Chapter Text
Izuku and Katsuki were inseparable from such a young age that they had no memory of a time without one another. Their mothers were both ladies in the same court, and had been a great comfort to each other while caring for their firstborns. As the years went by, the boys ran in the same hallways, were admonished by the same tutors, attended the same formal parties and sneaked away from those very parties to hide in the same garden. When the palace became uncomfortably hot in the summer, their families escaped the heat to the same countryside manors, much to the consternation of their caretakers who had few ways to stop the rascals from finding the endless hiding spots. After all, children were children even if they were highborn.
Katsuki was the older and more confident of the two, so he tended to take the lead in most things. Where Katsuki went, Izuku followed. That was the way it was, and would always be.
The boys loved sneaking into the library and pulling heavy atlases from the shelves, spreading them on tables and perusing lands near and far. They were completely enchanted by travel journals of the past and particularly a group of eight people who were collectively known as The Explorers—adventurers of great renown who had expanded the kingdom’s understanding of the world around them greatly in the past century. Each one of the illustrious eight had been immortalised as a bust in the palace, honouring their work and bravery.
For two boys who dreamed of making their mark in the world, there was no greater goal than becoming worthy of such a bust in their own image.
One day during his twelfth summer, Izuku received a letter from his father.
Katsuki hadn’t given much thought to the Viscount Midoriya, as the man was hardly ever seen in court. However, he evidently did seem to exist and be alive—insofar as ghosts had not gained the ability to write and post letters to their sons.
The letter had come with a parcel with many gifts, the most delicate item carefully folded inside a silk cloth. Sensing its value, Izuku opened the folds with care and took out a beautiful jade comb, its deep green colour matching Izuku’s eyes perfectly.
“That for your mother?” Katsuki suggested while he thumbed through the book that had been one of the gifts. He was unable to think of another reason why Izuku would be sent a ladies’ item.
“It doesn’t seem that way,” Izuku replied, still admiring the comb. “It says here that it’s…for my future bride.”
Izuku blushed a bit when he repeated the words from the letter. Katsuki stared at Izuku, feeling something ugly was rearing its head inside his stomach. He snapped the book shut and put it down.
“Ha! Bride? The old man’s lost it.”
“What…what do you mean?” Izuku frowned.
“How’re you gonna have a bride if you’re supposed to be out exploring?” Katsuki crossed his arms over his chest.
“There’s no rule that you can’t marry while being an explorer,” Izuku pointed out. He looked at the comb, stroking its smooth surface with his thumb.
“Mom says that when I’m older and I marry, we’re moving back to the family manor. She accepted a position here because she wanted to raise me in the capital, but…I was born in the province.”
For as long as Katsuki could remember, Izuku had been there, with him in the court. Thinking of walls and staircases and creaky doors that had known Izuku before he had put a hot coal at the pit of his stomach.
He grabbed the comb from Izuku’s fingers.
“Kacchan– give it back! Please!”
Izuku jumped on his feet and tried to take the comb back, but Katsuki moved it higher. He was the taller of the two, so it wasn’t that hard to keep it from Izuku’s reach as he eyed it against the light coming in from the window. It really was a small work of art, pleasantly smooth to the touch and perfectly symmetrical.
When Katsuki looked down, he saw Izuku’s eyes glimmering with tears. It wasn’t a rare occurrence by any means, but something about it still took Katsuki by surprise. Something about the stupid comb was so important to Izuku that the mere fact that Katsuki was holding it was moving him to tears.
For a moment of blinding rage, Katsuki wanted to throw the damn thing out of the window. He managed to reel himself in, though, and simply dropped the comb on the floor, watching in disgust as Izuku yelped and bowed down to pick the item up, cradling it in his hands.
Katsuki left the room without a word, ignoring Izuku’s calls of his name.
Later, Katsuki asked his mother for the name of the place where the Midoriyas had their lands. He then went to the library, picked out one of the books that he had looked at many times, browsed for the right page, and looked for the right names written in a traditional shorthand that his tutors had painstakingly taught him to decipher. Finding the right spot, he placed his finger on the worn surface and eyed the distance between it and the capital.
It was stupidly far away. Much further than the Bakugou summer manor, and the carriage ride there had felt like a small eternity each time. And yet, the map was littered with text, names of villages and towns and estates and roads and rivers tamed with names. The entire lives of countless people confined in spaces that fit under Katsuki’s thumb on the map.
The unpleasant feeling in Katsuki’s stomach wouldn’t go away.
When he looked at the court balls from the gallery—hiding from his mother so she couldn’t tell him off for not socialising—he couldn’t stop seeing each court gentleman accompanied by a lady with a flowing dress. They all moved in pairs, in sickening synchronicity. There was no pair that was different. None of them looked like they would be at home on roadless travels, navigating with the stars and fighting their way through unexplored terrain.
Outside the dancing circle, Katsuki could see Izuku awkwardly trailing behind his mother as she walked around greeting familiar nobles and making pleasant conversation. He and Izuku were both a couple years too young to be officially debuting in court, but as Katsuki’s mother always liked to tell him, it was never too early to make good impressions and remind the right people of one’s existence.
Before long, Izuku was going to go away with some giggling woman in a flowy dress. Perhaps he would become like the Viscount, absent and barely remembered except for an occasional letter.
Katsuki wrinkled his nose and turned away from the gallery view. It didn’t actually matter what Izuku would or wouldn’t do.
After all, it only took one man to claim the title of the greatest legend of all time.
As they grew older, their talents became clearer. Katsuki showed more and more promise with a sword and a bow, while Izuku clearly had a knack for analysis and what Katsuki called freakish memorisation, the tendency to recall the strangest of details and blurt them out in the middle of their tutoring sessions.
What annoyed Katsuki more than anything was that Izuku maintained his childhood obsession with the Explorers, still poring over each and every document about their exploits and studying them as if it was a matter of great personal importance to him. What great use such information would be for someone growing old in some mouldy estate like a country bumpkin!
Whenever they were paired together for fencing matches, Katsuki would leave Izuku with a handful of reminders why the two of them were on a different level when it came to potential to leave their mark in history.
The sign that Katsuki had been waiting for appeared just before his seventeenth year. His tutor, Sir Aizawa, pulled him aside after dismissing the others from a lesson. At first, Katsuki wasn’t sure if he was going to have to defend himself against some accusation of wrongdoing, but the tutor’s eye—he had lost the other in combat years ago and wore a black patch over it—didn’t have the severe glint to it that it would if it was his purpose to admonish Katsuki. That had happened enough times for him to be able to tell.
“Bakugou,” Aizawa said, pausing as if considering the name, “you’re aiming for a career in the military, correct?”
Katsuki nodded. He had no desire to become a court official like his father, influential but stuck to running paperwork inside the capital to the end of his days. Neither was he interested in marrying some wealthy noblewoman to coop up with her in the provinces—serving in the royal forces was his best chance to get out and see the world, and not be forgotten.
Aizawa seemed to understand this without being told. He took a neatly folded letter out of his breast pocket.
“General Hakamada is arriving in the capital soon. He intends to bring new recruits to join him on the front. Mostly for the lower ranks, but I am at liberty to recommend you as his personal charge…if you are willing to go.”
“Yes, Sir,” Katsuki replied almost before Aizawa had finished speaking.
One side of the tutor’s lips curled up ever so slightly.
“Are you sure? You don’t yet know the details, and it could be a long time before you see home again.”
“I take the opportunity when I see one,” Katsuki answered simply, and Aizawa let out a huff that was close to something like approval.
“I will write to the general, and let him know my suggestions. You will hear about it again in time.”
Katsuki took the letter that Aizawa handed to him, bowed, and left the room without letting his expression change. It was only when he shut the door behind him and was left alone in the empty corridor that he broke out in a giddy smile, unfolding the letter and skimming it through as quickly as he could absorb the contents.
This was it. This would be his big break, finally.
True to Aizawa’s words, the confirmation arrived some weeks later: General Hakamada had accepted Aizawa’s recommendation, and Katsuki would join him and his company when he left again for the front.
The day before their departure, a lavish ceremony was held in the reception room. The General read out the names of the nobles who had new appointments, and Katsuki stood in the crowd waiting for his name to be called. He could feel the sudden breath Izuku drew beside him when Katsuki’s name rang in the hall and he walked to the front of the room to receive the King’s favour.
He made sure to not look at Izuku’s expression.
That evening, there was a knock on Katsuki’s door. He thought it was one of the servants, so he didn’t look up from his desk.
“Come in, and just leave it on the–”
He saw the familiar figure from the corner of his eye, and turned his head to see Izuku standing in the doorway.
“Kacchan,” he said, looking like he was trying his best not to fidget. “Can I…can I come in?”
Katsuki clicked his tongue in annoyance.
“You’re practically already in.”
Izuku took that as an affirmative, stepping fully inside and closing the door behind him.
“I…heard you’re going to war.”
Katsuki suppressed a snort. No shit he heard, it had been announced to the entire court.
“It’s…so soon,” Izuku said.
“Not like it was a surprise,” Katsuki shrugged.
“I didn’t know…”
“Well, I didn’t tell you.”
There was a flash of something akin to hurt on Izuku’s face, but Katsuki almost relished it. Being able to catch Izuku by surprise was a welcome occasion.
They were silent for a moment. Then Katsuki’s patience ran out.
“You actually got something to tell me, or are you here just to waste my time?”
Izuku opened his mouth, but closed it soon after. Then, he tried again with new confidence.
“I just…wanted to wish you luck. Please be safe, Kacchan.”
Izuku’s hand moved like it was trying to brush against Katsuki’s but changed course at the last moment and pawed at the air uselessly.
“That’s none of your concern.”
“Of course it is,” Izuku shook his head. “We’ve been together for as long as we can remember!”
“Yeah, we have,” Katsuki said, turning to look Izuku in the eye. “And starting tomorrow, you’re going to live your life and I’m going to live mine. On our own.”
There may have been more bite in the words, but it melted away on the way to his tongue, coming out as a simple statement of fact. Even so, the effect was instantaneous: Izuku was so stunned that he simply backed away as Katsuki stood to close the door.
After hearing the heavy wood slide into place with a dull sound, Katsuki felt something shift at the bottom of his stomach. An inexplicable feeling that something was happening, that something had just changed irrevocably.
He returned to his preparations.