Work Text:
Shouto is looking at him over the table. He’s concerned.
“You need to stop overworking yourself, Bakugou. You look like you’re taking years off your life,” he says, swirling the last sip of wine in his glass. Katsuki looks up at him from under his bangs.
“I’m fine,” he says. Izuku’s eyebrows scrunch together as he looks at him from the side; it almost looks like he’s about to say something, when movement across the room catches his eyes and they flick away from him. Against his better judgement, Katsuki lets his eyes follow Izuku’s - to Uraraka, across the room.
His shoulders drop, ever so slightly, and his eyes slip closed as he turns back to the table. His jaw is stretched tight, composure over dread. Shouto watches it all happen, the way Izuku is so captivated by Ochako’s ringing laughter he seems to have forgotten who he was just worried about, the way Katsuki lets all his hope drain out of him with a breath. And then he’s grabbing his wallet and is halfway to standing up, but Izuku looks back at him.
“Wait, Kacchan!” he calls out, hand halfway to his wrist but never touching. And Katsuki stops, despite everything, like he always does. “You can’t leave yet, we just got here!” he continues, confused and almost mad. “I’ve barely talked to you. And I barely see you anymore as it is.”
“I’ve got an early shift,” Katsuki lies. Shouto knows his next shift is the following night, but he stays silent, watching. Izuku’s hand moves closer to Katsuki’s wrist, fingers spread like he’s about to grab him. “Stay,” he says, “just a bit.”
Katsuki glances over to Uraraka on the other side of the room. When he looks back at Izuku, he followed him, like he used to. Something adds up in his brain, but he just looks more confused and more frustrated than before.
“You noticed that?” he asks, eyes meeting Katsuki’s again. The emotions he finds there just frazzle him more. Katsuki can tell he has no idea what’s going on inside him. “Yes, I was looking at her, because I have been thinking about her,” he confirms, almost defensive, “in the war, we really understood each other. Her and Toga and me and Tenko, it was difficult, but we connected over that. And after the war, we fell out of contact, and I wanted to change that, tonight.”
Katsuki looks at him. Says nothing. Izuku doesn’t touch his wrist.
“But that can wait another day,” he says, green eyes sparkling with something like desperation; desperation to keep Katsuki here, where he can pretend to figure him out. Where he can look at him, concerned like he cares, in the seconds between watching Uraraka. And despite it all, Katsuki is weak.
“I’m going outside for a smoke,” he says, resolutely looking away from Izuku and instead to the pack of seven stars he picks up from the table. “After that, I’ll see if I stick around.”
He gets up with a quiet sigh, jacket in hand.
“Can I join?” Izuku asks. Katsuki looks back at him, again, still on the floor but halfway to running after him anyway. “Sure, if you want.”
He walks outside without looking back at the sounds of Izuku scrambling to follow.
Katsuki leans his back against the cold stone wall of the restaurant, lighter disappearing into his left pocket while the first drag of smoke fills his lungs. Izuku stands next to him in just his work shirt.
“So, are you two going to date this time?” Katsuki asks. Izuku folds his arms over his chest.
“I don’t know,” he says. Katsuki does not flinch.
“She always had a thing for you at UA, you know. Could be your chance to try, this time.”
Katsuki breathes in smoke, lets his shoulders relax, despite everything.
“I don’t know,” he says again, eyes calculating as he watches Katsuki take in the information. Katsuki nods, slightly, watching the moon rise above the buildings around them.
“What am I missing?” Izuku asks, almost whispering, “Talk to me, Kacchan.”
Something inside Katsuki breaks, quietly, like a piece of rotten wood finally giving out. Smoke passes through his lips and the first tears gather in his eyes.
“What more do you want me to say?” he asks, and it’s not what Izuku wanted to hear.
“What does that mean?” His eyebrows are tense as he says it, his shoulder squared and arms still folded over his chest. Katsuki lets his head roll over to look at him.
“Stop pretending my heart isn’t an open book for you, Izuku.”
Izuku’s stature softens up as he says his name, but he looks no less confused or frustrated. Katsuki sighs.
“I died for you,” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth. “When Shigaraki blew up my heart, I was thinking about you.”
Izuku doesn’t relax. Katsuki takes another drag, lets the first tears roll down his cheek.
“And when I came back to life, I was thinking about you, too. And I rushed to fight right beside you. And when I woke up in the hospital, I ran to you, too,” he says, the smoke of his exhale curling around his words as they leave him. Izuku is listening intently, more sad now than frustrated, but he doesn’t get it yet.
“And then, from the moment you told me you were losing your quirk, I worked day and night to give it back to you. Your future, your dream – I put everything I had into that suit,” Katsuki says, smile curled around the filter of his cigarette. “And sure, it was selfish, too, because it was about my dream, too. I wanted to chase you, for the rest of our lives; to number one and then beyond. And I wanted us to open an agency together.”
Katsuki laughs, short and quiet, smoke around them in waves.
“But you didn’t want that.”
Izuku can’t seem to take his eyes off of Katsuki. His arms are still folded over his chest, clutched close.
“You want to keep being a teacher and you don’t want to join my agency. And number one looks a lot less desirable on my own. So where does that leave us?”
Izuku doesn’t say anything, not even as Katsuki looks at him, tears on his cheeks and cigarette between his lips.
“Standing here,” he continues, “you telling me despite everything, it’s still not enough.”
Izuku flinches at his words, arms unfolding, but Katsuki doesn’t let him speak, now. “You’re still asking me to give you more. To talk to you, to explain everything, as if I need to say any more. I already gave you everything I had, Izuku, and everybody knows it.”
Katsuki’s head drops back against the stone wall with a sting. The cigarette burns between his fingers.
“If we go back, we’re going to sit down at our table and you’re going to look back to Uraraka across the room, working up the courage to talk to her, which will lead to the beautiful highschool sweetheart romance everyone was imagining for you two. Todoroki is going to comment on my overworking habit, knowing it’s not true, because I did overwork myself for eight years, but now I look like death because there’s nothing for me to live for anymore.”
Katsuki looks down at his hand and stubs out the cigarette under his boot. Izuku stands next to him, mouth agape, without any words to say.
“Because I came back to life for you, so I could give you everything I had, and you didn’t want it. So what am I here for?”
He pushes himself off the wall with a deep breath. Izuku, tears welling up in his eyes, struggles to form a single word. His eyes track Katsuki as he moves, and there’s that desperation again.
“Good luck with Uraraka,” Katsuki says, lighter, cheeks cold where his tears are drying. “I hope you find a ride home.”
There’s a few seconds between the restaurant door closing behind Katsuki and the moment quick steps chase him into the dark hallway. Before they can reach him, he’s back in the private room with all his classmates, who will notice him in just a second. He’s crossed the room and picked up his wallet and keys, catching a knowing glance from Shouto, when Izuku storms in after him. Katsuki turns to make his way back to the entrance and Izuku is next to him, grabbing his wrist before he can move.
“Don’t go,” he says, throat tight like there’s words stuck there, emotions unsaid, but Katsuki can’t stay and listen to it all, can’t tell himself he can take it, even if Izuku loves someone else now.
“What,” he says instead, tugging his wrist out of Izuku’s hold and walking away from their table, “are you missing something?”
And just like that, he leaves him there.
Later that night, Shouto texts him, unprovoked: ‘I saw him talking to her. Don’t know about what. He looked terrible after you left. Take care of yourself.’ and Katsuki doesn’t thank him, but Shouto knows, anyway.