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Izuku was a mess of tangled blankets and misplaced anxieties, drowning in the big, silent bedroom he shared with Katsuki. His phone screen was a brutal spotlight on the ceiling. The bedside clock glared. 8:24 PM. Just over an hour. Sixty-six minutes until Katsuki—the relentless, gorgeous, powerful Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight—would crash through the door smelling overwhelmingly of burnt sugar and victory. Izuku, by contrast, smelled like stale air and disappointment.
He was doom-scrolling HeroNet, a terrible habit he couldn’t drop. Every time he swiped, he got a fresh punch in the gut about the life he didn't have anymore. There was Uraraka, defying gravity to save a massive pile-up. Kirishima, a literal crimson mountain holding the line against some villain squad. And then the headline that made his stomach clench. "The Icy Hot Ascent: Shoto Todoroki Secures Rank 2 Spot After Monumental Save!"
Shoto. Rank 2.
Honest-to-god pride surged through him. Shoto was a beast, he’d earned every bit of it. Izuku was genuinely ecstatic for his friend. But that happiness was a fleeting rush before a crushing wave of emptiness hit. He was proud, yes, and devastatingly hollow. Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his hand against his forehead. He remembered the wind, the sheer, intoxicating force of One For All, the feeling of being needed.
Now, it is all gone. Just a silent, ordinary emptiness inside him.
He was Deku, the boy who’d held the world’s fate. The boy who had fearlessly battled and won against Shigaraki and gave Japan the peace it deserved. Now, he was just Midoriya-sensei, a homeroom teacher for UA’s class 1-A. He taught the rules, the history, the theory. All the stuff that didn’t involve punching things into dust. He was perpetually surrounded by young with screaming potential kids with amazing quirks, hanging on his advice about becoming the next big thing.
How could he inspire them when he felt so utterly insignificant? Teaching felt like a consolation prize. A polite pat on the head from the universe saying, “you did your part. Now sit down and talk about it.”
He sighed and flung his phone away. It landed face-down, reflecting the tired, small, overwhelmingly normal guy lying in the sheets. He used to fly with the greats. Now, the greats were his old classmates, and he was stuck below, cheering from the dirt. He was honored, yes. People adored him, never forgetting his contribution to the peace. Even years after, people still ask for his signature. But god, he missed the noise and the adrenaline. The simple yet soul-deep hope that he could make a difference with his bare hands. He missed being the one.
He rolled over, burying his face deeper into Katsuki’s pillow, hunting for the comforting, faint aroma of his boyfriend's specialized cologne and explosive residue.
Katsuki. His lover. The only person who saw his inadequacy and refused to validate it, yet still provided the most solid and non-verbal reassurance. Katsuki, rank 15, kept out of the top tiers by his aggressive reputation, but whose power was undeniable. Katsuki, the strongest person Izuku knew. And Katsuki loved him. Izuku, the Quirkless teacher.
He thought back to a few weeks ago. Grading papers, he’d caught a clip of Katsuki saving a train, a blinding explosion keeping the bridge intact. Izuku had been staring, completely mesmerized by the sheer technical brilliance when Katsuki had stomped in, peeling off his gear.
"Stop gaping, you idiot," Katsuki had grumbled, though his face was oddly soft. He’d leaned down and kissed him hard on the crown of his head. "Finish that paperwork so we can relax."
Izuku had simply hugged Katsuki's waist, soaking up the smoky, hero-grade scent. "You were incredible, Kacchan. Truly amazing. That perfect use of force, the control… no one else could pull that off."
Katsuki had just snorted, a slight flush rising in his neck. "Obviously. I’m the best, Deku. Now let go, I need to wash the stink off."
Those moments were his lifelines. Katsuki saw him, not the broken ex-hero, but Izuku. Not just Izuku. But he sees him as Izuku. The boy who changed his life. The boy who'd be willing to sarcifice his own for the sake of others. It was one think Katsuki adored the most.
And yet, the hollowness still lingered. He had sacrificed everything to win, and he’d do it again. But the silence where One For All used to sing was crushing. He felt like the odd one out, the exception in a world of superhumans, and it weighed on him. He just wanted to be worthy of the man who chose him. He just wanted to feel special again.
He closed his eyes, desperately trying to look functional before Katsuki showed up. Sixty-six minutes. Sixty-six minutes to plaster on a convincing smile before his incredible, explosive boyfriend walked in.
Izuku, in fact, didn't manage to pull himself together. He was still marooned in a sea of blankets at 9:30 PM, pretending to read a dense volume on advanced hero law, though the words were just blurring ink blots. The house, usually silent at this hour, announced Katsuki's arrival with its typical, glorious lack of subtlety.
First, the distant, muffled thump as the heavy-duty apartment door shut. Followed by the clinking, echoing drop of metal which was probably his gauntlets hitting the entryway floor. Then, the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of his heavy, armored boots as he stalked down the hallway. He could practically map Katsuki's routine by sound. The soft clack of his belt buckle hitting the counter in the kitchen, followed by the hiss as he cracked open a soda.
Izuku tensed. He hated being caught wallowing. Katsuki had a sixth sense for his low moods. And his method of dealing with them was usually loud, direct, and sometimes involved tossing him into a freezing shower. Effective, perhaps, but not exactly gentle.
A moment later, the bedroom door didn't open so much as it was shouldered aside.
Katsuki stood framed in the doorway, a striking contrast of battle-worn exhaustion and raw energy. His hero costume was mostly stripped down. The thick armor plates gone, leaving only the form-fitting, dark undersuit clinging to his broad shoulders. His ash-blond hair was damp and plastered to his forehead, undoubtedly from the sweat of the day’s work, and there were faint smudges of grime near his jawline. He looked absolutely spent, but even exhausted, he possessed a potent, inescapable presence.
Katsuki’s crimson eyes swept over the room, instantly locating Izuku tangled in the bedding, the hero law book splayed uselessly on his chest.
"Still bedrotting, Deku?" Katsuki’s voice was devoid of its usual explosive bite, suggesting he was running on fumes. He didn't wait for an answer, moving straight for the closet.
Izuku winced at the term, even though it was accurate. He forced a smile that felt brittle. "Kacchan! You're home. Everything okay? Rough day?"
Katsuki pulled out a clean shirt and sweatpants, his back still to Izuku. "Standard bullshit. Had to dismantle a whole-ass drug ring disguised as a plumbing supply company. Took longer than expected. They got annoying." He finally turned, tossing his clothes onto the armchair. He paused, his gaze narrowing on Izuku. "And don't give me that piss poor excuse for a grin. You look like you haven't moved since noon."
Izuku shifted uncomfortably, pulling the heavy book closer as a barrier. "N-no, I've been productive! I got through half of the first-years’ ethics essays, and I was just doing some supplementary reading for my Heroics History class. You know how important context is." He waved the book a little too enthusiastically.
Katsuki didn't buy it. He merely crossed the room in three long steps, plucked the dense textbook off Izuku’s chest with two fingers, and tossed it onto the bedside table. It landed with a dull thump. He then sat heavily on the edge of the mattress, his weight dipping the bed significantly.
"Cut the crap, Izuku," Katsuki murmured, his voice softer now. He didn't meet Izuku’s eye immediately, instead reaching out to pull a stray curl away from Izuku's cheek, tucking it behind his ear with a surprising tenderness. "I saw the Rank 2 headlines. You’ve been staring at the damn ceiling since, what, seven?"
Izuku’s carefully constructed composure shattered. He knows him too well. He turned his face into the pillow, trying to hide the sting in his eyes. He didn't want to talk about it. He definitely didn't want Katsuki to find him pathetic.
"It's nothing, Kacchan. I told you, I’m happy for him. Shoto deserves it. He's been working so hard." Izuku’s voice was muffled by the pillow.
"Yeah, I heard you the first hundred times you thought it," Katsuki countered, entirely unimpressed. He reached a warm, slightly calloused hand under the blanket and found Izuku’s ankle, giving it a firm, steady squeeze. "That’s not what I asked. I asked why you’re letting that shit eat you alive."
Izuku sighed, rolling onto his back to face the ceiling again, refusing to look at Katsuki. It felt too exposing. "It's just… a reminder, you know?" He let the words hang in the air, a shaky, unspoken truth. A reminder that you're an incredible hero, and I'm a teacher who teaches others how to be incredible.
Katsuki remained silent, letting him gather his thoughts. The silence felt heavy, but not judgmental. It was the kind of quiet Katsuki reserved for moments that mattered.
"Everyone," Izuku began, his voice barely above a whisper, "everyone is advancing. You. Shoto. Uraraka. Everyone. And me… I’m here. I’m doing important work, I know. Teaching is vital. But I can't help but feel like… like I ran the race, won the ultimate prize, and then had to give it all back at the finish line. I’m the only one standing still." He finally turned his head, his eyes meeting Katsuki’s. "I just wish I was special, Kacchan. Like you. Like everyone else." The confession felt raw, torn straight from his gut.
I wish I had my Quirk back. But Izuku knew it was a price to pay. One for All wasn't his in the first place and that gut-wrenching truth always haunted him.
Katsuki didn't explode. He didn't scoff or minimize the feeling. He just stared at Izuku, his expression unreadable for a prolonged moment. Then, he leaned forward, moving from the edge of the bed to lie down beside Izuku, pulling the thick, woolen duvet over both of them. He settled onto his side, propped up on one elbow, his presence radiating warmth and a familiar, comforting pressure.
"Listen to me, Deku," Katsuki said, his voice quiet, serious, and utterly unwavering. He reached out and cupped the side of Izuku's head, his palm resting against his messy curls. "You’re the moron who literally saved the world when it mattered. You think anyone else could have done that? You think a damn Quirk is what made you the best goddamn hero I know?" He paused, his thumb stroking Izuku's temple, a small, intimate gesture. "You're special because you’re you. Quirk or no Quirk. You teaching those brats not to be dipshits is more important than my ranking. Now stop this pity-party bullshit. You're giving me a headache."
Izuku shattered. The dam of carefully contained grief burst to a painful eruption. He couldn't hold the shame and longing in anymore. Tears streamed from his eyes, hot and fast, soaking the pillow beneath his head. He tried to speak, but only a choked, ragged sound escaped, quickly followed by a rush of apologies, useless and desperate.
"I—I'm s-sorry, Kacchan. I know, I know I shouldn't... I know it’s stupid," he choked out, pulling his hands up to frantically scrub at his face, only smearing the wetness of his own tears. He hated this vulnerability. This sudden ugly display of weakness in front of the one person whose respect meant everything. He was supposed to be past this. He was supposed to be strong.
Katsuki didn't retreat. He didn't even flinch at the sudden flood of emotion. Instead, he moved closer, pulling Izuku's flailing hands away from his face and pinning them gently to the pillow beside his head. He shifted so he was leaning over Izuku, his body a warm, solid fortress. Katsuki’s face, usually set in a scowl or a smirk, was heavy with nothing but affection.
"Don't you dare apologize for that," Katsuki ordered, but also with bluntness that felt seemingly comforting. He knew. Izuku knew he knew. Katsuki was well aware this entire post-war life, this teaching gig, the loss of his quirk—it was all a brutal, constant war on Izuku’s self-worth. It was hard. It was impossibly hard.
Katsuki lowered his head, not for a demanding kiss, but something far more intimate and more healing. His lips met Izuku's damp, closed eyelids, the salty taste of tears didn't deter him. He moved, tracing a line of soft kisses across the high, vulnerable curve of Izuku's forehead, then down to the bridge of his nose. Izuku could only lie there, utterly exposed, the tears now flowing faster. He felt a jumble of pain and the overwhelming relief of being seen.
Katsuki kissed the tip of his nose, then moved to the cluster of freckles on his cheek, pressing his lips to the constellation of tiny spots. He worked his way across Izuku's face—the chin, the other cheek. He made sure to reassure every single part of him, claiming it, cherishing it. "You're not stupid. You're allowed to miss it," Katsuki murmured against his skin. "You poured your damn soul into that thing. It hurts, idiot. I get it." He didn't tell him to stop crying. He simply held him through it, letting the storm pass.
Katsuki lifted his head slightly, his fierce red eyes meeting Izuku's blurry, tear-filled green ones. His thumb swiped gently at a streak of wetness near Izuku's ear, but he didn't try to stop the flow. "I’m the Rank 15 hero. I blow things up for a living. You," he said, tapping Izuku’s chest gently with two fingers, "you're the goddamn brains. You're the one teaching the next batch how not to get themselves killed. You think that's nothing? That’s everything."
He sealed the speech with a demanding, open-mouthed kiss on Izuku's trembling lips, tasting the salt and sorrow, refusing to let him feel ashamed. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against Izuku's. "You're important. You're mine. You're the most special damn thing walking around, Deku. Got it?"
Izuku nodded—a weak, shuddering movement. He was unable to form words, the remaining apologies dissolving into heartbroken gratitude. He squeezed Katsuki’s hands, a desperate plea for connection that the other man immediately answered. It wasn't a gentle speech. It was blunt, laced with typical Katsuki abrasiveness. But the intent was pure, solid gold. It was exactly what Izuku needed. He let out a shaky breath, finally leaning into the touch. "Yeah," Izuku managed, a weak smile finally winning out. "Okay. I'll try."
"Good." Katsuki pulled him closer, settling his body against Izuku’s. "Now move over. I smell like villain trash and I still need a shower. But I'm too damn tired to move again."
"You're home, Kacchan," Izuku whispered into the warm fabric. He instinctively wrapped his arms around Katsuki’s waist, inhaling the distinct smell of burnt sugar and ozone that clung to the hero suit. Then, softly, he added the truth that underpinned his entire existence. "I love you."
Katsuki’s body tensed for a brief moment. He never threw the words around. Instead, his large and calloused hand left Izuku's waist and moved upward, settling securely at the back of Izuku’s neck. He pulled Izuku's head against his shoulder, burying his face in Izuku’s unruly green curls, effectively hiding them both from the world. He didn't have to say the words. That sheltering weight, that refusal to let go—that was Katsuki’s way of saying "I love you too."
"Now sleep," Katsuki muttered gruffly, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. "I’m not dealing with your tired ass tomorrow."
Izuku closed his eyes, the tears finally subsiding, feeling utterly safe. He was special enough for this.