Work Text:
Hot, stinging tears carved tracks down Izuku’s cheeks as he sat hunched on the worn wooden bench, his arms wrapped around himself in a feeble attempt at comfort. The rhythmic crash of the waves against the shore, the cool night air kissing his flushed skin—none of it soothed him. If anything, the serenity of the beach felt like an insult, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside him. His chest ached, his breath shuddering as he fought to keep himself together.
Without thinking, his trembling fingers found his phone, navigating to the one contact his heart screamed for. Katsuki. Kacchan.
He barely registered the dial tone before a familiar, gravel-rough voice answered, thick with sleep yet instantly alert.
“’Zuku?”
Of course, Izuku thought bitterly. It was nearly 2 a.m. on a Wednesday—Katsuki had been sleeping. He clenched his teeth, self-loathing settling deep in his gut. How stupid was he? How selfish, calling so late without a second thought?
“Hey, sorry,” Izuku rasped, trying—and failing—to make his voice sound even. “Did I wake you?” Maybe he could cover this up. Make up some excuse, ask a dumb question, pretend he hadn’t just crumbled apart alone on a deserted beach. He could let Katsuki go back to sleep and suffer through this himself.
But Katsuki saw through him like glass. “Where are you?”
Izuku exhaled shakily, his fingers curling against the hem of his hoodie. “Kumari Beach,” he admitted, voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. The dam was breaking.
“Okay. Stay there.”
The call ended with a decisive click.
Izuku’s phone slipped from his fingers, landing in the sand beside his bare feet. He stared out at the endless expanse of the ocean, its black waters shimmering under the moonlight. What was he even doing? He should have just stayed in his room, buried himself under his blankets, let the suffocating weight of his emotions drown him like he always did. He could have called Uraraka like he usually did when things got bad. But no—his first instinct had been Katsuki.
The realization sat heavy in his chest, as inevitable as the tide.
He dug his toes into the cool sand, only now noticing how numb his feet felt. In his desperate need to escape the house, he had left without his shoes, without his dignity, without anything but the hollow ache in his heart.
A pair of headlights cut through the darkness, bouncing along the uneven road leading to the beach. Izuku should have felt a spike of fear—this was the kind of situation where bad things happened, where reckless decisions led to regret. But instead, he felt warmth spread through his ribs, knew with absolute certainty who was behind that wheel.
Katsuki had come for him.
Like always.
Without hesitation, Izuku climbed into the passenger seat of the truck, swallowing thickly as he shut the door. The vehicle smelled like smoke and leather and something undeniably Katsuki. The blonde didn’t say a word, barely spared him a glance before cranking up the radio and pressing his foot to the gas. The engine rumbled, the vibrations seeping into Izuku’s bones as they sped off into the night.
Izuku closed his eyes, listening to the hum of the tires on the pavement, the low bass of whatever song Katsuki had playing. He let himself breathe.
When he opened them again, the glow of streetlights had disappeared. Instead, towering trees blurred past in the darkness, the road narrowing beneath them. His stomach tightened. They were outside the city now.
Where is he taking me?
The truck veered onto a dirt road, the rough gravel crunching under the tires. Izuku caught the flash of a “No Trespassing” sign in the headlights before Katsuki flicked them off entirely, plunging them into near-total darkness.
Izuku’s pulse stuttered.
The truck rolled to a stop. For a moment, there was only silence, save for the distant chirping of crickets and the faint whisper of the wind rustling through the tall grass.
Then Katsuki’s voice cut through the night like flint striking steel.
“Get out of the car.”
Izuku jumped, twisting to face him. “What?”
Katsuki met his gaze for the first time all night, crimson eyes steady, unwavering. “Get out of the car, Izuku.”
There was no anger in his expression. No frustration. Just something unreadable, something that made Izuku’s breath catch in his throat. His fingers trembled against the door handle.
“Do you trust me?”
The answer slipped out before he could think. “Of course.”
Katsuki nodded once, as if that settled it. Then, without another word, he pushed open his door and stepped out, rounding to the back of the truck. Izuku swallowed hard, inhaling the crisp night air before following.
The tailgate groaned as Katsuki yanked it open, motioning for Izuku to sit. Hesitantly, Izuku hoisted himself onto the edge, feet dangling just above the ground.
Katsuki didn’t say anything. He simply turned back toward the driver’s seat, leaving Izuku perched on the tailgate, confusion pressing against his ribs. The truck rumbled to life again, but the headlights remained off.
Then, music.
A soft melody drifted from the speakers, Izuku recognized it as Sleeping At Last’s Sun. he barely had time to process it before the truck lurched forward, rolling slowly into the field of swaying grass.
His breath hitched as he realized what was happening.
Katsuki was driving him through the night, through the open field, beneath a sky full of stars.
As the truck rumbled forward, Izuku noticed tiny flickering lights winking in and out of existence around him. At first, he thought they were reflections—maybe distant streetlights or a trick of the night. But no—these weren’t artificial. They were alive.
Lightning bugs.
They rose from the grass in golden flurries, startled into flight by the truck’s passage, their delicate bodies catching the air before vanishing into the vast sprawl of the night sky. For a moment, they blurred together—the stars above and the fireflies below—until Izuku couldn’t tell where the earth ended and the cosmos began.
The wind howled around him, rushing past his ears, tangling in his hair, cool against the warmth of his tear-streaked cheeks. His heart pounded, not from sadness, not from fear, but something else entirely—something freer, something lighter. Without thinking, he reached a hand out, fingers stretching toward the sky as if he could pluck the stars from their eternal resting places, as if he could hold the fireflies in his palm and keep their light for himself.
They danced around him, swirling in golden arcs, tiny, living constellations pulled into the wake of Katsuki’s reckless, unrelenting momentum. And as the truck carried him forward, through the field, through the night, through the storm in his chest, Izuku felt the weight of the world begin to slip from his shoulders.
For the first time in hours, he let go.
For the first time in days, he felt like he could breathe.
Because for this fleeting moment, he wasn’t just sitting in the back of a truck, wasn’t just a boy burdened by expectation and exhaustion.
He was flying.
As the truck rolled to a slow stop in the middle of the vast, empty field, Izuku let his hand fall back to his lap, his fingers still tingling from the rush of air and the feeling of weightlessness. His chest rose and fell in steady breaths, the kind he hadn’t been able to take all day. Maybe all week.
Katsuki cut the engine, plunging them into a silence so deep it felt sacred. The night stretched endlessly around them, the sky yawning open in a way that made Izuku feel small but safe—like he was just another star, flickering quietly in the vastness of the universe.
The driver’s side door creaked as Katsuki stepped out. A second later, the tailgate shifted under his weight as he climbed up beside Izuku, their shoulders just barely brushing. Izuku swallowed hard, suddenly hyper aware of every inch of space between them. Or rather, how little there was.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. There was no need to. The night air was thick with something unspoken, something heavy yet comforting, like the warm haze of a dream.
Then, Katsuki sighed, tilting his head back to stare at the stars. “You gonna tell me what the hell happened, or do I gotta beat it out of you?” His voice was rough, but not unkind. There was something else there—something softer, something worried.
Izuku huffed a small laugh, rubbing his hands over his face. “It’s stupid,” he mumbled, voice still hoarse from earlier. “I shouldn’t have called you.”
“Yeah, well, you did.” Katsuki nudged him—not hard, just enough to make Izuku sway slightly. “And I don’t answer my damn phone at two in the morning for just anyone, so spill.”
Izuku hesitated. He could feel Katsuki’s gaze on him, waiting, unwavering. He could lie. He could downplay it, make a joke, brush it off. But sitting there, surrounded by nothing but night and the quiet hum of crickets, with Katsuki beside him—he didn’t want to lie.
So he didn’t.
“I got into it with my mom again,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I needed to get out. Needed to breathe. And I—I don’t know. I guess I just… I didn’t want to be alone.”
Katsuki was quiet for a moment, and then, “So you called me.”
It wasn’t a question. Just a statement. A fact.
Izuku exhaled slowly, turning his head slightly to look at him. Katsuki was staring straight ahead, but there was a tension in his jaw, a flicker of something in his expression that Izuku couldn’t quite place.
“I always call you,” Izuku said before he could stop himself.
That made Katsuki finally glance over, his red eyes catching the faint glow of the fireflies still floating lazily around them. “Yeah,” he murmured, “you do.”
Izuku’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t know why.
Or maybe he did.
Because suddenly, he wasn’t just grateful for Katsuki’s presence. He wasn’t just relieved that Katsuki had come for him.
He was aching.
Aching in a way that felt dangerous, in a way that felt too big for his chest, in a way that had nothing to do with the fight with his mother and everything to do with the way Katsuki was looking at him now—like he was trying to understand something, trying to solve a puzzle that had been in front of him for years but had only just now started to take shape.
The realization hit Izuku like a punch to the gut.
Oh.
Oh, no.
He was in love with him.
The moment stretched between them, thick with something unspoken—something electric. Izuku could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, a frantic rhythm that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the way Katsuki’s gaze lingered, searching, burning.
Then, a harsh beam of light sliced through the night.
Izuku flinched as a flashlight swung in their direction, casting their shadows long against the truck bed. A deep, gruff voice rang out, sharp and suspicious.
“Who the hell is out there? This is private property!”
Izuku’s blood ran cold. Katsuki, however, moved like he had been expecting it.
“Shit,” Katsuki hissed under his breath, immediately pushing off the tailgate and landing in the dirt with practiced ease. He grabbed Izuku’s wrist, yanking him down with him before Izuku could even think to react. “Move!”
The voice was getting closer. Heavy boots crunched against the dry grass, the flashlight bouncing wildly as the owner of the property stormed toward them.
“You kids think you can just trespass on my land? I’ll have the cops on your asses before you can—”
Katsuki didn’t wait to hear the rest. He hauled Izuku forward, shoving him toward the passenger side of the truck. “Get in!”
Izuku scrambled inside just as Katsuki dove into the driver’s seat. The second the doors slammed shut, Katsuki twisted the key in the ignition. The truck roared to life, tires kicking up dirt as he slammed his foot on the gas.
Izuku barely had time to throw his seatbelt on before the truck lurched forward, speeding back down the dirt road they had come from. The headlights were still off, Katsuki relying only on the faint glow of the moon and muscle memory to navigate the uneven path.
“Is he following us?” Izuku panted, twisting in his seat to glance back through the rear window. The flashlight was still visible, bobbing violently as the man ran after them, but he was quickly disappearing into the distance.
“Not for long,” Katsuki growled, gripping the wheel tightly. “Old bastard probably just wanted to scare us off. Like hell I’d let him catch us.”
Izuku exhaled shakily, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. His hands gripped his seat as Katsuki swerved onto the main road, the smooth pavement a stark contrast to the rough terrain they had just escaped from.
For a few minutes, neither of them spoke, the only sound was the hum of the engine and the lingering rush of the wind through the open windows. Izuku let his head fall back against the seat, staring up at the endless night sky, still littered with stars.
Then, a laugh bubbled up from his throat—soft, disbelieving, breathless.
Katsuki glanced at him, eyes narrowing. “The hell’s so funny?”
Izuku shook his head, a tired grin tugging at his lips. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I just—I wasn’t expecting that. It’s a good thing an illegal street racer was driving.”
Katsuki snorted. “Not just an illegal street racer—the best goddamn illegal street racer,” he laughed, cocky as ever.
The tension in the truck shifted, the weight of their near-capture fading, replaced with something lighter. Something more familiar.
And yet, as Katsuki drove them back toward the city, Izuku couldn’t shake the warmth still curling in his chest. Couldn’t ignore the way his pulse skipped every time Katsuki’s fingers flexed on the wheel.
Because despite the chaos, despite the fact that they had just been chased off a stranger’s land in the middle of the night…
Izuku didn’t regret calling him.
Didn’t regret choosing Katsuki.
And that was the scariest part of all.