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1
It’s been a year since Katsuki died.
That’s what happened. It’s a fact.
Katsuki died. The world had stopped spinning, time had no ticking; whatever was once a teenage wannabe-hero... became nothing. Because that’s what happens when you die. And that’s what happened to him. All of Katsuki’s dreams, everything he’d ever put his heart into, had ceased to exist in that instance. Exploded red-hot only to sleep still and cold.
Shouto had never really known what emptiness felt like until he saw Katsuki lying there—the true embodiment of it. Meat and blood and bones without consciousness are simply remains. Proof, once and for all, that the body you see is only a shell when bereft of your best friend’s soul.
And maybe half of yours, too, because it was taken right along with him.
2
“Shouto, should we go with paper streamers or ribbon? I’ve got to let the committee know before the end of the day.” Mina scribbles something down across the notebook pad she has attached to her clipboard, lifting the tip of her pen to her lips and tapping her pout lightly.
“I already have the decorations,” Shouto tells her, gesturing to several bags on one of the tables. They’re overflowing with handmade ornaments, crafted with care by the elementary school kids he’s been mentoring a couple of days each week. It was kind of them to surprise Shouto with all this stuff after he let them know about the festival Yuuei is holding this weekend (despite the fact that ‘Five Weiners’ litters the surface of a select few paper chains in water-soluble marker ink, of course).
Shouto knows that’s just how they show their affection.
Mina steps over to the bags looking unimpressed. She opens the closest one to her, staring down at its contents in confusion. “What are these things, exactly?”
“Yeah, for real,” Kaminari adds, head popping up from behind the stack of boxes he’s carrying. He sets them down on the floor carelessly and immediately picks at the few decorations that spilled onto the table earlier.
“This is a streamer,” Shouto says, matter-of-factly, pulling out a long, roughly-cut and glued-together string of paper. Taking a rock with a stick-figure of Red Riot drawn in the center of it next, he holds it up proudly. “And these are table centerpieces. I think. That’s what Orca told me.”
Mina clears her throat. “Ahuh... uhm—”
“My kids made them,” Shouto states.
“Oh, your mentees!” Kaminari’s grin is big, and he apprehensively mutters behind his teeth. “Not sure if that makes it better or worse.”
“I think it’s sweet,” Mina adds kindly. Shouto can tell it’s not wholly genuine; he’s better at reading her now that they’ve grown closer. But he appreciates her consideration. “It’s definitely not enough for every booth and table, though. We should use them to decorate Eri’s corner of the gym. She’s doing an artist alley thing.”
“Okay,” Shouto agrees. He doesn’t really care where they go as long as they’re shown off. He wants his mentees to feel like their work was worth the effort, after all. “We just got the tablecloths in, by the way. I can put together Eri’s booths and set the decorations up there. Where should I start?”
Humming thoughtfully, Mina points her pen to the booths closest to the gym’s emergency exit. “Let’s start there, okay?” Without waiting for an answer, she turns to Kaminari. “Denki, tell the committee to go with ribbon. It’ll look a whole lot more... mature!”
Kaminari whines. “But I’m already hauling boxes!”
Shouto watches them for a moment more with a smile—for the antics, more than anything—before moving his bags of decorations and folded fabrics over to the soon-to-be artist alley. Setting the tablecloths down onto the nearest booth, he grabs for the one folded on top, unfolding it with a wave to shake out the wrinkles.
Hagakure is quick to join him.
“Hey, Shouto! Need any help?” she asks, grabbing the next tablecloth without waiting for an answer.
Shouto doesn’t give her one—if she actually wanted one, she would’ve waited. He’s learned this about girls over the past year, just like he’s learned how to read Mina’s sincerity. Besides, he doesn’t mind the help. Hagakure has always been better at making things pretty than he has anyway.
“Wow! Look at all the colors,” she exclaims in an awestruck, high-pitched voice as she paws through the bags—‘ooh-ing’ and ‘ahh-ing’ at the creations inside. Hagakure seems appreciative of sentiments like these, much to Shouto’s happiness. “You can tell they were thinking of their favorite heroes with a lot of love while they were making these.”
“They’re really proud of what we’ve done,” Shouto says, surprised at himself for saying so.
Because he doesn’t really feel it—that pride that’s supposed to come from taking part in winning the war.
That’s what this is all about, he’s suddenly reminded with a sour twist in his gut. He’s helping his class decorate for the new holiday celebrating one year since the decisive battle of the Paranormal Liberation War. It’s been mentioned on the news several times over the last few weeks, and Yuuei’s remaining homeroom teachers had decided that some sort of commemoration was in order.
It’s supposed to be a happy event, a good thing, and it’s intended to give them all a sense of accomplishment. It’s why Mina’s taken over organizing the entire thing and Kaminari’s carrying boxes from one building to the next. It’s why Hagakure’s so excited over paper decorations.
It’s why when Shouto swallows thick, it tastes bitter.
“Of you, specifically,” she giggles quietly to herself, focused on unravelling a streamer. “Five Weiners.”
That laughter grows with the number of scribbled ‘Five Weiners’ she finds, and Shouto revels in it. There’s a lot of comfort in her presence, he finds, and it quells his unease; he’s glad he’s the one she’s decided to help.
After placing a few tablecloths down and smoothing them out neatly, Shouto begins digging into his own decoration bags. He adds one centerpiece to the middle of each artist alley booth. Deku, Chargebolt, Uravity, and Phantom Thief bring life to them in all their crayon, marker, and cardstock glory—while painted rocks covered with motifs representing Earphone Jack, Ingenium, and Froppy join the round tables in need of more stability to keep any mishaps from pulling the cloth.
The sight of it coming together puts a smile on Shouto’s face despite himself.
It’s only when he pulls a Dynamight-themed rock decoration from one of the bags that his smile fades. A large, multi-pointed star depicting an explosion surrounds the tiny, angry, razor-toothed drawing of Katsuki in the center. Enraged by an unknown paper enemy, it seems. Shouto’s heart aches and, holding it in his hands like something precious, he finds that he can’t bear to let it go.
Shouto averts his gaze from the rock after a long moment, slipping it into his uniform jacket pocket. He’ll take it back to his dorm room. A personal keepsake, just for him.
“It’s tough work, planning an entire festival, ain’t it?” Sero’s voice extends from the far reaches of the gym as he makes his way over, stopping by the table Shouto’s decorating and stretching back into an exaggerated sideways ‘U.’ “Hey, is that me on a rock? Cool as hell!”
“I know, right! Shouto’s mentees made them for us. They’re so cute,” Hagakure says, finishing the setting for the table she’s working on. “And, hey, we’ve been through way tougher than this and you know it. Right, Shouto?”
“Hm?” Shouto answers mindlessly, unsticking a Creati centerpiece from the tape surrounding Sero’s Cellophane rock. “Oh, yes. Right.”
Hagakure and Sero are quiet for a long moment, and Shouto turns to find their gaze shifting between him and each other.
“A little clipped are we?” Sero teases. Shouto hadn’t realized he’d sounded that way, and he immediately mutters off an apology. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask—are you okay, Shouto? You’re less... present than usual,” Sero tries to explain. “I’ve noticed you acting a little weird the last couple of days.”
Shouto tries not to freeze up, taking his time speaking so he doesn’t sound rushed or irritated. The last thing he wants is to make it seem like there’s something wrong. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Well, if you say so.”
Gathering up his empty bags to toss on the way out, Shouto smiles over at them. “I’ve finished with most of the decorations and I’ve got somewhere to be soon. Will you be fine with helping Hagakure finish the other tables?”
“Sure, dude, but you’ve got disco ball duty tomorrow in my stead!” Sero negotiates with a toothy grin.
Shouto’s smile grows. “Fair enough.”
It takes him fifteen minutes to get from the gym back to his dorm and the feeling of relief Shouto gets from being in his safe space overwhelms the sourness he’s been full of all afternoon. Entering his room, he sets the Dynamight decoration in his pocket gingerly onto his nightstand and goes through his drawers for something to wear before heading to the communal and taking a long shower. It feels good to clean himself of the sweat he’s put into festival work and slip into comfortable civvies.
It feels good to know he can get away like this, even for a little while.
There are a few things Shouto gathers to take with him—a book (in case he wants to read aloud), a few hundred yen for the vending machine, and a single paper flower. It’s a craft one that his mentees taught him to make a while back. They come in handy, since Shouto doesn’t like the thought of buying live flowers.
They die, and he just can’t stand that.
Leaving his room, Shouto heads over to the elevator, clicking the bottom button just as it begins to close with someone inside. The doors halt, opening back up again to reveal Katsuki standing in the middle of the unit, grinning over a stack of poster prints advertising the festival.
Katsuki looks up at Shouto—probably to ask why the hell someone stopped his ride—and that grin softens.
“Hey,” he greets as Shouto steps inside and clicks on the already glowing ‘1’. Katsuki’s red gaze looks him up and down curiously. “Where’re you goin’?”
There’s an ache in Shouto’s chest again as he asks; he feels nearly overwhelmed with it.
And it’s nothing new by now, this feeling he gets when he’s around Katsuki lately. Shouto knows exactly why looking at him hurts, but he tries not to let it show. Not when Katsuki’s laughing over their classes’ posed faces on festival posters. Not when that proud grin is crinkling his scarred cheek.
“The hospital,” Shouto answers, lips a small curve. “I’ll be back later tonight.”
“Yeah,” Katsuki acknowledges, though his eyes search Shouto’s face. In the end, he’s always sure to treat the hospital topic sensitively. Adjusting the box in his hands, fingers flexing, Katsuki nods. “Yeah, okay. Say ‘hi’ for me.”
When the elevator opens once again, Shouto steps out first, leaving Katsuki behind.
3
Shouto visits his big brother at the hospital once a week. He sits by his side. Talks to him. Leaves a paper flower in the vase on his bedside table and reads a book he brings aloud.
Sometimes, when Shouto’s brave or feeling beyond help, he’ll hold his hand. It’s encased in something metal—cold and hard—to protect his fragile body, but Shouto always hopes that the sentiment is enough to warm them both.
Today is one of those ‘beyond help’ sometimes. Shouto’s pulled up his chair as closely to the bed as possible, one of his hands covering Touya’s and the other twisted in clean, white bedsheets. He doesn’t say anything for a long time—but once he starts, there’s no end to it. He pours all of his pent-up feelings into his brother’s hospital bed and hopes they don’t both drown under the rising surface of them.
Shouto talks about that day the war came to an end. How harrowing it’d been to feel more emotions at once than he’d ever felt before in his life. How his peers, his friends—their family—had suffered. At the hands of villains. At the hands of Touya himself, even.
He talks about how it feels now, a full year later. How it feels knowing that those feelings, those moments, and that suffering is being seen as something to be commended in nearly everyone’s eyes somehow.
“They want to move on. They’re celebrating it like it’s a birthday. Like the good things that came of it are all that’s worth remembering.” Shouto grips the bedsheets with a pursed frown, the hand holding his brother’s still relaxed and gentle. “I hate it.”
Truth be told, it’s just likely he’s not good at accepting how things ended and growing from them. At least not the way everyone else has. Maybe if it hadn’t been for Katsuki’s death, he could’ve looked at things in a different way.
His family is irreparably broken, but at least none of them had died.
Not yet, anyway. Though it is a constant thought in the back of his mind. Shouto knows how to hope for things now, however, thanks to Izuku. He makes up for his grip on the past by telling himself no one else he loves has to become someone who ‘was’ in the future.
“I believe you’ll wake up someday. But when you do, I’ll know this happened.” Shouto curls in on himself, hands pulling back into his gut and rounding to fists on his lap as he amends, “This year of silence between us... That’s what I mean.”
And everything else, too, though he doesn’t admit it out loud. If Touya can hear him, Shouto doesn’t want him to think he blames him for all of it. There were so many hands at work that made the war what it was; not all of them villains.
“Sometimes I want to be angry that it happened rather than happy we survived,” Shouto mutters. It’s not something he means for Touya to know, either, but he needed to say it. He just hopes his brother can keep a secret.
Standing from the bedside chair, Shouto leans down and presses his lips to the cool metal that surrounds his brother’s head and gives him one last look for the night.
“I’ll come and see you next week, Touya-nii. Rest well.”
—
Shouto arrives at Yuuei just in time to catch his class heading back to the dorms in one big, bustling group.
It’s not unusual to see them traveling as a pack rather than alone or in their respective friend groups. It’s like they’ve grown to need the comfort of having every single person they’ve come to care about close by. Shouto, on the outside looking in, finds that same comfort just watching them.
Izuku leads the group, smile shining at Tenya’s side. They’ve gotten close lately—closer than ever before. Shouto suspects they’re together in some way and neither of them are ready to talk about it just yet. Which is more than okay. He hopes they’re content together in any way they choose.
What matters is that, after everything they’ve been through as a class, and what he’s been through alone, Izuku still looks happy. Radiant and full to bursting with sunlight.
Shouto’s amazed at the sight of him—like he’s always been.
You’d think he’d seem more melancholy after the events of the war. After all the loss, after the tragedy of that final battle that seemed to revolve solely around him. But Izuku’s still so bright. Seemingly without a care in the world and surrounded by friends. By family. The awful things he’s seen—the painful almosts that were just barely prevented—don’t exist as anything but a memory in the wake of his smile. Like always, he pulls the sun from behind the clouds so it can warm him and all of his friends down below.
They bask in the glow of it. Smiles on every face.
Shouto wants to be glad for this moment he’s witnessing. For Izuku. For the proof of his pain having healed. For his friends and classmates, who’ve stopped crying at the sight of their shared scars months ago.
Katsuki follows behind them, laughing at something Kaminari’s whispered in his ear.
It’s difficult.
4
Shouto stays in Momo’s room the night before the festival.
Everyone’s split off into groups tonight, for no reason other than a longing for companionship and closeness before a big day. Izuku’s spending the night with Tenya and Aoyama, Ochako is having a girls’ night with Hagakure and Tsuyu. Katsuki’s got Kaminari, Sero, and Kirishima in his room.
Despite wishing it was just him and Momo, Kyouka and Mina are also sleeping over with them, too.
If Shouto’s honest, he really wants to stay with Katsuki tonight. To cuddle in his bed and be used as his personal heater or cooling blanket, but it doesn’t feel like the right choice. Not with everything he’s been feeling lately.
Shouto’s thrown himself into festival preparations since his visit with Touya. Hanging the disco ball with Aoyama. Putting up string lights with Kaminari. Taste-testing hors d'oeuvres and desserts with Sato. He’s kept to the gymnasium as much as possible, away from Katsuki, Izuku, Ochako, and the others that have been decorating the outside entrances. Now that all the work is done, there’s nothing else keeping his mind occupied. And his rising anxiety over tomorrow’s festivities is only making it worse.
Shouto doesn’t really know exactly what it is that’s worth worrying about. Despite not being happy about the new holiday in the first place, he knows the day will eventually pass. It’ll come and go and he can forget about it ever being real until next year. And then when he graduates, he can ignore it for the rest of his life.
But it just feels like he’s about to experience that exact same moment all over again the closer he gets to it—that moment when it felt like the only good thing he’s ever had was going to be taken from him forever and all he’d be left with is the same misery he’s always known.
A sigh pushes through him before he can stop it.
“Shouto, are you alright?”
Shouto looks up from the center of the circle the four of them are sat in, where the girls have painted his toes. Both of his big ones have small flowers on them now, thanks to Mina and the dotting tool twirling in her hand.
“Hm?” he hums in question, unsure of which friend he should regard. He can’t recall whose voice he heard.
“I was just asking if you’re okay,” Momo repeats, capping a bottle of light blue nail polish and looking him in the eye. “You just seem so down lately. I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t think people haven’t noticed,” Kyouka tells him, peering up at him pensively from across the way as she paints her own fingernails. They’re electric—alternating yellow and black. It reminds him of Kaminari.
“I’m fine,” he says, wiggling his blue-tipped toes; he’s not sure if the flowers suit him. The intense gazes around him won’t let him focus on the whimsy of them, either. They want to know. Shouto’s stomach sinks; he buries his chin between his knees. “I don’t know.”
“Mhm, yeah. You know, Bakugou’s been asking about you like crazy. In the most indiscreetly discreet way he can,” Mina mentions, her eyes blinking with inquisitiveness. Lips curling into a smile, she winks. “Don’t worry. I’m a girls’ girl. Which includes you now—so I told him I’ve just been putting you to work.”
“What she means,” Momo continues, “is that you can talk to us, Shouto. Does this have anything to do with Bakugou, perhaps?”
Shouto’s not sure how Momo’s question and Mina’s comment relate.
“It’s not Katsuki,” he’s quick to say. It feels like a half-truth, and Shouto readily attempts to remedy the guilt with a whole-truth. “It’s the festival.”
“What?” Mina squawks, devastated.
Kyouka rolls her eyes. “What about the festival?”
Shouto shifts in discomfort. Momo, Kyouka, and Mina stare at him expectantly, and he feels like he has no choice but to put his feelings out there for them to pick apart.
“The war... it was...” he begins choppily, taking a pause to swallow and trying to gain confidence. “We... we all suffered—and now, every year, people are going to have parties to celebrate that. They’re going to see us on the street and congratulate us for losing everything.” Shouto’s lips pull into a thin line. “Katsuki died,” he says, small. “But he’s just as happy for tomorrow as everyone else is. It’s almost like it never happened.”
The silence stretches on after he stops speaking, and when he looks up, his friends are staring at each other carefully. Talking with their eyes and coming to an agreement without saying a single word.
“So... it is Bakugou?” Kyouka asks. “You say it isn’t, but even if it’s not just about him, he’s a pretty big part of it. You can admit that, Shouto.”
Momo doesn’t let Shouto reply. “Look, I don’t claim to know Bakugou’s feelings—”
“None of us do,” Mina chimes in.
“But. Just think about it from his perspective.” Momo’s fingers twist into one another from their spot in her lap. “Bakugou’s an intuitive person. I’m sure he’s thought about that day in just the same way you have.”
“Those first few months of his recovery were... hard for him,” Shouto recalls. They were hard for him, too. It was a months-long agony, full of arguments and anger and tears. He knows the ways Katsuki suffered and lamented over his own brief death better than anyone.
“Yeah, and he decided that he couldn’t dwell on the bad things we’ve experienced forever,” Kyouka tells him. Her hands cup the tops of her knees, white-knuckled from squeezing. She’s probably avoiding curling them into fists and ruining her nails. “A lot of us went through that exact thing over very different lengths of time.”
Mina smiles at him, eyes curving into sympathetic crescents. “It just hasn’t hit you yet, Shouto. That you can get over the bad and be glad that you’re still here. That we’re all still here.”
Shouto finds their efforts warming, but he isn’t very convinced.
“We all sympathize with you, you know. But would you really rather he didn’t celebrate?” Kyouka asks.
“Do you think Bakugou regrets that he almost died for us?” Mina adds, her hand covering his. “For the world?”
“I know he doesn’t,” Shouto admits. He relaxes his hand under hers; lets it curl around his more securely. “But I still wish he wouldn’t treat it like it’s something to be proud of.”
“Shouto. You love him, which is why you’re not thinking about this rationally. And I know it hurts you, but he is proud. You have to accept that. Putting his life on the line is his job. It’s all our jobs—including yours.”
“He’s a hero, Shouto,” Kyouka expresses, shrugging. “I don’t think you should take that away from him.”
Shouto feels cut by that. Hurt that Kyouka—or any of them—would think he’s trying to take anything away from Katsuki.
Maybe he is overreacting. Maybe he’s slow at getting over it all and he isn’t thinking about this rationally, like Mina said.
But still.
“I’m going to sleep,” he says suddenly, pulling his hand away and breaking their circle. “Thank you for worrying about me, but it’s okay... Goodnight.”
Shuffling over to Momo’s bed, he crawls into it, scooting all the way over towards the wall and facing it. None of the girls stop him; they continue with their planned activities for a couple of hours more, words hushed—though Shouto can feel their concern boring into his back.
The next morning, Shouto’s enveloped in warmth, a soft body surrounding him at every angle. And despite how their conversation from last night still makes his chest ache, he manages a smile, relishing in the comfort of his friends until Momo’s alarm goes off.
5
Don’t take it away from him. Don’t take it away from him.
There’s truth in that, Shouto realizes, leaning against the gymnasium’s far wall with a cup of fruit punch. Truth in Kyouka’s words; in Mina and Momo’s words. Maybe he’s the only one still hanging onto the war as a time of grief rather than focusing on the fact that they won. Maybe some of them would rather remember it as their greatest victory to date.
Maybe Katsuki would. It seems that way.
So Shouto has to lock his sick feelings away for now. For him. And the only way to do that successfully is to keep his distance. At least until it’s all over.
It’s easy enough to do. Shouto’s always been drawn to calmer activities. Rather than dancing, he’d joined Eri at her artist alley booth for some time, marveling at her talent and chatting with her about the handmade decorations his mentees made. It put a smile on his face, hearing how impressed she was with them.
Shouto would’ve gladly sat idly by with her for the remainder of the night. Not only to support her, but because he also has a full view of the gym from there. Katsuki is over by the karaoke machine, screaming his half of the duet he’s singing at Kaminari rather than with him.
When Kaminari tries to scream back and squeaks instead, Katsuki howls in laughter.
He looks so happy.
It’s hard to watch, a sinking feeling digging itself ever downward into Shouto’s gut.
Shouto, at some point, had meandered to where he is now—a red and white splotch on the wall, away from Eri and her growing line of students waiting for their own hand-drawn, custom caricatures—finding himself in a low spiral. He’s experienced a lot of negative feelings before, but nothing like this. It feels uncontrollable, and with every passing second, he feels less and less like himself.
If he can’t get over this while he’s here, he should just go back to his room.
Which is the plan, but as he turns to head for the gym entrance, he’s stopped by a familiar, friendly face.
“Are you sure you wanna stay all the way over here when your boyfriend is all the way over there?” Kirishima asks, sharp teeth showing through his small grin; he’s carrying a plate of finger sandwiches.
“It’s fine. He’s enjoying his victory,” Shouto tells him. His eyes peer over at Kirishima, mouth quirking as he watches him take a bite out of a ham and cheese—the shape of his teeth cutting out the bread. Shaking his head when he gets caught staring, Shouto better explains himself. “Katsuki’s a hero, you know? I don’t want to take that away from him.”
Kirishima frowns. “Dude, you know you’re also a hero, right? It would make him way happier if you guys were celebrating together.”
It’s sweet of him to say, but Kirishima doesn’t understand that Shouto doesn’t want to celebrate. And he doesn’t want to be a stick in the mud, either. It’s better this way.
A shoulder bumps into his, and Shouto is met with a crumb-ladden, knowing smile.
“Ya know, I think Kats would appreciate any feelings you have about that day,” comes a gentle confirmation. “To be honest with you, it’s actually really hard to be happy about it. I guess I just wasn’t ready for war back then, and I was even less ready for what it meant to win and move forward from it. There’s a lot of guilt I feel for the way things turned out, and the people we lost along the way to make it happen.” Kirishima looks over at him with a soft shine in his eye. “It’s easier for me to hide it behind a smile, though. To pretend those feelings aren’t there.”
Shouto smiles back at him, realizing Kirishima’s trying to empathize. That he’s trying to tell him he feels the same way. “You’re really good at it,” he says.
“Yeah, but you’re not,” Kirishima points out, looking a little sad when Shouto frowns. “And that’s okay! I bet if you told Kats about it, he’d understand.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah, I mean—he kinda told me that he thinks you’re avoiding him, so I got the impression that, like... it’s about that.” Kirishima’s smile falters. “He’s my best friend, ya know? I think about it, too.”
“Oh,” Shouto sighs softly, knowing exactly what Kirishima is referring to. There’s a small flutter in his chest, a tiny comfort at the fact that someone else knows what he’s going through. “I just don’t want to get in the way of his good time.”
“Do you think he’d be able to celebrate if it were you?” Kirishima asks.
Shouto wonders if Katsuki would. But he doesn’t have enough time to think about it.
“The hell’re you getting so cozy with him for?” An arm wraps around his waist suddenly, and Shouto’s pulled into Katsuki’s side. His thick, crackling finger jabs into Kirishima’s ribs playfully, just hard enough to make him yelp. “Back off, hard-ass.”
Kirishima puts one hand and his half-full plate up in mock surrender. “And that’s my cue to get out of here before you two start making out in front of my finger sandies.”
Katsuki dismisses him with a flip-flop of his hand. “Yeah, yeah. Do whatever. We’re goin’ for a walk.”
Shouto’s pulled away from Kirishima and the artist alley and through the first set of double doors Katsuki finds. He kicks them shut behind them, and the music blaring from the gym is muffled to a muted hum. Neither of them says anything when they notice they’ve ended up in an empty hall. Shouto takes to following Katsuki’s lead, walking by his side for a few quiet moments as he does his best not to seem stiff or awkward.
“You havin’ fun?” Katsuki asks, his hand sliding from Shouto’s waist and into his pocket.
Shouto doesn’t know how to answer that question. Maybe he looks just as uncomfortable as he fears. All he can hear is Kyouka’s voice in the back of his mind saying ‘I don’t think you should take that away from him.’
“Yes,” Shouto answers—because it seems like the right thing to do. “It was getting crowded in there, is all.”
“Yeah? I wasn’t asking because I thought you looked uncomfortable.” Katsuki’s steps are slow and measured; deliberately drawn in pace. It reminds Shouto of himself, how he swears he can stop the flow of time by walking just a little bit slower. “But now that you mention it, you didn’t look like you wanted to be there... Even though you’ve been working hard on setting up all week,” he mentions. “Figured you’d be a lot more excited to enjoy the outcome.”
Shouto stops walking, Katsuki not far behind.
“Sho?”
He recognizes this kind of conversation. It should’ve been obvious before. Katsuki never dances around a subject unless he’s unsure of whether or not there’s actually something going on with Shouto. He tests the waters just like this, and it’s so unlike him not to demand an answer that it hurts.
In a way, Shouto should see this as an opportunity for an out. Put on a smile and tell a lie, like Kirishima’s good at, and Katsuki won’t have to worry anymore.
But... Shouto doesn’t think he can. Ruining Katsuki’s mood is the last thing he wants to do, but going to his room tonight with this awful feeling looming over him and leaving the only person who’s ever made anything better in the dust is just as bad.
Shouto feels like an idiot. Like a helpless child all over again.
“Hey, what’re you thinkin’ so hard about?” Katsuki asks, lifting his fist and knocking it once—softly—against Shouto’s forehead when he doesn’t get an answer. “Oi, anybody in there? Hmph, does sound hollow.”
“I was just thinking that I love you,” Shouto answers, low. “I love you and I’m happy you’re here.”
Something changes in Katsuki’s expression just then, and it’s so genuine that it shoots Shouto right in the chest. Arrow to heart, like Ochako’s always said when it comes to matters of love. He steps closer, taking Shouto’s face in his hands. Everything about him softens in that moment.
How does he look so soft? How does Bakugou Katsuki somehow always look so soft?
“Then why’re you crying?” he asks. And that’s soft, too.
Shouto hadn’t even noticed, and then he does and the tears just flow. They pour, and he doesn’t even feel them well up and dribble over the edge like he thinks he should. It’s like a steady stream of water with no end. His eyes are a dam that’s broken.
Katsuki pulls Shouto against him immediately. Drags his face down into his neck and wraps his arms around him. One at his waist and the other holding the back of his neck, squeezing him tight until he’s safe. He can feel Katsuki’s heartbeat pulse against his cheek. With him, Shouto’s never felt so stable.
But he’s reminded, all the time, that he’d almost lost this.
Shouto had wanted to fall to his knees in front of Katsuki’s body that day. To find proof that Katsuki could still go on living. Dig his hands into Katsuki’s chest and scrape out the scattered pieces of his heart.
Could he have melted them together? Could he have froze them into something new?
“You’re okay,” Katsuki whispers into his ear. Soft and caring in the way only Shouto knows he can be. “Hey, I’m okay. Not goin’ anywhere.”
“But today—”
“I know what today is,” he says bitterly. And then, head dropping atop of Shouto’s: “Everyone knows what today is.”
The Festival of Heroes. A new celebration created to signal the war ending. The final battle coming to a close. A day marking the reformation of the League of Villains. A day for old friends. For gaining new friends. For the Symbol of Peace—both of them.
For the hero who gave his life and returned to continue to serve them...
But. It’s not a celebration for Shouto.
For Shouto, it’s the day he saved his brother only to lose him again when he fell into a coma. The day his siblings were permanently scarred in the Blueflame. The day his mother wrapped her arms around them for the first time since they were little and he didn’t feel a thing. The day his father retired from being a hero, never to be spoken of again.
It’s the day he lost Katsuki.
“Believe me, no one’s forgotten,” Katsuki says, thumb rubbing along the back of Shouto’s shirt collar. “You just can’t see it because you’re surrounded by the Sunny Bastard Brigade twenty-four-seven.”
Normally, that silly nickname would make Shouto laugh. But right now, all he manages is a small smile. He lifts his head, feeling immediately guilty when he meets Katsuki’s worried gaze. That smile falters.
“Have I been selfish?” Shouto asks.
Katsuki looks offended at that. “Hah? Hell no.”
“But I’ve only been thinking of myself. I’ve been so angry at everyone for being happy. For celebrating.”
“So?” Warm hands reach up to cup his face. Shouto’s enjoys the way Katsuki touches him when he does this, thumbs rough against his cheeks, fingers spread along the columns of his throat. It’s like he knows he’s what’s holding Shouto together. Katsuki’s eyes confirm just as much, piercing and direct, when he makes Shouto look straight at him. “It’s okay if you’re angry. And sad. If you hate this stupid holiday for the rest of your life, it’s fine. I mean, you almost lost the best damn thing that ever happened to Japan.”
“Katsuki.” Shouto shoves at him half-heartedly. He doesn’t budge. “You’re an ass.”
“I’m right, though.”
“Sort of,” Shouto concedes; he hooks his hands around Katsuki’s elbows, leaning into his cheek-jabbing thumbs. “You’re the best thing to me, at least.”
Katsuki grins, off to one side, and leans in to press a firm kiss to Shouto’s lips. “Number One for you, right?”
“You are,” Shouto says, but it doesn’t seem like enough.
You complete me, he wants to say. Because it sounds better. But that isn’t quite right, either.
For them, it’s never been about numbers and orders of priority. Lists like that don’t make sense if there’s only one person on them.
For them, it’s never been about puzzle pieces or opposites attracting—the calm before storms, the moon and tide, this and that or black and white.
For them, it’s never been about filling in the negative spaces.
It’s about understanding why they’re there.