ahead of time due to him still being invested in his fan-boying.
There was a bitter-sweet feeling in his heart when he saw them, either on patrol, on the news, in the halls of where he worked (which was rare, but happened) or even just their figurines in a store display window. He wanted to be there with them, always had, and with surprisingly Kacchans efforts he was able to now and then.
The mecha suit was something invaluable, and Izuku was eternally grateful to his mentor, his classmates and especially his childhood friend who continued to reach out to him. His apology, his confession in the Hospital when he’d cried was not just emotional vulnerability after a traumatic event but something Katsuki Bakugou was so adamant and passionate about that it stunned Izuku to his core. No longer was the bully there, the boy who pushed him away because he couldn’t be a hero, the boy who disregarded any chance of a friendship; now there was a man who put his time and effort into ensuring Izuku remained by his side in some semblance of the word. The wonder duo, he insisted, the way All Might had and it never failed to fluster Izuku at the thought.
Katsuki was unrecognizable now to who he had been, so much so that after the war Izuku could never see him as that middle school or childhood bully. Sure, he remembered, but any anger or frustration or even pain alluded to those memories faded the minute he thought of the sacrifices Katsuki had made not just for Japan but for him specifically. Nothing could ever atone for his death. On the news, in articles, online they all said he’d almost died but Izuku knew better. Kacchan had died , not almost, he had and Izuku would always remember that blank look in once fiery red eyes that sent the most sickening chill down his spine. He’d always remember that card, lying bloody on the ground beside him, brighter than the skin of its owner who seemed so pale and delicate in the grass unlike his usual demeanor. He’d always remember that thought, that broke his heart, that he may never see him smile in victory again. He’d never see his symbol of victory, his hero, ever say his name the way he had stammered over it after his apology just ten days prior to his death.
Sometimes Izuku still had nightmares about it, waking up in a cold sweat, grasping at his heart which felt like it’d burst out of his ribs. The blank stare, the blood, the paleness of his childhood friend staring back at him in the dark on every bad night had him crying still. Mourning, still.
If Izuku never mentioned the fact the loss of his quirk was a blow to his system and it would never feel the same, Katsuki never mentioned his death. The news blurred anything of the sort due to censoring, or lack of footage and officially it was never stated so no one knew that sacrifice was made besides the few heroes there who’d seen Izuku lash out so strongly and his parents. Mirio tried to get Katsuki to say something, but the latter figured there was no point to it and it was too late anyway. He didn’t care, is what he’d said at the time, if people thought he died or not. Better they think he lived, scraping past death by the skin of his teeth, since it aided in his legacy and his job of being a hero. It made him look unstoppable.
Aizawa asked, once, if Izuku had ever talked to him about it throughout the years and, with tremendous guilt and shame, he hadn’t. Izuku couldn’t find the nerve to close that gap between them, forever a vast abyss of emotion that neither of them could understand. He had Katsuki as his friend, dare he say his best friend, someone who still today helped him become his hero so what was the use in bringing up old wounds now? It was too late. He could settle with being happy like this, it was all he wanted after all to continue his dream beside his childhood friend the way Katsuki wanted.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t hurt, and wonder, and mull over the words he could’ve said. Should’ve said. Not only to Katsuki, who from his knowledge died with his name on his lips if Mirios or Jeanists accounts meant anything, but to his parents who nearly lost their only son. Mitsuki and Masaru had been there every step of the way, regardless of how stubborn Bakugou was at being coddled or taken care of and they’d treated Izuku kindly. They wouldn’t know the depth of their relationship, just what they remembered of them being inseparable as kids, and they’d figure Katsuki had reason behind what he’d done. He should’ve thanked her, told her how good of a son she raised. Mitsuki had even gone so far as to sit with Inko when she came to visit Izuku after in the hospital, hold her hand and console her so Izuku wasn’t the only one stressing over his mothers worries and tears.
Inko was relieved to find that her son would get a somewhat safe job, as saddened as she was for him that he lost his dream of being a hero with that quirk gone she couldn’t help but be grateful it got him out of danger. She couldn’t help but count her blessings that it wasn’t him who died. She’d nearly fallen to her knees to embrace Katsuki for what he’d done, since Mitsuki had told her, and Izuku kept asking about him. She thanked him, over and over, until Katsuki became red in the face from what he heard Mitsuki recount.
But, Izuku himself had never said thank you. And it was times like this, after having been out with his classmates in the new mecha suit (something he did, or was invited to at least once a week if possible) and lounging with Katsuki at a bar where he felt the guilt of that gnawing him alive.
As time wore on, Izuku felt Katsuki Bakugou was an angel that he didn’t deserve. As kids he was a challenge, a testament to pursue and persevere, something to prove himself and never give up and as young adults he’d become a blessing in disguise. He never cut contact, which Midoriya feared he would, and never stopped calling him by his first name unless to address him as a hero. He saved for the suit, was the heart of it with the others and was the one who invited him most. Without a doubt in his mind, Izuku knew Katsuki loved and cared for him and they’d finally established a friendship and close bond but selfishly he wanted more. Wanted to say more.
With this sort of job, it was a battle to gain time together, let alone for Izuku to come to terms with his conflicting emotions since he wanted nothing more but to allow Katsuki to move on and become the best he could be. But his heart, which the vestiges had told him to control, still found a way out of his chest with him around. Now there was no blackwhip to enunciate the visceral, physical endearment his pining for this man gave him. Now there were just his words, which he couldn’t for the life of him force out of his throat.
We’re friends, he reaches out to me, people see us as close. He’s becoming a hero and still reaching out to me as his friend and colleague, he’s atoned so he wants me there on his own and not out of feeling the need to. Why can’t that be enough? Why can’t him wanting me like this be enough . - He’d think. Why did he feel he wanted to bridge that gap between them more, like he had to or it’d make that ache in his heart never go away.
“Oi, Sensei, you already drunk on me here?”
Sheepishly, Izuku withdrew from his thoughts, raising his sake to his lips with a soft smile at the way Kacchan addressed him now, eyes casted down before to the side at him. In his older age, Katsuki looked as beautiful as he did when he was young. He aged like his mother, with hints of maturity from his father finally kicking in. The scar on the side of his cheek, paler against his skin and cascading like the beat of a heart, always drew Izuku’s gaze first before meeting his eyes. “Not yet, Kacchan. Have some faith in me.”
“What’re you thinking about, then?”
You . My quirk?
“The suit. I really like it, I can’t thank you and the others enough, it’s really useful and it feels almost seamless to when I had my quirk. I can still take those jumps, and the mock wires of black whip that shoot out of the knuckles make it even easier to move-” He rambled, eyes brightening then lessening as he found himself subconsciously clenching his fist as if blackwhip could still shoot out of his hands on command.
“It just doesn’t feel the same, huh?” Katsuki murmured, watching him clench and unclench his fist on top of the bars counter. His eyes were on him, beneath the cap he wore to somewhat disguise himself in public.
“No, but that doesn’t change how amazing it is that I can still be a hero with you guys. I’m getting used to how the suit works and it’s a matter of time before I’m back to a similar speed I used to have, right? It’s all practice and-”
“Izuku.” His voice was quiet, but it might as well have been a gunshot with how quick Midoriya silenced his muttering. Leaning against the counter with one arm, Katsuki tilted his body so they were eye to eye, resting his chin in hand and smiling somewhat in amusement. As brash as he could be in the media, so much so that Aizawa told him to try and get Katsuki to behave for the sake of his popularity, he could be soft spoken. “You can feel upset about it, you know that right?”
Looking away, he shook his head with a half smile. “No, Kacchan, I can’t. I fulfilled the quirks purpose, I got to live that life and now I can continue it with you all in the suit. That should be enough, it’s selfish of me to even be mulling over the what-ifs when you found a solution that is more than enough for me.”
“But you were a kid.” He sighed, fingers tapping against the counter, inches from where Izuku’s own hand rested holding his glass. He could feel the heat radiating off of him against the back of his hand.
“So were you, and you moved on. Let me try and do the same.” He smiled back at him, the bright kind he often gave his students but all he could find were red eyes staring back at him and into his soul. There were thousands of online articles talking about how a hero's presence had to be imposing, and even more comments beneath those stating that Dynamight was the most intimidating of all. His eyes, they said, seemed to be like laser pointers and bore into you until you burned from the inside out. But to Izuku, they just made him speechless and at a loss of how to act, as if he were being observed in his entirety and that made him self conscious. He then noticed that squint in his eyes that showed he disagreed with something he said.
“I wish you'd stop that.” He finished his drink, something fruity and boozy and he fished the cherry out with his tooth-pick, biting it as he looked at Izuku who was giving him a puzzled expression. “Acting like everythings fine and you’re okay with everything? I’m happy you’re with us, that I could reignite your dream and you can be a hero when you’re not at fuckin’ parent teacher meetings-” they both chuckled quietly to themselves before he continued. “But, I know you. And I know you got used to having that power, you made it your own just to lose it, you can be upset about that much.”
“I have more to be upset over and work on now in the present that it’s not relevant, Kacchan. It shouldn't be, it's been eight years and it's ran its course.” He assured, getting his wallet out to pay for their tab. When Katsuki tried to intersect he waved him off with a grin. “You paid for my suit, let me pay for your drink, Dynamight. That's the least I owe you.”
“You say that every time.”
“And I will continue to.” They both got up, leaving with no more understanding than what they’d gone in with. They orbited each other, hoping by some force they’d intersect. At some point, they'd collide.