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Rain had a way of soaking into everything.
It clung to the concrete paths of U.A., darkened the training fields, flattened the grass into something unrecognizable. The sky was an unbroken sheet of gray, clouds layered thick and heavy like they might collapse in on themselves at any moment. The air smelled damp, earthy and sharp, and every breath felt colder than the last.
Izuku hated days like this.
Not because of the rain itself. He liked rain, actually. Liked the way it sounded against windows, the way it turned the world softer and quieter. But today, it felt different. Today it pressed down on him, sat heavy on his shoulders, crawled into his chest and refused to leave.
His knuckles throbbed.
He flexed his fingers slowly, testing the ache. A dull pain flared through his hand, his wrist protesting the movement. He winced, pulling his hand back to his chest.
That was going to bruise.
Training had gone poorly. Not disastrously, but enough. Enough that Aizawa sensei had sent him off early with a sharp look and a clipped order to get it checked. Enough that Recovery Girl had sighed and muttered something about overexertion while wrapping his hand.
Enough that he felt stupid.
Izuku trudged through the rain toward the dorms, hood pulled up but doing very little to keep him dry. Water soaked into his shoes, socks squelching with every step. His uniform clung to him uncomfortably, damp and cold against his skin.
He should have been more careful.
He always should be more careful.
By the time he reached the dorm building, his shoulders were tense and his head buzzed with thoughts he did not want to think. He pushed through the doors, shaking water from his hair as he stepped inside.
Warmth greeted him instantly.
The common room lights were dim, most of the class still out or holed up in their rooms. The soft hum of the heater filled the space. It should have been comforting.
Instead, Izuku felt himself deflate.
He kicked off his shoes near the entrance and stood there for a moment longer than necessary, staring at nothing in particular. His hand still hurt. His chest felt tight. He swallowed, his throat thick.
“Deku?”
The voice made him freeze.
Slowly, Izuku turned.
Katsuki stood near the kitchen, arms crossed, expression sharp as ever, but his eyes flicked over Izuku in quick, assessing glances. Wet hair. Slumped posture. Wrapped hand.
“Tch,” Katsuki clicked his tongue. “You look like shit.”
Izuku let out a weak huff of a laugh. “Hi, Kachan.”
Katsuki was across the room in seconds.
“What happened?” he demanded, already reaching for Izuku’s wrist. His grip was firm but careful, like he was holding something fragile and did not want to admit it.
“I messed up a landing,” Izuku admitted quietly. “Recovery Girl said it’s just a strain. It’ll be fine.”
Katsuki’s jaw tightened. He peeled back the edge of the bandage, eyes narrowing.
“You pushed yourself,” he said flatly.
Izuku did not respond.
Katsuki sighed, sharp and frustrated, but his hands gentled as he let go. “Come on. Sit.”
Before Izuku could protest, Katsuki guided him to the couch, pushing him down by the shoulders. Izuku obeyed easily, exhaustion settling deep into his bones.
Katsuki disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a towel, which he promptly dropped over Izuku’s head.
“Dry off,” he muttered.
Izuku blinked, surprised, then did as told. He scrubbed at his hair, water dripping down his neck. When he looked back up, Katsuki was standing there with two mugs.
“Tea,” he said, handing one over. “You look cold.”
Izuku wrapped both hands around the mug, warmth seeping into his fingers. “Thank you.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
Rain pattered against the windows. The heater hummed. Katsuki leaned back against the couch, arms folded, eyes fixed somewhere ahead. Izuku stared down into his tea, watching the steam curl upward.
“I’m sorry,” Izuku murmured.
Katsuki snapped his head toward him. “For what?”
“For messing up. For worrying you.”
Katsuki scoffed. “Idiot. You don’t get to apologize for getting hurt.”
Izuku’s grip tightened on the mug. “I just feel like everyone else is getting stronger, and I’m always lagging behind. Like if I stop for even a second.”
“Deku.”
The way Katsuki said his name made Izuku look up.
Katsuki was frowning, brows drawn together in something that was not anger. His eyes were intense, but not sharp. Focused.
“You’re not weak,” Katsuki said. “And you’re not falling behind.”
Izuku swallowed. “But.”
“No buts.” Katsuki shifted closer, sitting on the edge of the couch facing him. “You train harder than anyone I know. You care more than anyone I know. And yeah, you screw up sometimes. So what. Everyone does.”
Izuku’s chest felt tight again, but in a different way.
Katsuki reached out, hesitated, then rested his hand on Izuku’s knee. It was warm. Steady.
“You don’t have to break yourself to prove anything,” he added quietly.
Something in Izuku cracked.
His eyes burned, vision blurring. He ducked his head, shoulders trembling as a quiet, broken sound slipped out of him. He hated this part. Hated crying. Hated feeling like this. But he could not stop it.
Katsuki swore under his breath.
Then, carefully, he pulled Izuku into his chest.
Izuku stiffened for half a second before melting into it. He clutched at Katsuki’s shirt with his good hand, fingers twisting into fabric. Katsuki wrapped both arms around him, firm and grounding, one hand coming up to cradle the back of Izuku’s head.
“It’s okay,” Katsuki murmured. “I’ve got you.”
Izuku cried quietly, face pressed into Katsuki’s shoulder. He felt safe there. Anchored. Like he did not have to be strong for just a little while.
Katsuki stayed still, letting him take all the time he needed.
Eventually, the tears slowed. Izuku sniffed, embarrassed, pulling back slightly. “Sorry.”
Katsuki tilted his head down, his forehead bumping gently against Izuku’s. “I already told you. Don’t.”
Izuku laughed weakly.
They stayed like that, close and quiet, until the rain outside softened into a drizzle.
Katsuki was the first to move, shifting so Izuku was lying against his side instead. He tugged a blanket over them both, tucking it around Izuku like he belonged there.
Izuku’s eyes fluttered, exhaustion finally catching up to him. His hand still ached, but it felt manageable.
“Kachan?” he murmured.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
Katsuki huffed. “Anytime, nerd.”
Izuku smiled, his eyes closing.
Outside, the rain kept falling.
Inside, nothing hurt quite so much anymore.