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“How can this be wrong?” Katsuki thinks to himself. It is nearly 4 in the morning, and this is not the first time this thought has floated around his brain.
Earlier, around 2 a.m., is when he will slowly pull up an anonymous chat website and shakily come out to strangers on the internet. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for. Is it validation? Someone to relate to? Someone to talk to? He doesn’t know why he keeps doing it, night after night, hoping someone will sweet talk themselves into dating Katsuki online, with no intention of ever exchanging any personal information, just so he can have what he craves so badly, without having to tell people.
He knows he is attracted to men. He is alright with his truth. He appreciates the aesthetics of women and 5 years ago, mistook this appreciation for attraction. Women don’t stir his heart and make his sternum ache with the longing. Not a single woman comes close to what he wants. Not a single woman has wild green hair that looks like it would feel like silk in between Katsuki’s fingers. Women don’t have emerald eyes that sparkle in the sunlight or dull in determination during training. Women don’t wear obnoxiously chunky red sneakers. They aren’t covered in scars and aren’t covered in constellations of freckles.
Back in middle school, when they were supposed to be studying and working for their future, the extras Katsuki surrounded himself with would talk about their latest victims or which boy was a faggot, and which girl had the shortest skirt. Katsuki’s skin would burn whenever that word was brought up. They would talk about where they came from and where they were going to go. How they were going to be the best and crush everyone. Katsuki was always uncharacteristically silent during these types of conversations. He was silent and kept on working through his homework. He didn’t get to have the future he wanted. He could only dream and crave during the early hours of the morning.
Oh, how he still craves. Craves the rough salty musk and gnarled fingers. Craves warm, muscled skin that Katsuki has watched light up the battlefields they have dominated together. The eyes that glow as the scent of ozone permeates the training grounds when Izuku stands tall and digs his heels into the ground. The soft tummy that he’s never lost. The stupid fucking friendship bracelet that is nearly 11 years old and about to disintegrate into dust that has never left Izuku’s wrist. His own matching bracelet holds a place of honor in the back pocket of his wallet. He could never bring himself to throw it away.
He’s tried as hard as he can, he dated some random girl in his last year of middle school as a final prayer. A final prayer where he was begging on his knees for salvation.
Salvation from everything he wanted so desperately, salvation from the only person in the world that has ever looked him in the eyes and seen him.
“How can this be wrong? How can loving be wrong?” Katsuki knows it isn’t but a small part of him is scared. Scared he’s not making it to heaven and then his 17 years of trying his hardest were for nothing. He’s been doing so well, holding in his urges, holding in this roaring fire, this painful, aching longing. Longing for the only person who would ever love him the way he needed to be loved. Longing for the best thing in his life.
Tears make their way out of his eyes against his will. He is all too familiar with what will follow. Katsuki will curl up in the middle of his bed and do his best to choke down the salty sobs. He all but pounds at his chest to try and dull the sting.
Great, heaving sobs threaten to escape, the pain in his chest is so unbearable he feels like his heart is going to give out on him. In the back of his mind, he hopes Izuku is passing by. He hopes he hears his muffled sobs, and he stops by and creeps into Katsuki’s room. He hopes Izuku’s warmth will permeate into his room and melt the iceberg that is lodged in his chest.
He wants Izuku to cradle his head on his lap and brush his tears away, wants him to run his crooked fingers through his hair and kiss him sweetly and softly until he’s kissed his tears away. Katsuki so desperately wants to bathe in Izuku’s glow. He is not unlike a God. Katsuki shouldn’t be saying such things, it’s practically blasphemy. Nevertheless, at this strange hour, with his overwhelmingly painful feelings, this thought is the only coherent one Katsuki has.
He doesn’t know why he can’t just say it. Nothing bad will happen but he is so, so scared. Scared that God really does exist and that he won’t go to heaven. Not that he really wants to, Izuku is heaven incarnate. Katsuki is just scared. Scared of his mother and scared of Hell. For all his bravado, he is just a stupid fucking coward.
The most painful part of all of this is that Izuku knows. Izuku knows that Katsuki is irrevocably in love with him. Izuku is too. Izuku knows how he struggles so he holds back, he stops himself from reaching out and it kills Katsuki. Sometimes, Katsuki thinks they’ve just been in love forever. In a very complicated and twisted way, but this love is still theirs. Their love has been written in the stars and is as sure as the sky is blue.
No one else knows it yet, but their love is something tangible, if you know what to look for. Their love is Katsuki cooking for Izuku, massaging his hands when it becomes cold. Their love is Izuku knowing just what to say to calm Katsuki down, knowing him so intimately that Katsuki scarcely has to say a word before Izuku knows what he needs. Knows what he needs before Katsuki himself knows.
This ache cuts him to the bone. In a new development, his longing has now begun to extend over to daylight hours. It’s so physically painful Katsuki considers asking Recovery Girl to kiss the pain away. He is so tired. Tired of fighting his every instinct that is yelling at him to grab Izuku and kiss him. It is all he wants and all he thinks of. In the dark confines of his room, he lets himself think all the shameful thoughts he wants.
Katsuki thinks about how Izuku’s soft, spit-slicked lips would feel against him, how his warm hands would grip his waist. He thinks about Izuku’s big eyes on him, his thick fingers in Katsuki’s mouth and he burns with longing. He only lets himself imagine these things in the dark; he’s too ashamed to face himself in the mirror. These nights usually end with him sobbing himself to sleep and a hoarse voice the next day.
In the early morning light, Izuku meets his gaze, unflinching and Katsuki burns with everything he so desperately wants to say.