Chapter Text
Mustafu is small when you feel like you're the only one in it.
Izuku's bike wheels rattled against the gravel of the century old footpath. He had owned the bike since he was fourteen, and was never less scared to ride it after a long and exhausting day of flipping burger meat for minimum wage. The sky settled around him, casting the town in an eerie blue that made it seem like the world stopped. Maybe it did. The wind stung his cheeks as he wheeled down the path, and Izuku let his hair ruffle in the unfavourable atmosphere.
As Izuku rode, he passed familiar landmarks. There was the old town square that looked more dilapidated as each day wore on, with its cobblestone walkways and old fashioned fountain. The candy shop that saw most of its income from the children that found fortune on their way home from school. And there were, of course, the countless wooden houses, worn down by storms but no less stable. They all looked the same, and were littered with electricity lines that kept the town running. And finally, as Izuku neared his home, the High School he had spent most of his growing life.
It was really the only thing Mustafu had going for it, because UA high produced favourably good grades. It sat on the edge of town like a sectioned trophy, as if the more modern and flourishing side of town was a better place to house it. Students travelled at distance in the surrounding area to attend, and year after year it never ceased to fail in function. UA is where Izuku spent most of his life - really, the most important years.
It’s where he met his friends. Middle School had not been kind to Izuku, and the fresh freedom of UA brought to him a boundless well of opportunity. He was no longer the dust in someone's shadow, but someone people saw worth in. Despite this, and the gratitude he might feel for the friends he made, Izuku still gulps when he rides by. Not all memories are good memories.
His home, a small and simple environment, but no less functional, sat in a green part of town. The trees lined the streets, and the grass grew freer. Izuku stopped his bike by the side of the wooden, one-storey base and went inside. The outdoor lights flickered on as he approached the door, and he was careful with his keys to keep as quiet as possible. It was late, and Inko liked to sleep.
Izuku’s house was bare. The furniture was plain and everything was functional. The walls weren’t embellished with paintings, nor were the surfaces spotted with plants. Everything was as it needed to be, and Izuku had never seen much of an issue with it. Besides, his room made up for the lack of decoration. After shooting his keys into the little wooden bowl sitting by the front door, and slipping off his worn trainers, Izuku darted to his room to enjoy the sweet comfort of sleep.
It came easy, usually. Sometimes, Izuku felt like if he was left to himself, he’d never wake up. Despite the chill of his room, which didn’t get warmer as the light flickered on, Izuku felt the day wearing down on him. He discarded his bag on the desk he’d owned since childhood, the one with all the cracks and stains of mistakes much younger than he was.
Tomorrow, Izuku thought as he lay back in his bed, he’s working from nine till five. It’s a measly manner of existence - the nine to five - and the thought of going into work at a burger shop always made his stomach turn in ways he didn’t quite want to acknowledge. He had always imagined he’d be doing something great at this point in his life. That is, the nineteenth year of his life. Izuku had watched as his friends and classmates grew to be more and more successful, and it was bitter and morbid to try and swallow the pill that he was really just mediocre.
Despite the way Izuku had excelled in all his classes, maintained a kind and joyful disposition, and never found he was misfortuned in any way, it always felt like he was missing something everybody else had. Like there was something that set him apart from the others. Something that made him… ordinary.
This was no less amplified when he’d spent his whole life in the shadow of something so great. Something so incredible. And that was Bakugo Katsuki, the world's most extraordinary boy. Katsuki was the embodiment of power and drive. If he wanted something, he’d have it, and no one else was quite able to knack the skill of achieving things as flawlessly as him. Katsuki was smart, talented, and the best creation Mustafu had ever produced. And people were not shy of telling him so.
Therefore, he was just as arrogant as you’d expect. The only problem Izuku found was that his arrogance was grossly justified. Katsuki had every right to love himself, because everyone else loved him too. Even Izuku, who’d been following him like some meaningless parasite since he laid eyes on him.
They’d been friends since birth, and it wasn’t until Middle School, where Katsuki realised his worth, that their innocent friendship had twisted into a sick and violent hatred. Half-mutual, of course, as Izuku could never bring himself to hate anyone. One of Izuku’s many qualities that kept him from falling into uselessness.
But Katsuki was onto big and better things. Big and better schools that housed the elite like him. Katsuki had spent the last year abroad, studying in the land of opportunity. He was, as far as Izuku was aware, gone for good, enjoying the fruits of his own natural talent. And Izuku (who tried not to be bitter about it) was still in the same old town he’d grown up in, with Katsuki, all those years ago.
Sleep came easy, and Izuku drifted as the last lights in Mustafu went out.
The alarm Izuku had owned since he graduated Middle School shook his bedside table at quarter-past seven on Saturday morning. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as the light slipping through his curtains blurred his sight. It was now, in the half conscious state he was in, that he heard his mother tattering in the kitchen. Soft jazz played quietly in the background of her cooking. These moments made him glad to live at home.
Izuku rose with some reluctance, slapping the clock quiet and stretching every fibre of his make-up. When he pulled his curtains open, the summer sun burst through like unleashed water. It was beautiful, and he could see the sea. Oh, the sea. Izuku loved the ocean. Loved the breeze on the sand and the warmth of the water. If you were to ever lose him, you’d be rest assured that he was pacing up and down the shore, washed up like a seashell.
Inko, when Izuku finally emerged from his room shirtless and half-asleep, was baking. She usually made Izuku a cooked breakfast on a Saturday, as she didn’t have any duties to attend to. Her cooking, whilst still not perfect, had decently improved from all the mornings of trying. “Morning, Izuku.” She smiled warmly, flipping an egg for him. Izuku slid into the island chair and rested his head in his hands.
“Mornin’, mom.” He slurred. “What’s cooking?”
“Bacon and eggs - I hope that’s okay.” Inko said sweetly, finally looking over her shoulder.
“When is that never not okay?” Izuku teased, and got a playful eyeroll in return. He grabbed the pre-brewed pot of coffee his mother had left on the island surface and poured it into the accompanying mug. Izuku never liked coffee growing up. It wasn’t until he tried it for a morning buzz before work that he got himself hooked. So far, it’s been seven months since he’d even thought about putting milk in it.
The coffee swirled in the mug like the opening of a black hole. If Izuku squinted hard enough, he’d see his own messy hair and sunken eyes looking right back at him. Before long, Inko plated his breakfast and slid it over to him. “You’re nice,” Izuku mumbled. “I could’ve done that myself.”
Inko laughed a little, soft sound blending into the music on the old speaker. “Not with your eyes closed.” She said sarcastically, poking fun at the fact Izuku had not yet woken up.
“Okay,” he grinned. “That’s fair.” Izuku ate with surprising speed. He always ate rather quickly, and then felt too full. He stopped, however, when he felt his mothers eyes on him. “Yeah?” Izuku squinted, pausing in the act of filling his mouth with bacon.
“You know,” she said softly. “You look the same as you did in your first year at UA. When you broke your arm, and you had to use your left hand to slice up your eggs.”
Izuku pinked, thinking of his younger, dorkier self. “No I don’t.” He said with uncertainty, hoping he didn’t look the same as he did when he was fifteen.
Inko laughed. “Oh, you were cute!”
Izuku thought of his skinny limbs and crooked smile. And his awfully messy hair. “Cute… sure.” He winced.
Izuku kept eating, kept sipping at his dark coffee and kept yawning. It was a simple life, but a sweet one. He let the soft jazz blur in the back of his brain and watched his mother serve her own breakfast. She jumped suddenly, as if she’d remembered something. “Izuku, I was going to ask,” Inko began. “Has Katsuki told you if he’s coming home for the summer?”
Izuku felt his stomach drop to the wooden floorboards. He swallowed the egg in his mouth thickly, as if he was now suddenly forcing it down. Of course, of course, Izuku hadn’t yet (in the eight years he’d had to do so) told his mother that he and Katsuki weren’t actually good friends anymore.
The fork sounded a little too loud as Izuku placed it on his plate. He coughed. He gulped. “Oh, Kacchan? No, I uh… I don’t know. He didn’t say anything.” Izuku muttered guiltily. It hurt to lie to his mother, but it would hurt more to confess that Katsuki isn’t the boy she thinks he is.
“Really?” Inko asked, not truly expecting a response. “I suppose it’s expensive to travel back and forth, but it would be nice of him to visit his parents. And, of course, you.” She smiled.
Izuku felt his heart ache. “Yeah.” He sighed. Truly, Izuku couldn’t think of anything worse. If you’d have asked him a few years ago how he’d feel about Katsuki leaving town, you might have been met with the pale and cold face of a boy whose heart was shattering. But as Izuku matured, and realised there is more to life than devoting yourself to the first slice of greatness you ever saw, he settled with the fact he knew his life would probably be better without Katsuki in it. He wasn’t nice, after all.
“Well, maybe you could call him sometime. I bet he misses you.” Inko smiled sweetly. Her cheeks, pink with the changing seasons, creased where two small dimples appeared. That’s how you knew she was really smiling.
“Maybe.” Izuku shrugged. Or maybe Kacchan hasn’t given me a second of thought. “Hey, thanks for breakfast, but I should get ready for work.” Izuku said suddenly, pushing the chair back from the island and standing.
“But you haven’t finished.” Inko said with a hint of concern, eyeing the slice of bacon and eggs still sitting warm on Izuku’s plate.
“Oh, yeah.” He nodded, grabbing for his mug and chugging the rest of his coffee. “Thanks.” Izuku grinned, and left the breakfast on his plate. It’s hard to stomach much after putting any thought into Katsuki. He left to dress for work, hoping the will to show up would arrive within the next hour.
Izuku settled his bike around the back of Present Burgers and took a long and tiresome breath in. It was as if they didn’t have oxygen inside the building, and Izuku had to savour every last atom of fresh air. Really, that wasn’t far off the truth. When Izuku rounded to the front of the restaurant (if you could even call it that) he noticed the shiny black of the boss’ car. Weird. Yamada usually didn’t show up until mid day, if he came at all.
The burger shop, when you weren’t labouring in the back, was actually lovely. It was one of those industrial yet vintage style buildings, with open redbrick walls and tons of hanging plants. All the tables and chairs were made of metal and rustic wood, and the lighting was low and warm. Old school music played a little too loudly in the speakers, and Izuku was sure he was now able to predict what song was lined up next. When he walked in, the all-too familiar chime of the door passing by him, he noticed the owner leaning over the counter.
“Hey, Midoriya!” Yamada sang in his far-too enthusiastic tone. One Izuku wasn’t even sure was possible at half eight in the morning. “Welcome in!” The boss was a lively man in his late thirties. He was tall, and thin, and had long blonde hair. Yamada was eccentric in his style, and never toned down his personality for anybody. In his free time (when he wasn’t walking up and down the burger shop pretending he was doing something important) he ran a radio show called Present Mic Talks where he spoke about nothing and everything, sometimes even with his husband, too.
“Hi, Mic,” Izuku greeted. Most people in town called him Mic because of how often they heard him on the radio show compared to real life. Although, it was hard not to hear him when he was around. “You’re in early?” Izuku slung his stuff in the front desk and walked around to grab an apron. They were black and yellow, and had Present Burgers written across the middle in cheaply printed Comic Sans.
“Yep, we have a new recruit!” Yamada grinned. “Just another member on the Present Burger team!” He said enthusiastically, but Izuku had learnt to tune out his random babblings.
On the Present Burger team were a few of Izuku’s old classmates. For one, his good friend Iida was the restaurant manager. He took his job very seriously, and although Izuku loved Iida very much, the staff knew it would be a bad day at work if Iida was there to watch. Then, alongside Izuku in the back were Kirishima and Denki who worked from time to time to fund their weekend nights out. It was nice having them work alongside Izuku, as he’d never gotten the chance to properly befriend them when they all went to school together. Today, if Izuku had remembered correctly, he was only expecting Kirishima to be on shift. Probably due to the new recruit.
Then, Mina was the designated delivery driver as she’d spent the last year of school learning how to ride a motorcycle with Jiro. She had decorated the company bike with pink and yellow leopard print, and although Iida nearly had a heart attack when he’d learnt what she’d done, Yamada loved it.
Finally, Shoto was front-of-house. Weirdly, he thought it was amazing. He was the wealthiest out of the bunch by far, and didn’t need a part-time job whatsoever, but something about standing at the counter, taking everyone's orders, made him happy. Izuku was just glad he had someone he was close with to talk to when the place was empty.
Like clockwork, Kirishima and Shoto walked into the building, halfway through talking about Kirishima’s favourite time of day. “Hey Boss!” He grinned when he walked in, “Hi, Midoriya!”
Izuku gave a simple wave, pulling his uniform cap over his messy hair. There was a period before customers came in, and all the staff got ready, that felt like the calm before the storm. Izuku always felt akin to a soldier tying his boot straps as he pulled a bow with his apron strings. He hated fast-food. He hated work.
Yamada began a flurry of conversation as the two put on their gear for work. “Today we have a new employee!” He said cheerily. “He’s a part-timer, just for the summer. But I’m sure you’ll like him. I had my doubts about employing him while I took his interview, but I saw his work ethic and let it all slide.” He said mindlessly. Kirishima and Izuku shared a puzzled glance between each other. “And, well, he should be arriving soon…” Yamada said impatiently, tapping his long fingers on the countertop.
As if he were summoned, the shiny new employee burst open the glass door. He was tall and built, adorned in black clothes and messy blonde hair. He was familiar. He was… “Bakugo! So glad you’re on time!” Yamada jumped from his position at the desk and ran over to Katsuki’s side. “I was worried you’d made a run for it.”
Katsuki frowned, almost pulling away from Yamada in disgust. “No, I didn’t.” He said coldly. “What do I do, then?”
Yamada clapped his hands, his glasses nearly falling from his face upon impact. “That’s what my lovely workers are here to show you.” He opened his hand and reached out to the back of the restaurant. Yamada thought he was showcasing his wonderful crew, but really, he was pointing to the horror of what Katsuki had just gotten himself into. He let his face contort in sour rage.
“Deku?” Katsuki said from the back of his throat. The word weighed so heavy on his tongue it sounded sinister. Like a curse. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Izuku didn’t let his face falter. He didn’t have the strength to complain, or groan, or cause some elaborate scene. He only had enough might to chant what the fuck is my luck in his head like a broken, twisted record. “I work here.” Izuku said passively.
Katsuki made some ridiculous face, like Izuku’s existence was cause for research. Like it wasn’t possible he could be here even though he lived here. He didn’t have the words to perform his rage. He didn’t have the will, either, as his new boss loomed over his shoulder. It was an option, and a growingly desirable one, to just yell and protest and get fired on the spot. It was another to go home and have his mother yell at him for giving up the job she near-forced him to get. I’m nineteen, I can do what I want. Katsuki thought bitterly. Actually, I can’t. He thought resentfully. Mitsuki wasn’t that kind of mother.
Kirishima cleared his throat, sound echoing in the tense air. It wasn’t immediately clear, but any wrong move could shatter the atmosphere like a fragile implosion. “Bakugo! How… nice for you to be working with us!” Kirishima said kindly. And really, it was kind. He liked Bakugo a lot. They always got on. But Kirishima stole nervous glances to Izuku, who was slowly organising the napkins on the front desk as if they could get any straighter. “I’ve missed you man!”
Katsuki didn’t take his eyes off Izuku, like a hawk. Like a momentary glance away would cause chaos. “Yeah.” He said flatly. “I should have told you I was coming back to town.”
Katsuki and Kirishima were actually rather close. Although Katsuki was funny about friends, he had always let Kirishima spend time with him during school. And occasionally, after school too, if Katsuki wasn’t working his ass off or attending something special. They were, evidently, good friends. And although Izuku would never let the words leave his lips, or linger in his brain too long, the very idea that Katsuki could find someone he liked and call him friend made his stomach turn with something bitter.
It was easy to accept that Katsuki hated him - because Katsuki hated everyone else, too. But in UA, where talent was higher and opportunity was greater, Katsuki blended into a group of people that were great. Izuku had to watch his bully be nice, and that was something nauseating. Izuku never stopped asking himself what do they have that I don't? He only grew more content with the reality of it.
“No sweat, bro.” Kirishima said with his cool and welcoming tone. “Glad to see you, though. When you flyin’ back?”
Katsuki let his eyes stray from Izuku when Kirishima came out from behind the counter. “End of summer, I guess. Unless I can’t take it and escape.”
Kirishima grinned. He had partially forgotten that he was trying to be tame, considering Izuku was most likely infuriated and he never felt like taking sides. But his genuine excitement to see his longtime friend override any form of peace he tried to keep. “That’s awesome!”
Yamada, who was watching like an angel, not saying a thing and choosing to ignore Katsuki’s questionable reaction toward Izuku, suddenly stepped forward and put a long-boned hand on Katsuki’s shoulder. “Well, I hope you settle in alright! These guys will get you started for now. Right?” Yamada grinned at his staff. He was met with plain faces. “Well… That’s all from me.” He said with uncertainty, letting go of Katsuki’s shoulder. “See ya later!”
When he left, chaos broke out. The clock turned to eight-fifty, and the front door sign would flip to open in ten minutes. Katsuki couldn’t wait. Not five hours. “Deku.” He said furiously, walking up to the counter and contorting his face in blind rage. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing but I won't stand for it.”
Izuku looked up. “Get another job, then.” He said monotonously, as if it was at all his fault that Katsuki chose his line of work.
“No?” Katsuki said. His life had been a string of silver platters. It was obvious. He was spoiled. “You get another job.”
“You don’t even need a job. You don’t even need to be here.” Izuku frowned. “What the hell are you doing here?” He meant Present Burgers, but being in Mustafu applies just as nicely.
“Whatever I fuckin’ want, nerd.” Katsuki said as if it was obvious.
Izuku shrugged. “Whatever.” He said carelessly, his passion dying with every syllable. Izuku turned to enter the kitchen, hand on the door. Before Katsuki could yell and get his way, Izuku was gone. As was the rotten air and messy tension. Izuku hated work, but Katsuki hated him. You would never think working all day, every day, at a stupid burger shop could get any worse. But Izuku always found a way to get himself into the most exhausting situations.
Surprisingly, what was more exhausting than having Katsuki yell at him throughout the process of an already stressful job, was listening to the lunch break Kirishima and Katsuki took inside of the kitchen. It was around 4PM, and the place was starting to get quiet. Izuku slowly and methodically pieced together a chicken burger, and he’d be damned if he rushed anything. Izuku took great care with everything he did.
“That’s crazy, man. It sounds amazing out there.” Izuku heard Kirishima rave from the other end of the kitchen. They’d been talking about Otheon and Katsuki’s time away for fifteen minutes, and if Izuku heard the word hot or beautiful or relaxing when talking about the marvellous scenery one more time, he’d consider throwing the burger at one of their heads.
“It is.” Katsuki said in-between bites of his shift meal. “Such a pain to get places though. It’s bigger than this shithole, that’s for sure.”
“If only I could complain about the size of my city. I practically walk the length of this place everyday.” Kirishima said wistfully. “What’s it like, anyway? At College?”
Katsuki thought for a while. In the silence, Izuku felt the way his hands hesitated, the way his body tensed. The way every part of him froze as he listened for Katsuki’s answer. Ever since he’d left, Izuku had wanted nothing more than to ask Katsuki just what he was doing. What it was like to be out on your own. What it was like to be surrounded by greatness, and what it was like to be great yourself.
“I don’t know.” Katsuki said, and Izuku’s body deflated. Disappointing. “It’s better than here, that’s for fuckin’ sure. It’s hard to have a conversation with anybody, because they’re all American and irritating. But - I like it. I guess.”
“The Americans?”
“No, the place.” Katsuki scoffed. Never the Americans. “It’s nice being… free.”
“I bet.” Kirishima grinned, as if he was living his life through Katsuki. It was so conventional for the people in Mustafu to stay in Mustafu. People didn’t branch out, take risks, do something meaningful with their lives. Everyone here was so stuck in their ways. But keeping Katsuki in a town that doesn’t serve him is as tragic as a dove in a cage. Great people need to be in great places.
And Izuku just wasn’t great.
That’s why he flipped burgers for a living. That’s why he lived at home.
“Oi, Deku!” Katsuki called from his seat atop the metal countertop. Izuku shivered, turning around to face him with a blank expression.
“Yeah?”
Katsuki smirked sinisterly, like a plotting snake ready to swallow his prey whole. “What have you been doing for a year?” Katsuki couldn’t possibly care. The rasp in his voice made him sound as fake as water in the desert.
“Whatever I want to.” Izuku said flatly, copying Katsuki’s pathetic attempt at reason earlier.
“You like flipping burgers, then?” Katsuki said mockingly.
Izuku rolled his eyes. “Shut up, or I’ll push your face into the stove.”
Katsuki scoffed. “I think that would get you fired, idiot.”
Izuku didn’t reply. Really, he’d been thinking about getting fired every second after he saw Katsuki walk through the door. He looked so stupid with a cap and apron. He looked so stupid in this small town. There couldn’t be much repercussions for getting let off. Anything is better than working beside the human embodiment of selfishness.
It wasn’t until Izuku turned to grab a tray that he realised Katsuki was standing right behind him. “Your food looks like shit, nerd.” Katsuki leaned over Izuku, eyeing the creation he had made for the latest order. Really, it was quite good, and Yamada praised Izuku for making burgers just how he envisioned them.
Izuku swallowed a thick lump of dread in his throat and pushed Katsuki back by the chest. “Get away, you’ll spoil the order.”
Katsuki laughed, but it was cold and unfeeling. “It looks spoiled already, dork.” He had this way of speaking that made you so mad he decided to do so, and so grateful he even noticed you. It was the thin line between hatred and envy that Izuku could never quite seem to stay on one side of.
Izuku pushed past, grabbing the little metal trays Present Burgers serve their food in. They were industrial in a cool way, and came lined with brown paper. Izuku mindlessly set up the order, placing the burger inside and shovelling fries onto the side. He felt Katsuki watching him, his sharp red eyes burning holes in the back of Izuku’s head. He turned.
“Table eight.” Izuku said, tray pushed out before him and into Katsuki’s space. “You can make yourself somewhat useful.”
Katsuki paused, looking at the tray before him. He grabbed both sides with an evil smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to feel useful?” He said, voice devoid of any warmth.
Izuku rolled his eyes, pulled his hands away from the tray. It would be a miracle if Katsuki didn’t notice the way Izuku took a deeper inhale than the last, or the quivering line of his lips as if he was going to be sick. Izuku felt his stomach churn. He wanted to slap Katsuki in the face and tell him to never speak to him like that again. He wanted to grab him and shake him and ask him why the hell did you leave me?
Katsuki stalked off with the tray, abandoning his own lunch break. He was, annoyingly, very good at the job. Katsuki had always been an outstanding chef, so making simple burgers wasn’t much of a feat.
Kirishima took the quiet moment to rush down to Izuku’s side. He sighed, long and troublesome. “What are the odds you’d have Bakugo working here for the summer?” Kirishima said sheepishly, pulling his hat off and coming a hand through his hair.
Izuku groaned, the first moment he’d been able to vent his utter frustration. “I feel sick.” He muttered. “This is hell.”
Kirishima laughed. “Man, you’re so unlucky. But, hey! I’m happy to keep him off you.” He tried to grin, but the possibility of Katsuki leaving Izuku alone was about as slim as a spaghetti strand.
“Thanks,” Izuku said quietly. “And don’t feel bad about being his friend in here. I’m not mad, or anything.” He smiled.
Kirishima rubbed the nape of his neck. “Alright - but I won’t let him be a total asshole.”
Izuku giggled, enjoying the moment like such a thing was possible. When Katsuki burst back into the room, his laughter faded. Such a thing was not possible.
When the sun goes down that evening, it doesn’t take its warmth. The air is hot and humid, and although the sky is black, Izuku is not cold. He walks the length of the beach, shoes digging into the sand and leaving little marks upon every step. The sea climbs up and down the shore as if it’s reaching out to him, but Izuku stays just far enough to where it can’t. Sometimes, he looks out into the ocean and wonders what would happen if it really did take him.
Izuku took a long drag of his cigarette. He heard the voice of his mother in the back of his head, urging him to stop. It was futile, really, as you can’t convince someone to give up something they don’t want to. The smoke travels down his throat and Izuku can feel it sit in his lungs. The nicotine in his blood rushes to his head and makes his thoughts fuzzy. He had picked up the habit a year ago.
The moon didn’t waver in the sky, watching over Izuku like a sacred guardian. He liked it at night - it was so quiet. And Izuku needed quiet. He needed peace and serenity, and life without the fear of insult. The reality of seeing Katsuki again made his head spin, and he took another drag to try and distract himself. Izuku’s fingers shook as he brought them to his lips.
Izuku spent a considerable amount of time thinking about Katsuki. It was as unhealthy as it was creepy. He thought about him every day after he left. It was in his nature. And in Katsuki’s - to be thought about. He was hardly unused to it.
But Izuku couldn’t get the image of Katsuki out of his mind. He looked so different. His eyes were fuller, like he’d seen more. Like he’d known and done more. Truly, he had. His skin was smoother and his hair was lighter. He looked healthier, like he’d flourished in a new environment. Izuku didn’t doubt that, for Katsuki was too grand for a town like Mustafu. He deserved the freedom of a new city - a new country.
Izuku kicked the stones that had washed up along the sand. They didn’t go far, and he watched how the ones that fell too close to the shore got swept away in the water. The smoke from the cigarette trailed up his arm when he wasn’t using it. Izuku watched the way the smoke twisted and flicked, and felt the knot in his stomach tighten with every movement.
He wanted to be angry. He wanted to wish Katsuki had never come back. He wanted to hope he’d quit the job tomorrow. He wanted to resent the years of bullying. He wanted to hate Katsuki.
But he didn’t, and he couldn’t, and every part of Izuku sang with gladness at the sight of him. He was so familiar. He was so incredible. Izuku couldn’t imagine a world where Katsuki wasn’t in it, and the past year had been miserable without him.
Izuku took a final draw of the cigarette before pushing it into the sand with the sole of his shoe. He held the smoke in his lungs, waiting until his body couldn’t bear it, and let the smoke escape his lips with bittersweet relief. His head dizzied. He sighed.
Izuku didn’t know if his heart would be able to take it.
There was so much emotion being harboured in his heart that he felt each encounter with Katsuki would fill the vessel, until eventually it burst in a high-octane explosion.
The beach was still warm when Izuku started to walk home, and the shore called for him. He let his mind wander as the sounds of the sea blended through the town, and Izuku finally let the air chill his skin.
Izuku didn’t know much about what the future held, but one thing was certain; he’d never be the same again.