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Katsuki watches Izuku breathe in deeply through his nose as the two make their way home for the weekend. His eyes close briefly as he takes in the pleasant evening air, filling his lungs with it before slowly letting go. It’s the first time they take the path from U.A. to their neighborhood together, and it feels like a fresh start.
After the war, it took a few days for the school to lift its mandatory in-campus housing policy, just long enough to make sure that all threats to the students’ lives had been contained. Slowly, society is being rebuilt, as a sense of normalcy creeps back in. It’s welcomed, in a way. From time to time, it distracts Izuku from the overwhelming feelings of guilt, loss, hope, failure, victory, all wrapped into one. It’s difficult to make sense of them.
It helps to see the joy on everyone else’s faces, though. His friends deserve to feel happiness for being alive. They’re all just kids, in the end.
Tenko was one, too, inside.
The thought has been gnawing at Izuku ever since he threw that final punch. It sits with him when he’s alone, keeping him company.
“What’s that face for?” Katsuki interrupts. He can’t stand the distant look Izuku carries around nowadays. Worst of all, he can’t stand his own inability to fix it.
“Hmm?” Just like that, Izuku is pulled back to reality. He feels his sneakers hit the concrete beneath, the wind blowing gently in his face, the weight of the books inside his backpack. “Sorry, I was just thinking.” He throws a small smile Katsuki’s way, apologetic for his distraction.
“I can tell that much,” the other replies. As they continue to walk, Katsuki steals glances at Izuku, unsure how to proceed. Since they got out of the hospital, both have come and gone between campus and home, but never on the same days. There’s no particular reason behind it; it just didn’t happen. Until now.
This is also the first time they have some uninterrupted time alone after the war.
Katsuki can’t deny that he’s glad to have this moment, but it’s hard to make the most of it when you can’t find the words to. So much has happened, yet a lot of it remains unspoken. He can feel it in the air between them sometimes, heavy, still; like a held breath waiting for the right moment to exit.
The sound of water hits the teens’ ears just before they reach a small bridge, and suddenly, Katsuki is transported to simpler times. This is the same bridge they would cross each morning on their way to middle school, although separately. The river underneath is familiar, it flows from the woods they used to play in as children, all the way through the city toward Tokyo Bay. It brings back memories.
Katsuki comes to a stop right in the middle of the bridge, turning to look at the water over the guardrail. Noticing his absence a few steps ahead, Izuku stops to look back at him. “Kacchan?”
When he doesn’t immediately reply, the younger boy moves closer and rests his hands on the railing. Katsuki is hyperaware of the presence at his side, but his eyes refuse to leave the water. In his mind, an old scene plays, just as vividly as ever — the impact of the fall, the feeling of wet clothes sticking to his skin, the sound of water splashing, a hand reaching out toward him. The memory has clung to him for over a decade, but only in the past year did it start to come with a sense of regret attached.
Katsuki raises his left hand, palm-side up so he can stare at it instead. Izuku carefully follows the movement with his eyes, yet says nothing. He’s waiting. What for, he doesn’t know.
“I-” the blond starts, voice sounding rough to his own ears. He clears his throat and tries again. “I never told you about that day… how I wish it had been different.” The words sound way too sentimental for him already, yet he can’t find another way to get his feelings across.
Izuku’s face bunches up in confusion. “I’m not sure I’m following, Kacchan.”
“That day on the river, when we were brats,” he clarifies. “I fell into the water, remember? You tried to help me up and I didn’t let you.”
The description triggers a distant memory in the other boy. Vaguely, he can conjure up an image of a young Katsuki surrounded by water and rocks. At the edge of the picture in his mind, trees.
That’s about everything Izuku can recall, but he stays silent, allowing the blond to continue.
“I would do it differently, now,” he gulps. His hand falls back down to his side, and Katsuki turns to look at Izuku, a sliver of nervousness in his eyes. “Just thought you should know.”
The shorter boy gives him a fond smile in return. “You already apologized. Everything is okay now.”
“Is it?” Katsuki counters. He didn’t mean to get into this particular conversation, but he can’t help the way Izuku’s impassiveness makes him itch. “You keep saying that, so how come I don’t believe you?”
“I’ve already forgiven y-”
“I’m not talking about that,” Katsuki interrupts. His face is contorted in an unhappy frown. “I’m talking about how you always seem distracted now, like you’re somewhere else. You don’t laugh anymore, at least not that I’ve seen. And there are permanent bags under your eyes. Why is that?”
The question hits Izuku like a bucket of cold water. Immediately, his body goes rigid, hands clenching on the railing.
“Kacchan, I’m-”
“Fine? Don’t lie to me, Izuku. That war wasn’t fine. You’re not fine.” The words come out a bit harshly, and Katsuki mentally slaps himself upside the head. As much as he wants the nerd to stop bottling up his emotions, he also doesn’t want to scare him away.
Izuku remains very still, at a loss for what to do. He didn’t expect the other to bring this up. No one else has.
“You don’t have to talk to me, just… don’t lie.”
As Izuku’s chin starts to quiver, he’s thankful for the late hour. The sun has almost finished its descent from the sky, painting everything in shades of orange and red. Night will fall in a handful of minutes, but for now, it’s dark enough that passersby won’t see his watery eyes. He never had a problem with others seeing his tears before, but crying in shame feels much different from doing it out of hurt or joy.
He turns his face away from his childhood friend. It’s his turn to look down at the river now. Except Izuku isn’t looking, not really. He can’t with the tears blurring his vision.
“It all went wrong,” he whispers.
Katsuki notices the boy’s knuckles going white, a natural result of the tight grip his fingers have on the railing. It makes him want to reach out.
“Tenko wasn’t supposed to die,” the other continues between tears. They’re running freely down his cheeks now, clinging to his jaw before splattering on the back of his hands. “All Might said his heart was saved, but…”
Katsuki can only stand there. Now that the dam is open, he’s afraid even the slightest misstep will close it off again.
“He shouldn’t have died,” Izuku raises his voice between sobs. “Toga Himiko shouldn’t have died. You shouldn’t have died.” His hands meet at his chest, clenching his dress shirt right where the heart is, underneath the layers of fabric, skin, muscle, and bone. “It was such a mess,” he whimpers.
Katsuki pauses, processing all the new information. He knew Izuku had to have been affected by everything that took place, he just wasn’t aware of how deep his grief ran. Now that he does, though, he’s not sure he knows how to help. He has never had a way with words, so, he takes a deep breath and does the only thing he can think of.
He steps closer, tugging on Izuku’s arm until they’re facing each other. Then, he takes Izuku’s right hand in his left one.
The gesture startles the other, who whips his head up at breakneck speed. His breath stutters, but Izuku isn’t sure if it’s the warm feeling of a hand on his that causes it, or the look on Katsuki’s face.
“You did your best,” the blond begins. “I know you did because I know you, and you always do. Things may not have turned out the way you hoped for, but you tried.” He tightens his hold on Izuku’s hand. “That doesn’t change what happened but… it has to count for something.”
In all the years they’ve known each other, Izuku doesn’t think he’s ever heard his childhood friend sound so serious.
“And as for me,” Katsuki continues, now bringing their joined hands against his chest. “I’m still alive.”
A whine escapes the other’s throat, lips trembling at the image his brain conjures. “But you weren’t. You were lying in a pool of blood and I couldn’t-” he shakes his head. “You were dead.”
“But I’m not anymore,” Katsuki reassures. “I’m here.”
And Izuku is so, so thankful for that. Relief washes over him anew, a sharp contrast to the claws of grief still squeezing at his heart. Izuku didn’t even get to process Katsuki’s death before he was standing again. There is no time for that in the middle of battle. So he may be right in front of him, living and breathing, but the fear and anger that had taken over Izuku at the sight of his friend’s corpse still cling to his body.
“Kacchan,” he whimpers. Izuku is unable to communicate the mixed bag of emotions coursing through him, but he doesn't need to. Katsuki understands anyway.
So he closes his eyes and cries. He cries out all the sadness that has taken root in him since the war, allowing himself to truly feel it, to get lost in it with the knowledge that he won’t be engulfed by the darkness. Katsuki’s hand in his is an anchor, tethering him to reality with a firm grip. Through his palm, Izuku can feel the other’s heart beating, and indulge in the comfort it offers him. It’s almost surreal to be able to touch Katsuki in this way, and not for the first time since they started high school Izuku feels truly blessed.
They stay on that bridge until the sun has fully set, Katsuki holding onto Izuku’s hand the entire time. It’s not the ideal place to have an emotional breakdown, but thankfully, this time of day means that the street is almost empty. The few people that do pass by eye the two curiously, although they swiftly move on once met with Katsuki's death glare. This is Izuku's moment, he won’t allow a random stranger to interrupt it.
Slowly, the tears stop coming as wildly, the shoulders stop shaking, and Izuku sniffs as he uses his left sleeve to wipe the tears from his face. “Thank you,” he mutters.
“Tsk.” He looks away from Izuku. “I thought we told you to stop trying to handle everything by yourself. It’s annoying.” The last remark is so much like Katsuki that it gets a smile out of Izuku. He knows better than to take it to heart.
Without the excuse of comforting Izuku while he cries, Katsuki is suddenly hyperaware of the hand he’s still clutching to his chest. The other boy hadn’t attempted to pull it back yet, but it’ll probably be suspicious if he continues to hold onto it. Reluctantly, Katsuki removes their hands from their resting place, bringing them down. For a beat or two, they remain there, hanging between their bodies, none of the boys sure whether to let go or keep holding on.
A chilly gust of wind decides for them.
It comes abruptly and with enough strength to knock an unprepared Izuku back a step. Without thinking, he lets go of Katsuki to warp his arms around himself, eyes and nose scrunching in response to the cold directly hitting his face.
The wind slows almost as quickly as it picked up, but the moment is already broken. Where do they go from here? Katsuki doesn’t know.
He clears his throat to get rid of the awkwardness, then blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “Does it get cold?” Shit.
“Huh?” Izuku inquires, seemingly lost.
“Without the hair,” he clarifies. “It must make your head colder.” He sounds like an idiot.
“Ah, yeah. It does actually,” Izuku answers truthfully, cupping the shaved side of his hair sheepishly, as if to hide it from view. “I can’t wait for it to grow back.”
“You should keep it,” the other says boldly, refusing to entertain the idea that Izuku’s new hairstyle makes any difference in his appearance. It’s all the same to Katsuki, except that he looks less like a nerd now. “It’s badass.”
“O- Oh!” The surprise in Izuku’s voice almost matches the look on his face, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. “...You like it?”
“I didn’t say that!” He quickly turns his head, dragging his eyes away from the pretty blush that accompanies Izuku’s question. It’s too late, though.
Beeeep, beeeep, beeeep.
Katsuki’s heart monitor immediately activates, picking up on the sudden change in his heartbeat. “Shit,” he mutters, desperately reaching for the device under his shirt, where it sits attached to his torso.
“Kacchan!” Izuku calls, now worried about the other’s condition.
With clumsy fingers, the blond manages to silence the betraying object, but that does nothing to slow his heart. In fact, the scare only made the blood pump faster in his veins, in a rush to warm his neck, ears, and cheeks.
For a moment, both boys stand there, looking at each other with matching red faces as Katsuki struggles to control his breathing. That might’ve been the most embarrassing moment of his life, not counting that one time he peed a friend’s bed during a sleepover at age 7. Waking up in the middle of the night, Katsuki had wished for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. It's not much different now.
After a few beats that feel like an eternity in the boy’s mind, a chuckle escapes Izuku’s lips. It’s so small, Katsuki almost doesn’t hear it, but as the seconds tick by, the stifled laughter keeps on coming. Soon enough, he erupts into giggles, the skin around his eyes crinkling to accommodate the lift of his still-pink cheeks. He has never looked more beautiful.
“I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you,” Izuku reassures. At that moment, Katsuki wouldn’t mind it if he was. “It’s just- How did we go from me sobbing to this?”
He’s right, the blond realizes. The thought pulls a chuckle out of him as well.
With a herculean effort, he tears his eyes away from Izuku, admiring how the city lights shine in the darkness instead. The distraction helps Katsuki’s unruly heart return to an acceptable rhythm as the other boy gets his laughing under control.
Once he’s done, Katsuki notes: “We should probably go.”
Izuku just nods in response, a smile still etched on his face. He knows nothing has been fixed, and that he’ll continue to grieve for the foreseeable future, but right now, his chest feels lighter.
The two make easy conversation as they resume the journey home, taking in the night sky. From time to time, their hands brush against each other, but neither boy comments on it. They have time.