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Izuku sat on the grassy ground before the grave, paying no mind to the fact that he was destroying his suit. His tie was rumbled, tugged away from his neck, sacrificed so he could breathe through the heart wrenching sobs. He wasn't crying now. His eyes were sore, red and puffy. His heart ached, his throat burned. There was a heaviness and emptiness to him all at once. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. He had so many more years... He was supposed to have more years.
"Sup, nerd." The voice that spoke was unmistakably that of his best friend. They had managed to round the bend and become best friends again some time in the interim of Katsuki going pro and Izuku becoming a teacher at UA. He'd actually just gotten a promotion, going from part time to full time heroics teacher. He hated it. No... that was a lie. He loved the work. But he hadn't wanted to get those sweet full time hours. Not like this.
"M'fine, Kacchan," Izuku choked out. His voice sounded raw and scratchy.
"Bullshit."
"W-what?"
"Bull-fucking-shit," Katsuku clicked his tongue. Izuku looked over with his red rimmed green eyes to meet Katsuki's own red ones. If he didn't know better, he might have thought the blond had been crying recently as well. "Yer not fine and don't fucking pretend you are." The freckled man turned his gaze back to the grave in front of him.
"You should watch your language, Kacchan," he replied softly.
"Yeah, well fuck that. I ain't a teacher so I ain't gotta do shit."
Izuku could practically feel the eyeroll in his friends gaze. "But you're a pro hero. An example to others. You really should curb the swearing."
"Yeah? Well fuck you." The response was so quintessentially Kacchan that it brought up a small bubble of laughter in Izuku. Only one small chuckle but it was something. "So... how are you actually holding up?" The blond's voice was softer than the public ever knew. Hell, softer than his parents knew, their friends knew, anyone else knew. This was a special voice that Kacchan only seemed to reserve for him and only when they were alone. Only in the moment when he let down those momentous walls and let Izuku have a little peek into the heart inside. The real Bakugou Katsuki.
"Oh, I don't know," Izuku said dryly, cracking his sore, scarred knuckles. "Falling apart? Lost? Part of me wanting to crawl right in there with him?" His words were dry, sarcastic, and not anything like the usual bubbly and determined smile that he plastered on his face, even on days that his early arthritis and the aches in his scarred body screamed at him.
"Fuck..." The reply sounded so raw that Izuku had to turn and watched a rogue tear slip down the blond's cheek. It was quickly wiped away. "You couldn't have saved him. You know that right?"
"I know. I think that makes it worse," the freckled man admitted, turning back to the grave. It wasn't even just a grave. More a monument. As it should be. He had been the greatest hero that Japan had ever known. But to Izuku, he had always been more. A personal hero, yes. But a mentor and in the more recent years, a father figure. Something that his birth father had never been. Not after the shit he'd put Izuku and his mother through. Yagi Toshinori had stepped in like a saviour and brought light and hope and stability to his life. Had taught him not only how to be a hero, but how to be a man. What was he supposed to do now that he was gone? Sure, he'd had health issues ongoing for years. It shouldn't have surprised anyone. But it had been so sudden. A couple surgeries and then... Nothing. Izuku had been in the room, holding his hand when they'd taken him off life support. The image haunted his dreams nearly as much as some of the horrors from their high school years.
"He was really proud, you know." Katsuki's voice cut through the swirl of regret, guilt and anxiety in his mind. "As he should have been. He picked the right person."
"Sure," Izuku said bitterly.
"Oi!" A shoulder knocked against his own roughly. "Don't fucking disregard his choices. He saw the strength in you and that stupid fucking selflessness. He knew that his power was in good hands and he knew you used it well."
"It isn't just about that, Kacchan." Izuku sighed. "I'm... Did you know that they have me teaching his classes now? Like I actually fill his shoes somehow."
"Well, I mean the fucker had big feet but yeah, we can make it work."
Izuku snorted at the joke and then stiffened when he felt Katsuki's warm hand take his. His arm tingled from the unexpected contact. Katsuki wasn't a physically warm person. Well... scratch that. His quirk literally had him sweating so yeah, he ran hot. Plus, he was objectionably attractive, even Izuku could see that. But he wasn't physical. Unless it was to punch someone. Somehow, that little soft attempt at comfort had the dam breaking all over again. A sob wrenched out of him as more tears began pooling and running down his already sore cheeks. This was wrong. It was all so wrong. There was so much he needed to say that he would never have the chance to. Would he even be able to live up and be a man that Toshinori would have been proud of? Really proud of?
Arms wrapped around him and he felt his friend rock him gently back and forth, rubbing a hand firmly up and down his back. The motion was familiar. Something his mother had done when he'd cried as a child. It wasn't ever something Auntie Mitsuki had done. When Katsuki cried, in the rare instances he did, he'd always been told to 'tough it out'. He'd watched Izuku's mother and had learned. It was something so small and yet it felt huge. He was always the observer. The one obsessed, writing everything down. But this showed that sometimes? The blond watched him too. Actually cared. He wasn't even mocking Izuku's tears which would have been unheard of, even a few years ago. It helped.
Yagi Toshinori was gone. He wasn't coming back, but he'd left so much good in the world. Izuku knew that it was going to hurt. Hell, some part of him might always hurt. But there was no doubt that he was a better man for having known the hero and maybe... Maybe that was enough.