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“But the thing I will never admit to anyone who’s met me is how desperately I want to be loved; I don’t think I could say it. How I want someone to hold my wrists and kiss my palms and smile at me, and want me, I want to be wanted and I don’t know how long poetry or songs will substitute for being wanted.” -chaandajaan
Bakugo Katsuki wanted to be a hero.
The best hero, in fact. #1, and nothing less would do. That was a dream that was common knowledge to anyone who spent even a minute with the angry, loud, brash boy.
Bakugo Katsuki wanted to be a Hero.
His number one dream.
His second dream was one he had had for just as long. It was a quiet thing, hidden beneath the curses, the yelling, tucked away with every shrug of the shoulder when a friend tried to touch him, pushed away just like he did to everyone except the strongest, the most resilient to his poor attitude and even worse temperament.
He hid his secondary dream - his futile wish, it seemed - far deeper than most would ever reach.
What Bakugo Katsuki wanted, almost more than anything, was to be -
Wanted.
In a way he didn’t think he ever would be.
Not since he was 4, and the manifestation of his quirk made his first dream a near sure reality, and his second a far off possibility. His quirk was strong, the strongest, so who wouldn’t want him, right? He was the best, would be the best hero.
But that’s all he’d ever be, right?
Strong. The strongest. The one who’d always come to the rescue, who’d rise up to the top, who’d be admired and praised and lifted up by the public’s respect and awe and a little bit of fear.
That was such a heavy burden, sometimes.
Sometimes he wanted to be the one saved. Sometimes, maybe, he wanted to be the one to cry.
Sometimes, he just wanted to be wanted for… him.
Just him.
Not for his quirk, or his reputation, or his status, or his money, or his body. He wanted someone to run their hand through his hair, to let him lay on their lap, to have someone be able to claw and fight their way through his ugly, brash exterior to get down to this part of him he was so scared to actually show, just because they wanted him. Because if he did, and he was rejected, wouldn’t that be even worse?
Why even bother giving people the opportunity to reject him? It’s better not to even know, he thought. Not to even try.
It took him a long, long time to realize he had always had everything he wanted. That long before his quirk manifested, he had already had the key to his second dream. Sleeping snuggled up next to him in their blanket fort and matching all might onesies.
Looking back, Katsuki would kick himself for not realizing it sooner. Just how much time had he wasted being stuck up in his head, already so sure he could never have what he so desired, so close in second place to his Hero Dreams? That maybe this deep want that had taken ahold of him over the last 3 years wasn’t as unreciprocated as he had led himself to believe.
It was such a quiet thing, the day of his realization. No big declarations or fanfare. It was a Tuesday.
“I love your hands, Kacchan,” Izuku was so gentle when he took Katsuki’s hand. His bad one, the one that got all fucked up nearly two years ago now. It still got sore sometimes if he overworked it, like he had today during training as they were preparing for finals.
“They’re sore,” he said simply in reply.
Sore. A sore point.
Just another way he’d never be wanted.
No one touched his hands anymore. Hadn’t for nearly a decade. Too grossed out by the way they sweat, the weird slick of the nitroglycerin. Or afraid, maybe, of accidentally or incidentally getting burned.
But Izuku-
“Mm, I’ll massage them for you.”
Izuku touched them so easily. Like it was nothing. Like anything Katsuki could do he could handle. Like it wasn’t even a second thought, to be grossed out or afraid of the power Katsuki’s hands held.
Even though his hands must be sore too, with all their broken bones long healed and scars that decorated his skin in between the constellations of freckles. The other boy just took Katsuki’s hand in his and began to press those crooked fingers into the meat of his thumb, massaging out the worst of the pain.
“Why do you do that?” Izuku didn’t look up from his work when Katsuki spoke, focused on working each finger in between his own.
“Do what?”
They were sitting on Katsuki’s bed after their training. Freshly showered and wearing their night clothes. Katsuki’s laptop had been forgotten somewhere off to the side, the HeroTube analysis they had been watching forgotten near an hour ago in favor of their own back and forth discussion. A weird ritual they had picked up sometime in second year: a post-training wind down that always included each other now.
“Take my hands so easily. You’re the only one who doesn’t seem to be fuckin’ scared of ‘em these days.” Katsuki’s voice didn’t have any bite to it. The late night and hard training had that effect. That, and Izuku’s gentle but firm touches on his hand. He could feel the calloused skin and scars and the way Izuku’s pinky didn’t quite bend right anymore. When he looked up the way his hair looked so soft, the green curls puffing up when Izuku didn’t put any product in after his nighttime shower softened his voice further. He watched the bit of his tongue that peaked out from worry bitten lips in concentration as he swapped from one of Katsuki’s explosive hands to the other.
“What would I have to be scared of, Kacchan?”
He snorted.
Like it wasn’t fucking obvious. His hands were already starting to sweat again, even though he had ended his shower as cold as he could to stave it off as long as he could. Like he tried to do more and more these days when he knew he’d be around Izuku. Maybe in hopes that he’d do just this.
Not that any amount of sweat seemed to ever stop the green haired boy, but, well -
“I’ve been on the receiving end of your hands enough to know I can take it. They wouldn’t hurt me. Not enough to ever make me stop reaching for them, at least.”
“Deku, you can’t just - say shit like that,” he growled out, trying to drown out the embarrassment creeping up his throat. All he got was a chuckle in return and a shake of those green curls.
“I’ll say anything I want to, Kacchan,” Izuku replied finally after he had finished massaging both of Katsuki’s hands to his satisfaction. But he was still holding one of them, pressed like a precious thing between his own. “What are you going to do, drag me to ground beta and fight me again?”
A flash of those green eyes, so full of defiance and strength and everything Katsuki had come to realize was his definition of a Hero. Those eyes he had come to so desperately, helplessly love - even if confessing that had become his third dream, just as impossible as the second.
“Che, I thought you agreed to fuckin’ drop that, Deku. It was years ago!” Katsuki looked away from those goddamn green eyes. Hoping the flush on his cheeks wasn’t so obvious.
“Except for that time in second year. And that time three months ago.”
“Those were totally normal betting spars!”
“Yea, sure Kacchan, like you didn’t just want an excuse to go all out on a fight.” Izuku was smiling and Katsuki could still see it from the corner of his eyes and fuck, he was really a helpless fucking sap these days wasn’t he? It looked like the goddamn sun had invaded his bedroom and he never wanted to know the depths of night again.
“Careful, or else I really fuckin’ will drag you out for a drag out fight again,” the growl in his voice was barely sand.
“Mmm,” came the boys reply. He still hadn’t let go of Katsuki’s hand and he really was starting to sweat now. The self consciousness was starting to kick in. That careful balance between wanting to keep the touch for as long as he could, but needing to pull away before Izuku could pull away first. The smallest of things that always reminded Katsuki he couldn’t ever, possibly, truly be want-
“I told you, Kacchan,” Izuku’s voice was quiet, so quiet, that Katsuki had to stop thinking to even hear it. “I love your hands. I want to touch them as much as you’ll let me.”
Katsuki watched in the slow space of eternity that the moment felt like as Izuku took that broad, sweating, scarred hand of his and lifted it to his lips. Katsuki felt the press of the kiss to the center of his palm, where his explosions always burned hottest.
Fuck, if he wasn’t careful, he was going to -
“I love everything about you, Kacchan.”
Another kiss against his hand, up where his middle finger connected to the rest of it.
“I’ve… been putting off saying it. It was just me being a - a coward. But finals are soon and - and I’m scared that if we graduate without me telling you this, I’ll lose the chance to forever.”
Izuku had moved his hand up to cup his cheek. The one that was scarred, the marred bit of skin where one half of his freckles used to dance on his cheek.
Was he breathing? Was he alive? Katsuki kept those thoughts looping in his head. Had he actually died, years ago? No, if he had, this dream would have been a much quicker thing. Not years of pining and rebuilding their fractured friendship and sparring and laughing and sharing these silly little nighttime rituals and massaging each others hands when they got too sore and overworked from all they had gone through -
“Kacchan? I’m - I’m sorry if I overstepped, or was mistaken, it’s okay if you don’t like me back like that- “
“Izuku-”
Was that his voice? It was the only word he could force out from his lungs. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest and, and -
Izuku was smiling at him. That goddamn beaming smile that made his eyes squint up. Like just his name from Katsuki’s mouth was everything, and then some.
Katsuki had always been wanted, hadn’t he?
It just took him a bit to realize just how much he wanted back, and to recognize it in the face of a sun in human form sitting on his bed.
Izuku was really all of his dreams wrapped up into one, wasn’t he? His Polaris. His North Star. The single point he had been chasing all his life, desperate for it. Yet that star had always been on the ground. Right next to him.
Reaching for his hand.
He cupped that scarred cheek and used it to pull the boy closer, meeting him half way until he could kiss those stupid smiling lips and taste the bit of sweat and nitroglycerin from his own hand. Until he kissed more, Izuku kissing back with a sigh that felt like ‘finally’, and all he could taste was the faint mint of Izuku’s toothpaste and the caramel candy he ate after.
Katsuki was wanted. So, so wanted. For just himself. He was sure without a shadow of a doubt in that moment that if he ended up quirkless, or broke, or sick or tired or broken or all of the above, that Izuku would still want him.
Just him.
For all his flaws, his rough words and rougher hands. Not for anything he could do for others, or the world. Not even anything he could do for Izuku, just - just everything he was.
Just Izuku’s Kacchan.
Katsuki kissed him again.