Work Text:
The whiteboard was a simple thing. A tool of convenience. An impulse buy spurred on by Denki insisting that being able to leave messages to one another was ‘totally rad, dude!’. Katsuki hadn’t seen the appeal at the time, putting the notebook size whiteboard into his shopping cart as a way to shut Denki up and not as an admission that the concept leaving Deku messages made him feel things. When they’d gotten back to his and Deku’s shared apartment the whiteboard had been placed on the fridge and Denki had promptly drawn small caricatures of their old classmates all over it while Katsuki rolled his eyes and continued putting the rest of the groceries away.
The whiteboard had been undisturbed for the first few weeks, shitty drawings staring Katsuki in the eyes each time he went in the kitchen. Then one morning when he went to make his coffee, the drawings were gone. Replaced with a crudely sketched green rabbit, a carton with cow’s spots that had an X over it, and a frowny face with the words 'Sorry Kacchan! I’ll get more after work!'. Katsuki took a peek at the trash and sure enough there was an empty carton of milk sitting atop an egg carton and an empty bag of rice. Tea it was, then. He put the kettle on and glanced back at the whiteboard– he’d checked his phone that morning, and the nerd hadn’t texted him anything. Instead, he’d taken the time to doodle on the whiteboard. Not exactly Katsuki’s idea of efficiency before an early morning shift, but if Deku wanted to hunch over the fridge at 4am, that was his prerogative.
He finished brewing his tea and couldn’t stop thinking about the whiteboard. It was stupid, but knowing that Deku had spent the time to leave him a message made something warm and gooey light up in his chest. He could’ve sent a text in less than 30 seconds, but instead he’d taken the time to write it down and add his own little artistic rendition of himself using up the last of the milk. It was stupid. Juvenile, even. But it made Katsuki flush in a way he hadn’t since Deku’d first approached him about moving in together after graduating from UA. He glanced at the clock, realized he should’ve been in the shower 5 minutes ago if he wanted to be on time for his (normal) morning patrol at 8am, and put the green bunny and scribbled words out of his mind.
When Katsuki got back to the apartment that night, Izuku was sitting on their couch reading Fourth Kind’s newest book on heroics and hero philosophy. He put his stuff away by the door and grabbed the plate of food Izuku had made them for dinner and went into the living room to sit at the table there. “Welcome home, Kacchan!”
Katsuki grunted and took a bite of his rice, glancing up at Izuku’s rosy cheeks, “the fuck was the art about this morning?”
Izuku’s cheeks immediately puffed out in indignation and he whined, “Kacchan!! It was just convenient!”
“Playing Michelangelo was more convenient than sending me a text that you’d drunk the last of the milk?”
The book was smacked onto the couch cushion, "Well excuse me for not wanting to wake you up! Next time I’ll just beat down your door to let you know.” He was pouting, face turned away from Katsuki and ears bright red. Embarrassed. Which admittedly was a good look on Izuku, but wasn't something Izuku would ever admit to enjoying-- the fact that the feeling cheeks flush and heart racing wasn't awful, but instead was reminiscent of how simply seeing Kacchan smile made him feel each day.
“Hey!”, Katsuki pointed at finger at Izuku, “Don’t do that shit– nothin’ wrong with being a bit artsy. Just surprised me.”
Izuku glanced back with a small smirk, the one Katsuki knew meant he was going to be goaded into doing something he didn’t really want to do, but he’d end up doing it gladly because whatever it was would make Izuku’s eyes light up when he ultimately got his way, “Maybe Kacchan wouldn’t be that surprised if he was actually creative. But instead all he can do is blow stuff up. Not very well-rounded of him.”
“You little shit– I’m plenty creative. I just don’t take time to draw random shit like that.”
“Whatever you say, Kacchan. Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret. I won’t let anyone know that you can’t even draw a little bunny.” Izuku picked his book back up, feigning disinterest.
“Deku, I’ll prove that I can draw shit on that whiteboard better than anyone. Just wait.”
Izuku didn’t reply, but did roll his eyes in quiet acceptance. He was such a little shit. A brat. And Katsuki couldn’t believe the rest of the country was convinced he was some kind of angel.
That had been over a year ago. In the beginning, Katsuki had left Izuku petty messages and doodles in the vein of competitive spirit, but over time it became more genuine. Messages reminding Izuku to run errands or take his meds, a shitty sketch of Best Jeanist next to work hours when his patrol times unexpectedly shifted.
They’d been updating the whiteboard often enough– near daily– that they’d decided to get a rainbow pack of dry erase markers and develop a color coded system to help decipher shorthand messages at a glance. Blue was for work schedules, green for Izuku’s comments, orange for Katsuki’s. Purple was used for errands and tasks, red for emergencies and last minute changes (thankfully rarely used), and then black was for general things that should stay on the whiteboard for an extended period of time– an upcoming event, a question unrelated to other things, daily reminders of medications to take, physio appointments, water intake, food, and sleep. As the whiteboard filled with messages, Izuku mourned the extra doodling space, and Katsuki had gotten him an extra whiteboard to stick on the fridge, exclusively to be filled with drawings.
When Katsuki looked at the drawings he couldn't help but flush– while it was true that Deku put time and effort into drawing all of their friends, when he drew Katsuki he seemed to go the extra mile. Making sure his gauntlets were detailed and accurate, his hair was spiky, and his explosions multi-colored.
They’d lived together for the three years they’d been out of UA, and they had been fully committed to living together post-graduation since their second year at UA. Mina had jokingly called them an old married couple, but the truth was that they were in a flirationship at the best– both aware of the other’s feelings but neither willing to act on it. Hesitant to ruin everything they’d worked to build, all their history, on fully committing to a relationship when it wasn’t necessary. Neither of them had even considered other romantic partners since first year, and they were physically affectionate enough with each other to satisfy Izuku’s innate clinginess and Katsuki’s need to lounge next to his loved ones like a cat.
They didn’t hold hands, not really, but Katsuki massaged Izuku’s hands most nights, taking care to work at the scar tissue there. They spent their week nights (when one of them didn’t have the night shift) together, curled up watching movies or silently reading or doing work without talking. Just existing in each other’s presence. They ate meals together when they could, and Katsuki would meal prep for the meals they couldn’t eat together. They were a couple in every sense of the word they just hadn’t said the words. Hadn’t sealed it with a kiss.
When Katsuki left for his night shift, he’d put a reminder on the whiteboard for Izuku to drink some extra water that day because it would be warm, and then drew a shitty Best Jeanist and added a plus sign and a clock, with a ‘lunch in fridge’, because even though his shift would end at 8AM, he was going to be taking the lunch shift because being war heroes and saving the world at 16 years old didn’t pay the bills in perpetuity. It didn’t even pay the bills a bit.
When Katsuki lumbered into the apartment at 2PM, he slipped his sneakers off by the door and dropped his duffle bag on their Work Items rack, his jacket going on the hook above it. He was tired– exhausted really, and ready for nothing more than a quiet, cozy night in with Izuku. Maybe they could put on a nature documentary tonight, something completely unrelated to either of their interests or jobs. Something just loud enough to be background noise but not too attention grabbing. Not violent.
He stumbled into the kitchen, pausing to look at the whiteboards on his quest for a glass of water. Some of the things noted were expected— a green clock showing 4PM, the time Deku’d be getting home from work. A request for dinner to use up the last of their broccoli and bean sprouts. A new doodle of the stray cat that liked to visit their fire escape popping it’s head out of a flower pot— he’d have to make sure it didn’t kill any of the herbs he’d been trying to grow.
But sitting at the bottom of the whiteboard was an arrow, a dreaded red arrow, pointing at a folded up piece of paper held to the fridge by a magnet. It was a note, a letter— obviously it was a letter, and Katsuki's heart leapt into his throat and he couldn't breathe. Suddenly he was sixteen again and Izuku was disappearing in the middle of the night. His breath was coming faster and-- oh shit. He was going to pass out. As he tried to work through the breathing exercises his therapist taught him he caught scribbles under the arrow: ‘TL;DR can you use she/her pronouns for me?’.
Katsuki could breathe again, but now his stomach was in the floor, buried under cement and hard rock, and he was going to be sick— if there was one thing in the world he valued, it was Izuku’s happiness and comfort and trust and vulnerability, and what did it say about him that Izuku couldn’t have this conversation in person? That Izuku assumed Katsuki would choose to not read this letter?
When he reached out to move the magnet and grab the paper he noticed his hands were shaking— oh shit, yeah. They sure were. He needed to sit now, before he become better acquainted with the floor. He managed to get the paper and make it over to the couch without his vision going out, which he’d count as a major victory the next time his therapist asked what he’d accomplished recently “I didn’t pass out when my long time friend partner(?) left me a mystery note and I had a flashback to the war, aren’t you proud?”
As he unfolded the paper he realized it was closer to two or three pages of paper instead of one, which really shouldn’t have been a surprise. Deku had always been overly verbose, rambling and sharing unnecessary details with no prompting, never knowing when to shut up. Katsuki would be hard pressed to admit it, but it was charming, sweet, that when Izuku really got into something or got really stressed, instead of shutting down and closing off from the rest of the world- a habit Katsuki'd been trying in vain to break-he’d she’d just open up like a book. Bare all her thoughts to the world, no secrets.
Katsuki braced himself and started reading.
“Hi Kacchan, I’m sure you saw the whiteboard, and probably have questions. I’m not too certain I have answers, but I wanted to try. I also wanted to apologize for doing this in a letter. It seems kind of cowardly– not really heroic– but each time I tried to bring it up in person I’d end up panicking and the words got stuck, and I just couldn’t. So the letter seemed like the best way.”
Katsuki wanted to scoff— as if anything Deku did could be classified as unheroic. Each breath the nerd took was a testament to her grit and determination and unwavering selflessness as a hero.
“I’m a girl. I know some people say they’ve always known, but I haven’t. When I think back on being a kid, I don’t think I had any real idea that people could be transgender. I knew about Tiger, everyone knew about Tiger, but I didn’t really internalize it, or think about what that meant for me.
“Then, when I was getting old enough that I could think about it, could consider gender, I had a new quirk and I was trying to become All Might. Then I was trying to survive All Might’s enemies. Then I was just trying to graduate, to be a good enough hero that I could finish up my three years at UA and say that I did it. That I was a hero.
“And I did that– we did that– and I was so happy to have made it. Overjoyed that with everything we went through, we managed to make it out.”
Katsuki took a moment to wipe his hands on his pants— he wasn’t sure what the etiquette was around Coming Out Letters, but he was sure ‘accidently exploding it out of nervousness’ wasn’t generally acceptable.
“I didn’t think about it until a year or so ago. We’d been in this apartment for a while, and our lives had settled down, and for all the stress of being heroes, it was so much less than everything we experienced in school, and it was the first time in my life that I had time to actually consider myself. I told you that I started seeing a new therapist around then to help work through things after the war and to help keep up with what Hound Dog started. Well, that was partially true– my therapist and I do still work on my PTSD from the war and being on the run, but I also wanted to talk to somebody about the feelings I’d noticed in myself.
“It’s hard to describe, really. The anxiety and discontent I experienced when Kirishima told me I was manly, and when people would tell me that I was so handsome and the ideal guy. That me being soft and nice was uncharacteristic or something I shouldn't have been, that I was supposed to want a sharp jaw. I always put up a fight about having chubby cheeks, but god I loved my face when it was like that, round and soft and delicate.”
Katsuki personally thought Izuku’s face was still soft— scarred, sure, but her cheeks were always round and pink, and even malnutrition during the war hadn’t truly sharpened her features. Puberty had changed her jawline a bit, but her eyes were bright and full, and she’d been blessed with thick lashes. She was pretty— had always been pretty.
“I still like being strong and helping people. Being a hero has always been my dream, will always be my dream, but I never understood why being a hero meant that I couldn’t be soft and sweet. I was really confused and I didn’t feel great about myself. I couldn’t look in mirrors anymore and I couldn’t look at the billboards or commercials we were in. It was kind of miserable. I didn’t know why I was feeling that way, couldn’t put it into words, so I talked to my therapist about it.
“She was great– is still great, when I see her every other week. She helped me figure out what exactly I was feeling, and why. The root of those feelings and actions. Gave me the words to explain what I was experiencing. After I’d talked through everything, how I didn’t like looking at myself and didn’t like people complimenting me, but it wasn’t my normal issues with self-worth and self-confidence because it didn’t seem to be from feelings of inadequacy from not being able to save people in the war or leftover pain from being quirkless as a kid, she gave me a book. She told me to read it and see if any of it felt familiar.”
Katsuki had to consciously control his breathing— he’d done a lot of apologizing and groveling for how he’d acted as a kid, not near enough probably, but Izuku’d always forgiven too easy, and while they liked to act like it was all behind them it clearly wasn’t, if it was still impacting Izuku’s psyche, still making her doubt her self-worth and making an already complicated self-realization that much more difficult.
“It was an autobiography from Tiger– one I hadn’t even known had been released. It covered his childhood, how he felt as a child and how his quirk developed. What happened when he started noticing that his body was changing and he couldn’t look in mirrors. He was isolating himself and stopped talking to friends. He started focusing on being a hero, trying to change what he didn’t like about himself. He wrote about his time as a student and what it was like to find the words to describe his feelings, finding a small community and stealing away to get gender affirming surgery right after graduating. How that wasn’t the magical moment he thought it would be. It helped, it made him feel more comfortable in his skin, but it wasn’t like waving a magic wand, and he still had to work on things internally. Said he’d always have to work on himself and how he felt.
“I still have that book in my nightstand, full of sticky notes and highlighted bits. If you want, I could lend it to you, because I still don’t think I’m doing a great job of explaining myself. My dysphoria, how it affects me. That’s what it’s called, the intense feeling of wrongness and pain and discomfort and sadness when I look in the mirror and I don’t see someone soft and dainty. Feminine. When I was nominated for Best New Male Hero, and I wanted to throw up. The shame I feel when my eyes catch on things that are delicate and lacy and I want to wear them."
God Katsuki wanted to just wrap Izuku up in a blanket and never let her leave their apartment ever again. Keep her safe and happy and make sure nobody ever said anything that would upset her. Protect her the way he should have been. Promise her that she was feminine and dainty. Damn near pocket-sized with full cheeks and eyes that sparkled like the rings he'd never admit to looking at when he passed jewelry stores while on patrol.
“I think part of my discomfort comes from how confused I am– conflicted– about my body. I love my body for what it’s provided me, how it’s helped me save the world over and over again. How strong it is to support everyone around me. And while I can look at my body and see the femininity there, can compare it with the bodies of female heroes, how powerful they are and how their muscles and strength don’t diminish that femininity, and love that my body is fulfilling the same purpose, I know that’s not what other people see. I know that they don't see my strength as something that could be feminine, because they don’t value the inherent strength in being a woman.
“Part of the reason I’m okay telling you is because you’ve never looked at women any differently. You’ve only ever valued strength and honesty and work ethic and the dedication it takes to be a hero. You’ve never seen Momo or Ashido as less feminine or womanly just because they’re strong and dedicated to being heroes. When I was considering writing this letter, thinking on that made me feel better about the fact that I can do what I need to do to be a hero and still have people see me the way that I see myself."
Katsuki damn near scoffed again. Of course he saw Ponytail and Pinky and capable heroes. They were strong as fuck and damn helpful in an emergency. They also put up with more criticism and pressure from the media than he'd ever been able to stomach, all without blowing anything up. Anyone that said that women weren't strong were in denial.
“I’m also scared. Terrified really, of telling people. Letting the public know. Public opinion is important to me– I like that people enjoy me as a hero, that they trust me. And I don’t know how that would change if I came out publicly. If I changed my hero costume to something feminine, I started growing out my hair and taking hormones. If I wore the makeup I keep hidden in my bedroom. If on my days off I wore a skirt or a dress with my hero merch instead of sweats. Or if I wore a dress to a gala or red carpet event, maybe the next hero rankings.
“It’s just all unknown, and my biggest fear is losing everything. Being alone again. Ostracized again. The quirkless kid that nobody likes, grown up to be the trans woman that nobody likes.
“I don’t know if I could bear being alone again."
If the nausea had subsided even a bit, it was back in full force now. He caused that. He hurt Izuku so deeply that she feared abandonment and ostracization for simply being herself. For things out of her control. And while he'd never contributed to any transphobia she'd have witnessed, the fact of the matter was that he'd bullied her and hurt her in the past, even if she was doing better now. He'd introduced her to a world that loved her conditionally and set standards she'd never been able to meet.
Granted, he apologized ten times over for everything, and when she got tired of hearing his sorrys they'd gone to therapy to work through their shared pain together, helping Katsuki work past his inability to forgive himself and get Izuku to where she wouldn't forgive every transgression made against her, to where she'd value herself enough to know that cutting people off took just as much courage and strength as allowing them back in your life. They still had a therapist they saw monthly, a neutral third-party that could offer extra perspective and help them communicate when they didn't see eye-to-eye, something that was was admittedly less necessary now that they'd been living together for so long.
“You’re the first person I’ve told, because of that fear. Because after everything we’ve been through, I don’t think there’s anything I could do that would make you not like me. I know that we’ve been kind of… dancing, around this thing between us. The thing we’ve never named but I know I’m not imagining. The way you look at me, and care for me. Bring me lunches when I forget and massage my hands when they hurt and let me ramble about hero facts that you probably already know. The way you help me to bed every time I fall asleep during a movie. The fact that we even have weekly movie nights. I don’t want any of that to change– it’s probably the most important thing to me, but I’m not sure if you like women like that, if you’d like me like that if I was a woman.
“I’m not expecting anything regarding your feelings tonight, I just needed to get everything written down and dealt with so I didn’t procrastinate it anymore."
Katsuki hadn't spent much time at all considering his sexuality. It wasn't necessary, not really. He'd known that Izuku was it for him in middle school, even if he never acted like it. He was making up for that now, caring for her like she'd always deserved and doing everything in his power to ensure her happiness. He also knew that he didn't need time to think about his feelings. Izuku was his-- mind, body, and soul. There was nothing she could do to lose him. It was a good thing they were both so codependent, he doubted anyone else would put up with his level of possessiveness.
It was also fucking embarrassing, to have their relationship put to paper like that, so honestly. The truth of the matter was that Katsuki would always be interested in Izuku-- they'd need to talk about it, have an actual adult conversation about things, but he'd known he was somewhere on the ace spectrum for a long time, never identifying with the obsession the rest of the guys in class had with sex, and his single-minded romantic interest in Izuku had been apparent since adolescence. So if Izuku was a woman, then Katsuki must like women because nothing as trivial as gender would ever keep him from liking her.
“I know I’ve already mentioned that you’re the first to know, and I mean that. I haven’t told my mom yet either– I thought about it, came real close, but never did it. I’ve let her know that I like softer things when it comes to gifts, but nothing that would let her know the truth.
“I’m also thinking about telling All Might, but the idea of him regretting giving me OFA is terrifying. I don’t think that would happen, but you never know."
And that was heavy as fuck, wasn't it? He gets to know before Izuku's mother? The woman who's only flaw was overprotection, and even then she'd still let Izuku do whatever needed to be done to save the day and been there to help pick up the pieces afterwards? And fucking All Might? He thought Izuku puked sunshine and shit rainbows. She was perfection incarnate to the old man. Her fears were unfounded, but understandable. That being said, it sucked that she'd been doing this essentially alone out of fear that she'd be abandoned again, that she didn't have any community support to help her through this, a safety net to catch her if things went bad.
“I guess the theme of this whole thing is that I’ve been thinking of telling a lot of people, thinking of doing a lot of things, but all I’ve managed to do is write this letter. I put on the whiteboard that I would be home at 4– that’s still my plan, but if you don’t want to see me, or need some time to think or anything, just let me know. I couldn’t handle you saying anything mean to me right now, even if it was true, so if you need time or you’re upset, please just text me telling me that you’re not making dinner, and I’ll know to go spend the night with Tsu. She doesn’t know about me, but she’s been badgering me about watching a Selkie documentary, so I brought a change of clothes and I could spend the night there.
“Thank you for reading all of this. You mean everything to me, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.
“Yours, Izuku <3”
Katsuki set the letter to the side and took a deep breath, taking a second to rub at his temples. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't shocked. He'd never suspected, which was Izuku's goal it seemed. Of course he'd noticed her pulling away a bit, being quieter at times, but he'd assumed it was the normal shit that went along with being a hero with PTSD. The kind of quiet you can't really beat into submission, so you just have to wait out.
Hindsight being 20/20, he wished he'd done some probing instead of just offering his typical brand of support. Granted he had done as much as he thought he could get away with without digging into her life too much or getting called out for babying her. He'd made her favorite foods more often, diets be damned. He'd brought her lunch at work and watched her favorite movies without putting up an argument for something he'd prefer. He'd even picked up some small gifts that reminded him of her-- hero keychains and some office supplies and a limited edition Dynamite hoodie.
He breathed through the nausea that had settled itself deep in his stomach-- facing the consequences of his actions fucking sucked, but worse was the thought that Izuku being herself would ever change anything between them. He was disgusted, partly at himself and mainly at the world, for making Izuku believe that he would ever be upset by her trusting him with another part of herself.
He pushed himself up and made his way to the fridge for a glass of water to settle his stomach so he could think through what his next steps should be. After downing more water than was probably advisable, he looked at the clock on the oven to check the time-- Izuku'd be home in a little over an hour, which really wasn't enough time to make anything that he wanted to. He'd wanted to do something elaborate, something that said that he supported her and loved her, but that just wasn't going to happen. Instead, he picked up his phone to call for takeout, a little hole-in-the-wall place that he wouldn't normally get because they couldn't seem to ever season their tofu the way he liked, but it was Izuku's favorite, the little nerd constantly ooh-ing and ahh-ing over how incredible the sweet bread and noodles were.
With their orders placed, he grabbed a shower-- quick enough to get cleaned up after patrol, but long enough that he could think through what to do next. He could write his own letter, but he'd never been great with words, defaulting to using his actions to show people what he meant. Words were always being misconstrued and misinterpreted, and some people were hellbent on misunderstanding things, so it was always easier to show someone how you felt. And Katsuki was truly blessed, because Izuku knew that. Understood Katsuki to the core, knew him so fucking well that it brought tears to his eyes because he felt so seen when he was with her. He just hoped he could give her that same feeling, that now that she'd come out he would be able to support her and provide her with the warmth and comfort and care that she had always provided him, even when he didn't deserve it.
Katsuki considered texting her something about coming home for dinner, something simple to reassure her that everything was okay and that he'd be there to welcome her with open arms, but after a second more of thinking he quickly realized that was just about the worst thing he could do. She'd laid out her expectations-- text for her to not come home, don't text for her to come home. Doing anything else, even if the words were positive, would just cause her to panic and analyze it for hidden subtext. So instead he took the letter and folded it back up, laying it on the kitchen table where she'd be able to see it next to the decorative vase with the flowers that he'd been keeping alive through sheer will alone because lord knew neither of them watered the damn things often enough.
When the takeout arrived, he laid the containers out and grabbed plates and chopsticks, taking time to brew her favorite tea. And because he was Kacchan fucking Bakugou, he'd timed things perfectly so that he was pouring her tea into her favorite little Uravity themed teacup as the front door unlocked.
To say that Izuku was sheepish as she opened the door was an understatement-- the door moved slowly and her eyes were trained on her feet as she shuffled in, moving like she was in a museum, one wrong move away from shattering something and being told that she had to pay for it somehow. As she toed off her shows, Katsuki glanced towards her, throwing out a, "hey nerd, I got dinner for tonight." She hummed lightly in response, and he took a seat at the table as she walked up to it. Katsuki tracked her facial expressions as she finally recognized the food at the table, where it was from, what exactly had been poured in her tea cup, and then the letter folded up in the center of the table. Her eyes filled with tears because she'd always been a crier, just like her mom, and never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined things would go so well. She didn't have it in her to believe that Kacchan would actually be okay with her, would accept her when it took her so long to accept herself.
Katsuki was out of his seat and pulling her into his chest for a tight hug before the water works could truly get going, thankful again that her height had evened out around his shoulders. He rubbed up and down her back, combing his fingers through green curls and detangling them, noting that they were slightly longer than usual. “Hey now– no need for tears, alright? We’re all good.”
Izuku lightly shook her head, causing Katsuki to pull her back toward him, tilting her head back with a hand to force her to make eye contact with him, "don’t fucking argue with me, if I say we’re good, then we’re good.”
She wiped at her eyes and whispered, "But Kacchan, I-", her voice breaking as she took in a shuddering breath.
Katsuki pulled her closer, using a hand at the back of her head to lay her ear over his heart, letting her listen to the steady beat. “Shhh, you’re going to give yourself a migraine like that."
They stood there for another few minutes, until finally her breath had evened out and she was calm enough that Katsuki trusted she wouldn't hyperventilate any time soon, so he gently directed her to sit at the table so they could at least try to eat some dinner before the next emotional outburst.
There were still tears in her eyes, but she sipped at her tea and started picking at her food, pausing after a second to put her chopsticks down, “I’m just really happy, you know? That Kacchan doesn’t mind.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes, pointing a chopstick at her, “Don’t talk about yourself like you're an inconvenience or some shit, okay? You said it in that letter– we’ve been… whatever, for years now. You’re stuck with me, and it isn’t some burden. I don’t do shit I don’t want to do– if I didn’t want to support you, number one that would be really shitty of me to give up a friend of 20 years because you’re a girl, and number two I wouldn’t have. I’d’ve sent that stupid text and let you spend the night with Frogger. I'm not a cowardly piece of shit though, so we're here, actually talking about shit." He paused for a moment, fingers tapping at the wood of the table, "We’ve never put words to it, but you’re it for me. Have been it for me for years. Nothing you do or change about yourself would change that." He paused for a second, seeing that Izuku didn't fully believe him.
"You’re a girl? Cool. I can help you figure out a sense of style so you don't look like a 12 year old that just got their first allowance and spent it all at hero con. And if you don’t want that, if you want to wear the same shit, that’s just fine with me. I don't care what you do, and you get to be yourself with me-- with how much shit women get in the media for wearing literally anything they want, I'm never going to make you be someone or wear something you don't want to. It’s all up to you. But just know that this: you being yourself isn’t a deal breaker. It's the one damn thing in the world I can count on. You're so fucking genuine all the time, and that's what people love about you. What I...” Katsuki flushed and glanced to the side, realizing he'd said more than he meant to.
Her eyes filled with tears again, “I’ve liked Kacchan for so long, I just couldn’t imagine a world without you, and I didn’t want to push you away or have you feel like I lied to you.”
Katsuki gently flicked the hand closest to him on the table, “That’s bullshit– it’s up to you when you tell anyone, if you ever tell anyone, and if anyone ever gives you shit about that, you kick ‘em to the curb.”
“Kacchan is too nice."
“Nah, everyone else is just shitty. This is basic human decency, alright? And I know we’re still pussyfooting around things, but I like you, right? Like, you’re all I’ve ever wanted in my life, no matter what. I like that you’re strong and determined and give me shit and make me work to be a better person and a better hero all the time. But if you woke up tomorrow and decided that you were never going to put on your hero costume again– that Hero Deku was done for and you were going to open a shelter for lost racoons, I’d still like you. It has only ever been you. Back when I was a squirt and I thought of the future, I always pictured you next to me. How you look and what you’re doing doesn't matter. You staying in my life is more important to me than any other changes you make in your life.”
A high sob ripped itself from Izuku's throat, and she wiped at her eyes, taking a deep breath, “I’ve always loved Kacchan, always wanted to be like you and for you to like me. I don’t know where to go from here– who to tell next, but I just needed you to know because I promised myself I wouldn’t keep secretes from you again, and we’ve worked so hard to know each other, and I really wanted you to know all of me.”
Katsuki laid his chopsticks down and reached for Izuku's hand, heating his up to help with any pain she might be having, massaging down crooked fingers and healed scars. “You’re a dork, but you’re my dork. That’s not gonna change." He nodded his head toward her plate, "you should eat before it gets cold. You never like those noodles as much when you have to reheat them."
Izuku's eyes watered again and she nodded, reaching for her chopsticks. She wasn't sure quite what she'd do next, but as long as Kacchan was there, it would be okay. He'd make sure of it.