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Katsuki heard of the breakup through the grapevine.
And by grapevine he meant fucking Ashido, who had the same sense of discretion as a bullet train. She practically yelled it in his ear after a grueling shift, when the usual group found themselves at a trendy new bar. Despite Kirishima’s attempts to shush her and Jiro running interference, several heads turned to stare.
Shit-for-brains, of course, leapt at the chance to be an utter nuisance. “Kac-chan!” he sang, eyebrows wiggling. Katsuki’s warning glare went ignored. “What a curious reaction you’re having to this news. Now that the path is free, will you finally grow a pair?”
Five seconds later, he was sent flying through the door, the trademark Die! easily identifying the culprit. Kaminari merely giggled and told everyone he was fine and used to it, but Katsuki still got banned from the bar. Worth it.
He’d been supportive of their relationship, what the fuck else was he supposed to do? Uraraka was good for Izuku. She’d get him to wear the damn suit everyone had got for him, and things would return to normal. Katsuki would have his rival again. Soon they’d be chasing each other to the top and dethrone that blonde weirdo with a nudity kink.
Anything beyond that was just asking for heartbreak again.
But one year later, Izuku still hadn’t touched the suit. After spending all their lives telling him what to do, Katsuki had learned better and got out of his way. That’s what he’d promised himself, after all.
Until he got a text from Uraraka a month later, five simple words and no explanation.
It’s up to you now.
Stop telling me what to do, he typed back out of habit.
Yet his feet guided him to Izuku’s door the next evening, where Katsuki stared at his wide eyes and gaping mouth for a solid minute and absolutely did not blank on what he was doing there. No longer baby-faced, Izuku’s freckles clung to him despite the scars now covering his skin. In fact, his arms were mostly scar tissue, peeking under a black t-shirt with “I’m a sweater” written in white.
Fuck’s sake.
“Are you letting me in or not?” he snapped.
“Sorry! Come in.”
Katsuki brushed past him into a small, clean hallway lit by dim warm light from a rusty floor lamp and smelling faintly of pine. It led to an equally tiny living room and kitchenette on the left, and two closed doors on the right. The orange couch looked particularly dubious, as though it was one careless flop away from crumbling apart.
Izuku fidgeted behind him. “Hm, can I get you something to drink?”
“I’m not staying long. Round Cheeks texted me.” This last part he said while looking Izuku in the eye, gauging his reaction.
Izuku looked away, mouth downturned, brow furrowed. “You heard?”
“Suspect everyone did.”
Izuku sighed. Katsuki couldn’t tell if the bags under his eyes were from exhaustion or crying, and it bothered him to no end. “Are you here to tell me I blew it?”
“Did you?” Katsuki drawled. He didn’t care about the particulars. In fact, the less he knew, the better. This news would have delighted him if he thought he stood a chance.
Izuku’s tired eyes flashed and this time it was him brushing past Katsuki to enter the kitchen. He put the kettle on, his back to Katsuki, who had taken the opportunity to lean against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. He examined Izuku’s rigid frame, the tense shoulders, the finger rubbing at an invisible stain on the counter. “We decided we’re better off as friends. There. Now tell me why you’re here. I know it’s not because of her.”
Interesting, but of course these two had to be all mature and sweet about it. Katsuki couldn’t even get irrationally mad at Uraraka, he respected her too much.
“Wrong, dipshit.” Katsuki grinned, easily falling into their rhythm now that Izuku had given him lip. “She texted yesterday because you still haven’t returned to hero work. So, I’m here to tell you to get over yourself.”
Izuku clenched his fists and glared at the kettle. Katsuki was reminded of that night, all those years ago, when he’d dragged him out to Ground Beta to alleviate the guilt and self-hatred he’d been stewing in. Izuku had tried so hard to diffuse the situation until he couldn’t anymore. Until his feelings came pouring out too.
“You sound like her.”
Fuck if he knew what to do with that information.
“What excuse did you give her then?” There it was—the eye twitch. Katsuki was getting closer, so he stepped into the kitchen and Izuku’s space. “Was it some bullshit about being content with your current position? Because I’ve never known you to settle.”
Izuku flinched, eyes wary. “It’s not an excuse—”
“Sounds like one to me. Spit it out then.”
“One for All is complete. I got to live my dream for some time and now I’m inspiring others to live theirs. That was the whole point of All Might’s mission.”
“The whole point was for us to be heroes together!” Katsuki roared, promptly stunning him into silence. The kettle was now boiling, and soon it’d be screeching for their attention. “You accepted that gift because it would allow you to live out your dream, the mission just came attached. It’s part of your story. Wasn’t that why you chased after me for years? Why I chased you? And now you give up this easily when nothing could have stopped you then. Not even me.”
Katsuki always knew when his childhood friend was about to explode. Idiots would say it was the eyebrows drawing closer together, the nostrils flaring, the murderous eyes on sweet Izuku. But no, it was the mouth drawing a line instead of the wobbly mess for discomfort or frustration. And now it was about as straight as Izuku’s morals.
“I’ve accepted my role!” Izuku shot back, getting right in Katsuki’s face. He suppressed a shit-eating grin, because he knew what came next would be nothing but bullcrap. “I made peace with my choice! And then you go and do this. You give me hope again, but what if it gets taken away? What if the suit breaks? All Might always says that overtly relying on support items is the path to a hero’s downfall. And I’ve been away for years. I can’t ask you all to step in. I can’t keep getting rescued!”
“So this is all about you being Quirkless again. You did not let that fucking stop you from running out and saving my ass from that sewage wannabe villain!”
“That was different.”
This bitch. He was so far up his own ass he could not see reason. Katsuki had walked in carrying the biggest sack of patience he could, only for Izuku to pop it like a balloon in record time. Well, fuck it. He wanted to have more tact, but Katsuki had been holding on to this for almost ten years and it was about damn time to release it. Actions speak louder than words, and all that crap.
“Good thing I have the perfect solution for that, so bear with it.”
“What—"
Katsuki grabbed Izuku’s jaw and kissed him. He braced for the punch, the shove, the well-deserved kick in the balls. None came. And if he lingered—if he deepened the kiss—then it was to make it more effective. And if Izuku relaxed into him and fisted his shirt, then that was just as well.
So no, he wasn’t doing all this for selfless reasons, just to get Izuku’s ass back in the field where it belonged. But what good did yearning do ten years in? A lifetime in? He pulled Izuku in by the waist, wanting to live in this moment for as long as he was allowed. Thoroughly contradicting himself, but what else was new? Except when Izuku’s fingers grazed his jawline, Katsuki stepped back. Before he was utterly consumed.
“There,” he breathed, half-disoriented, half-panting. “If the issue is that you no longer have One for All, I solved it for you.”
Izuku’s hazy eyes travelled all over Katsuki’s face until the fog slowly lifted, leaving nothing short of pure, unadulterated astonishment. The kettle was now screaming, much like Izuku’s brain, so Katsuki put it out of its misery. “You… You knew? How—”
“I had some questions when All Might’s golden specter appeared in my mind after I got punched in the heart. And the rainbow explosions were suspicious. I asked him about it afterwards. The transfer wasn’t complete, so it isn’t much, but I’ve been working on it ever since.”
“All these years, you’ve…” Izuku blinked and leaned back against the counter. He was also recovering his breath. Katsuki was halfway to gratified for making him both speechless and breathless, until he concluded that only the shock from this information was keeping Izuku from, at the very least, punching him through a wall, One for All or no.
“I wanted to make sure. Despite what you might think, I knew there was no point in giving you misguided hope. But I’m fairly certain. All Might too, but he wanted it to come from me. And I didn’t want you to restart from zero. That should never have been your origin.”
Izuku opened and closed his mouth several times, no doubt running through a million hypotheses in his mind. Finally, he mumbled, “So One for All remained even though the mission was complete, which could mean the mission wasn’t actually complete, and beating All for One was just a part—maybe the biggest part?—of it, or that the vestige of All Might sensed a lurking danger in the future? Could also be that the other vestiges sensed it and let All Might’s stay, maybe Danger Sense got a clearer picture—no, it couldn’t have felt something that far ahead, could it? Maybe it was just a safety net in case something happened…”
Several veins might have popped in Katsuki’s temple. He fought the urge to slap a hand over Izuku’s mouth and took in a deep breath to dissipate his annoyance. He succeeded. Mostly.
Katsuki covered Izuku’s mouth with his palm. Gently.
A muffled ‘sorry’ vibrated against his hand, so Katsuki removed it. Only for Izuku to say, “But what if this weakens your Quirk?”
“How stupid do you think I am?” he snapped anyway.
Izuku sputtered. “I don’t think—”
“It’s fine. None of the holders lost their Quirks after transferring. And I don’t need a fucking leg up from creepy ghosts. I will hone my Quirk on my own. I will beat you on my own. One for All is yours. It was always meant to be yours. And d’you think that just because the last nine years were peaceful, they will stay that way? People have shitty memories—we’ll be back to destroying each other soon enough. So it’s high time you stop skirting your duties, you damn nerd!”
“Kacchan…” Oh hell, here came the waterworks.
Katsuki pressed the pads of his thumbs to Izuku’s cheeks, gently wiping away fat droplets. It was a wonder he wasn’t a dehydrated husk with how heavily he cried. And Izuku stared at him, the crinkle in his brow telling Katsuki he was decoding something. Probably how much that kiss hadn’t been just a transfer. There were easier ways, after all.
“Is this really okay?” Izuku asked nasally after a while. “Can I become a hero again?”
“You never stopped,” Katsuki told him, making sure to catch his gaze. “You have always been my hero, Izuku.”
Izuku laughed tearfully, replacing Katsuki’s hands with his own arms, hiding his face and crying freely now. Katsuki sighed and gave up the facade. He gathered Izuku in his arms and held him. At first, Izuku’s breath hitched. He tensed, not used to this display of affection.
As soon as Katsuki started rubbing his back, however, he melted into it and all that ran through Katsuki’s mind was that he should have hugged him before. Had anyone held Izuku all those times he’d broken down? Had he been comforted or just poked fun at, told to keep going until he resembled a villain? Because this—exactly this—was the entire point. Izuku’s hands gripping his shirt, soft hair under Katsuki’s chin, cheek kissing neck, warm breath on his shoulder.
It was over all too quickly, of course. Izuku disentangled himself, red-faced and red-eyed, gaze landing everywhere but him.
Katsuki cleared his throat, a poor attempt at regaining his composure. “I’m sorry I dropped all this on you. Just promise you’ll think about it.”
Izuku nodded mutely. This silence after all the rambling was weird, but he probably needed the space to think. And Katsuki was eager to leave before Izuku would start overthinking the kiss too.
“I’ll leave you be now.”
Izuku did not let him, catching Katsuki’s arm in a firm grip. He watched as Izuku’s hand slid down his wrist to grab his hand, the rough skin of his scars leaving behind a trail of goosebumps.
“Are you sure the transfer worked?”
Katsuki was too distracted by the overwhelming feeling of their joined hands to temper his outburst. “Are you saying I was lying about my intentions—”
“No!” Izuku actually blushed. Blushed. “I’m saying that maybe we should try again, just to be safe.”
Was he—Could he be—
“If it’ll help you gain some sense,” he groused warily.
“I think it might do just that.”
This time, Izuku cupped his face and pressed their lips together. It was gentler. Still unfailingly desperate on Katsuki’s part, but also glorious. He bit Izuku’s lower lip, telling himself he could justify it as blood being another means of transfer. But he didn’t draw any, of course. And the sound Izuku made before pushing him against the fridge—the back of his fingers caressing Katsuki’s cheek—promptly shut off any rational train of thought still lingering in his brain.
Almost enough to make Katsuki wonder if Izuku wanted him too, and not just to get his Quirk back.
A loud bang sent Izuku jumping back a good two meters. Katsuki shot his hand out, palm burning. The door rattled as it slowly began closing again.
“I. Am. Here!”
Well, fuck.
Katsuki fled, past Izuku’s complex expression, past All Might’s “Young Bakugo is here too!” and past his galloping, stupid heart that really shouldn’t be handling this level of stress.
Mission fucking accomplished.