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Izuku sat curled over on the bathroom stool, feet planted on the cool tile. He sighed, a scared arm holding the nozzle to his head, rinsing the last remaining suds from his scalp. He shook his hair like a wet dog, splattering water across the floor. He released the nozzle, the water seizing from its spout. Elbows on his knees, he sat there, the sound of trickling water echoing throughout the empty space. The droplets dripped from his soaked hair, landing on his planted toes.
Drip, drip, drip.
He stared at his feet, the water gathering in small, clear puddles. He wriggled his toes in the dying suds.
Drip, drip, drip.
He blinked heavily. Tiredly. In an attempt of indifference. There was no resistance in the flow of water.
Drip, drip, drip.
There wasn’t any stickiness within the foaming water. There wasn’t the viscous scent of metal biting at the hairs in his nose. Just the scent of vanilla.
Drip, drip, drip.
It was clear. It was clear. Clear, clear, clear.
Izuku gripped the nozzle, the metal squeaking within his wet grasp. The spout groaned, like the rattle of death. Water rolled down his bare body akin to a cold sweat; dread sparked at the base of his spine in the same way that it did when he got overwhelmingly anxious. And a bit scared.
Nostrils flaring, Izuku blinked aggressively, squeezing his eyes to the point where his lids would overlap like an overbite. He never kept his eyes shut for long–not even to sleep–as that’s where those moments resided. Ready to latch onto the most present parts of his mind, and drag him back into the dark.
He hated the dark.
He hated cloudy days.
He had begun to hate the rain.
So at night, when he wasn’t playing guard dog, he washed away the memories. Washed away the filth; the blood that resided in the crevices of his palms that only he could see. But no matter how hard he scrubbed, they clung to his skin, tearing at his pale flesh like the scars riddled across his teenage body. Gnawing at the folds of his mind like a parasite. Laying eggs of despair in his nerves. Festering. As he felt OFA slip from his gnawed fingers, something else was taking its place. Something else was beginning to take a hold of his soul, and he couldn’t rinse it away.
And who should he confide in? Everyone was trying so hard to move on. But in their moving on, Izuku was steadily being left behind, not just because of his mental state, but because of the state of his fleeting quirk. The future he had craved so long for was no longer within his hold; it didn’t matter how much he tried to rehabilitate his body. It didn’t matter how many strands of his own hair he tried to digest. It didn’t matter that he tried to conserve what little power he had left. OFA was dying, and a part of him was too.
In losing Tenko, he had somehow lost everything else. Could he really call that a win? Could he really call himself a hero?
Could he really muster up the courage to smile? Like, really smile from within?
Izuku, feeling his frustration cap, and his breath quicken, threw the nozzle across the ground. It clattered loudly on the tile, the sound knocking inside his skull. He rubbed his face, kneading his hands into his skin, feeling the graft of skin that had replaced his freckles. He curled his lips inward, feeling an urge. He wasn’t sure if it was to laugh or cry hysterically, to shout or throw a fit. He just needed to do something.
So he stood up, feet slapping wetly onto the floor as he hurried to the bath. He took one step in the heated water, then another, sinking until his torso was submerged. He then sank lower, sitting until his chin was just above the water.
Drip, drip, drip.
Izuku rolled his neck. That sound…it was irritating him.
Drip, drip, dri-
Izuku took a deep breath, and curled into the water, the sound around him stifled by water entering his ears. He sat on the bath floor, hugging his knees to his chest. He closed his eyes, listening to the water pulse in time with his own heart.
Thump, thump, thump.
He was alive.
Thump, thump, thump.
He was alive.
Thump, thump, thump.
Izuku was alive. Kacchan was alive. Ochaco, Eri, Jiro, All Might, Aizawa; everyone Izuku held near and dear to his heart was alive and well. The citizens were alive and well. He saved as many people as he could, but did all those lives cancel out the life of the one person he couldn’t save?
Izuku blew a heap of bubbles from his nose, his brows furrowing. He couldn’t think straight. He was just marinating in his own lamentations.
Izuku then heard a voice, muffled and gruff from within the warm water. Izuku hummed in inquiry, unfolding like a note passed in secret, and standing until his head broke to the surface. Water streamed down his face, and he flung his hair back, wiping away at his eyes. His vision focused, as he looked around the room. Chalking it up to his own imagination, he began to sink back into the water, until he heard the voice as clear and as sharp as a shard of glass.
“Oi. You’re doing it again.”
Izuku whipped his head around, hair flopping onto his forehead and eyes like seaweed. He huffed–he really needed a haircut–picking the clumps out of his sight to be met with a red glare that still held its bluntness despite being chipped at with exhaustion. Scarred arms folded into each other over a black tank, standing barefoot at the edge of the bath with black basketball shorts that stopped just below the knee. Pale blonde hair dropping in a less violent fashion, weighted by an unknown dampness.
“D-doing”, Izuku cleared the rasp from his throat, “doing what?”
Katsuki raised a brow, signaling that the question Izuku just asked was redundant since they both knew the answer. The two of them had gotten really good at reading each other’s expressions as of late. Or maybe, the ability had always been there.
So Izuku just pursed his lips, sinking back into the water until his chin hovered just above. He looked away as Katsuki padded off, footsteps receding. Izuku’s ears picked up the shuffling of clothes in the distance, and the return of footsteps. Izuku peered over to see Katsuki in one of the cubicles, unscented bathing products in hand and a towel wrapped around his torso. Izuku couldn’t help but scan the scars littered across Katsuki’s body; the splatter-like pattern across his chest, the rough tears across his arms, and the one on his cheek. Paintings of war on a canvas so young, remnants of despair on a body that should radiate nothing but youth.
“You’re staring again.”
Izuku flattened his lips, nostrils flaring. Katsuki didn’t even bother looking up from his stool as he muttered, the arm with the least amount of damage scrubbing at his scalp as he curled over. He could pinpoint that wide-eyed stare in a field of familiarity, or a sea full of strangers.
Katsuki continued to grumble as he scrubbed and kneaded–harder than his physical therapist recommended–into his right arm, swearing under his breath. But the words lacked any bite, as rough as the change of tides.
“Do you need help?” Izuku offered, and immediately cringed.
“Help yourself, first.” Katsuki mumbled, but it was more of a soft chastisement than absolute repulsion.
Just as Izuku had the habit of offering a hand in grace, Katsuki still had the habit of refusing. But he truly meant to have Izuku’s best interest at heart. Izuku did need to help himself first. But his tone said otherwise.
While Izuku stared at his own arms, keeping his vision in check, Katsuki sighed heavily under the weight of needing to correct himself.
“I can’t get my strength back if you guys keep doing stuff for me all the time.” Katsuki says, referencing all the times Izuku and his classmates went out of their way to “protect” his arm when he first started rehabilitation; carrying his books, writing his notes, washing his back, opening doors, hell, even sometimes attempting to feed him. Katsuki gave a breathy laugh through his nose, which could easily be mistaken as him blowing it. “What kind of hero can’t even wash his own back?”
Izuku halfheartedly returned the laugh, with a smile just as hollow. “I get it, Kacchan. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
Katsuki paused the spout, the water stopping the water, as the room was filled with a momentary silence. In his hunched over position, he frowned as he stared at his own feet.
Drip, drip, drip.
“Don’t sound so pitiful.” Katsuki grumbled, turning the spout back on, water pouring out in a steady stream. Izuku tucked his chin, eyes low.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
Katsuki continued to rinse off his body, flexing his tense muscles under the water as Izuku sat in the furthest corner of the bath like a sea creature, mouth exhaling bubbles as he inhaled through his nose.
The sound of running water stopped.
Drip, drip, drip.
Izuku’s nose twitched as he felt his spirit cower. The rhythmic dripping was then followed by the smack of feet on the wet tile, and the slosh of water. The bath shifted in a gentle wave across Izuku’s chin as he sat up. His eyes darted up, Katsuki stationed in the opposing corner of the bath. His arms rested behind him, propping him up, and putting his scarred chest on display.
Where a gaping hole used to reside.
Izuku’s gaze dipped again, as he sank lower.
He’s alive.
He’s alive.
He’s right there in front of you.
Katsuki simply peered at the green haired boy’s scalp, since his gaze was nowhere to be found.
“You're not going to ask why I’m here?” Katsuki spoke up in an attempt at conversation. In an attempt to get the boy to look at him, and not through him.
“Would you have wanted me to?”
“Tch.”
Katsuki scowled, turning his nose up. The nerd had a point. It would have no doubt angered him, and Katsuki couldn’t afford to be angry right now. But even so, he felt his frustration spike.
“You know,” he tried to remove the gruffness of his voice. “I tripped on your stupid blanket on the way here.”
“Ah, I did?” Izuku’s face flushed, still eying the water. “I’m…sorry.”
Katsuki wasn’t supposed to know he had been there. Again.
“You left it right in front of my door.” Katsuki tilted his head. “Tryna kill me again?”
Katsuki’s tasteless jest does get Izuku to look at him, but not in the way he wanted him to. The boy held a deep frown, eyes tearful like morning dew on grass. And regret swallowed Katsuki whole.
“That’s not funny.”
“Hey-”
“You know that’s not funny.”
“I misspoke.”
“Why would you-”
Izuku sighed, hands pressed flatly together like a prayer, and placed his hands to his forehead. Katsuki chewed on his bottom lip, shifting uncomfortably in the water.
“Hey, look,” Katsuki practically barked as he called attention to himself. He placed a hand firmly on his chest. “I’m fine, see? I’m fine."
“Kacchan, you-” Izuku found himself getting choked up as he pressed himself to the wall of the tub. “You died. You died.”
“Past tense.” Katsuki said smoothly, hand still on his chest. “I am alive right now.”
“Kacchan, you don’t get it-”
Katsuki scoffed. “You don’t think I don’t get how I died?”
Izuku clamped his mouth shut at the realization of his words, and stared at Katsuki. And despite the blonde’s snarl, there was something disparaging behind those red eyes. Izuku just couldn’t tell if that was towards him, or towards Katsuki himself.
Katsuki’s fingers trace the patch on his chest gently in routine, deep in thought.
“Everyday I am reminded that I’m on borrowed time.”
Izuku opened his mouth, but nothing seemed to come forth. So he flattened his lips, and sunk into the water, his lips exhaling bubbles as he inhaled through his nose.
Silence weighed on the boy like a wet towel.
Until that drip, drip dripping started to grate at Izuku’s ears.
“How-” Izuku sat up abruptly, jostling the water with his hurried actions. “How did…how did it-”
“How did it feel?” Katsuki finished for him. Face pale, and with a frown that seemed to be embroidered onto his face, Izuku nodded gently.
Katsuki gave a dry chuckle, his arms falling into the water with a loud slosh.
“It…” The blonde blinked rapidly, brows furrowing at the harrowing moment. He felt his ribcage pulse against the rough pounding of his heart, and he was sure Izuku could see the muscle slapping against his chest and vibrating his whole body. His hand twitched as he went back to tracing the scar, taking deep inhales through his nose, just as he was instructed whenever his heart started beating too hard. As the muscle calmed to a dull thud, he regained his courage.
“It hurt like hell, at first.” Izuku noticed that Katuski’s voice was free of fear, despite the twitch of his hands. “It felt like…something had ripped me in half. I could feel…things inside me snapping apart. I became hyper aware of how my bones felt underneath my flesh. And my blood…I could feel it circulating through my body in a hurry. Only to spill out because it had no place to go.”
Izuku shuddered, yet kept his attention rapt.
“And then,” Katsuki spoke with clarity, brows raised. “It just stopped. It felt like…nothing. I felt like nothing. Empty. A bit cold, if anything. And for that moment, I didn’t mind just staying there.”
Izuku continued to stare, his own bottom lip beginning to tremble. Katsuki paused the pattern his fingers were making across his body, staring at the water as he reminisced. His red eyes far away, someplace where Izuku’s green ones couldn’t reach.
“In that nothingness, I felt weightless. I didn’t have to bear the responsibilities of our predecessors. I felt,” Katsuki paused, looking up at Izuku. “Atonement.”
Izuku swallowed, as Katsuki continued. “And then that stringy bastard jumpstarted my heart.” His shoulders shook in cadence with his dry laugh. “And…I had never felt more alive. Hurt like shit,”
Izuku snorted behind his hand, and Katsuki tilted his head with a feeling of satisfaction. But then it slipped into a serious expression.
“But I’m alive.”
Izuku pursed his lips, a pensive expression wearing down on his face. Katsuki glared at Izuku, from his duller green hair, to his even more lifeless eyes. His scarred cheek which left an asymmetrical set of freckles on his face. His arms, which were tattooed with the residues of war.
Despite the gnarly jags, Kastuki saw each mark as a tally of Izuku’s wins. A reminder of his unrelenting will.
A reminder of everything Katsuki never was. A reminder of what Katsuki wanted to strive to be.
“OFA.” Katsuki spoke up, causing Izuku to jolt. Katsuki tilted his head, squinting at the boy. “What was it like?”
Katsuki had always wanted to ask what it was like wielding that much power, especially since Izuku had to adjust from being quirkless. He always wanted to know what it was like shouldering the legacy of All Might.
Izuku gave a painful smile. “Earning it or losing it?”
Katsuki shrugged. Which ever makes you more comfortable.
Izuku rolled his shoulders, fidgeting with his fingers underneath the water. The temperature had begun to cool, and Izuku could feel his skin pruning under Katsuki’s scrutinizing gaze. Despite their rocky past, Katsuki was the only one who he could really confide in about OFA. So his curiosity wasn’t all that surprising, but also a bit endearing. That was what caught Izuku off guard.
“At first, it was like,” Izuku spoke softly, “I don’t know…swallowing a grenade that was bound to blow at any second.”
“It was like trying to control a force of nature. Sometimes it was warm, like the sun hitting your face after a light rain. Other times,” Izuku pulled his pruning fingers from underneath the water, staring at the wrinkled digits. Each finger marred despite his best efforts. “It scorched me due to my own immaturity.”
“But when I truly got it.” Izuku’s voice, despite his calm temperament, was sharp and strong. “When I truly made it mine…it was just an extension of me. That power coursing through me was almost indistinguishable from my own blood.”
“And in losing it,” Izuku flipped his palm over, revealing the backside, seemingly reaching for a concept. “I’m losing myself. I can feel it shriveling up. I can feel that part of me dying.”
Izuku felt the tears welling up, despite his attempts at swallowing them. He felt his lungs stutter as he tried to come to terms with the fact that his journey to become a hero who could stand at his friend's side had become fruitless. How he failed to win with a smile that prevailed even in the darkest times. How he was unsuccessful at following the core of his belief; win by saving.
Sure, most of the people around him were blessed to still have their lives, but maybe if he had mastered OFA earlier, then those around him would be of sound body and mind. Maybe Jirou would still have her ear, or Hawks would still have his wings. Maybe Ochaco wouldn’t have a death on her hands to worry about. Maybe Midnight would still be alive. Maybe Kacchan wouldn’t have to reconstruct his body to handle his quirk. Maybe he could have actually saved Tenko.
Maybe, just maybe, Izuku would still have One for All.
“I’m pathetic, right?”
Izuku was full of sobbing now, globs of tears rolling down his face and into the water. He attempted to wipe at his eyes with his wrists and the back of his hand, but all he did was smear his snot and tears across his face. He was so frustrated. Sure, a quirk didn’t make you a hero, but it sure as hell helped make Izuku get a taste of his dream. He would have never been able to reach these heights if he was still the quirkless, scrawny boy running mindlessly into danger just to prove a point. He would have never been able to stand at Kacchan’s side as an equal. He would have never been able to meet his ultimate inspiration, his idol, and make him proud.
So why couldn’t he keep it?
Maybe One for All wasn’t needed anymore since the greatest evil had been decimated from the world. But did that mean Izuku wasn’t needed anymore? Why couldn’t he just hold onto this power a bit longer? Or was he only meant to be a used and abused vessel?
Izuku had considered himself lucky to have been blessed with such a gift. So why did his luck have to run out now? Did he not pray for this? Cry for this? Work so hard to prove that he was a hero deserving of such great power? Didn’t he break his body for this?
Izuku felt guilty for being so small minded, but he was still a small boy with big dreams. And if wanting to keep this quirk despite it no longer having a purpose in this world made him selfish, then dammit, he was the most self-centered person at UA. Much more egotistical and prideful than Katsuki had ever been labeled as.
“I’m so fucking pathetic.” Izuku answered for the blonde, wiping at his face until it was red and raw. “Here I am, complaining about losing my quirk when it was never really mine. I was the one on borrowed time. And it ran out.”
Izuku choked.
“Here I am, complaining that I can feel a part of me dying, when you lost your life. Some hero I turned out to be.”
Katsuki watched in a solemn silence, teeth clenched and jaw tight to keep himself from falling apart. Because out of everyone here at this dumbass school, Izuku deserved to keep his quirk. Fuck, it wasn’t fair. If he could shove a lock of his hair down Izuku’s throat to pass his own quirk to him, he would. Because Izuku would be grateful, and had been grateful.
He never complained or confided in anyone about losing OFA, even though Katsuki could see the utter despair in his eyes when everyone else indulged themselves in quirk training. Izuku had reverted back to his younger self, quiet and reserved, a bulky vessel hunched over a notebook muttering about everyone else's improvement except for his own. And when their classmates pressed him about what he was feeling, he would dismiss them, saying he was happy he had the opportunity to be a hero, even if it was as fleeting as a dream.
It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t keep what was rightfully his.
“Hey,” Katsuki gruffed as Izuku continued to cry. “You’re not pathetic.”
“Yeah?” Izuku sniffled, wiping at his nose again. “You thought so before.”
Katsuki’s tongue grew heavy in his mouth, and Izuku froze. Even his sniffles stopped,
Drip, drip, drip.
“I-I’m sorry.” Izuku apologized, his face flushed.
“Stop.” Katsuki halted the conversation, face as hard as stone.
Silence envelops the two like steam. Izuku stares at the rippling water.
Drip, drip, drip.
“I did.” Katsuki admits after a moment, and Izuku looks at him through puffy eyes. Katsuki’s angular eyes seem to soften from a raging fire to a soft heath. “But I was the pathetic one.”
“And unfortunately for you, I seem to understand you the most. So I guess you’re stuck with me.”
Izuku sighed through his nose, followed by a stifled hiccup. Katsuki eyed him one more time, as if peering into his soul, and continued.
“You should worry about yourself, Izuku.”
Izuku began to rebuttal. “I’m fine-”
“And take care of yourself. Auntie would be pissed if she finds out you’re sleeping outside our rooms again. When’s the last time you slept in your own bed?”
Red rushed across Izuku’s cheeks as he stammered. “I-I…”
“We appreciate you being concerned with us, but we are fine. I am fine. I’m still alive and kicking ass. You’ve taken good care of us.”
Katsuki’s face hardened into a scowl to overcompensate the overwhelming emotions residing beneath his skin as he watched Izuku’s eyes grow wide and his bottom lip quiver again. Katsuki’s nose twitched, and he balled his hands into fist underneath the water. A surge of determination flowed through him, and he blamed that for the pink that was undoubtedly showing in his face.
“So let us take care of you.”
‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋
After the boys toweled off–Katsuki taking extra care to moisturize his skin to help fade scarring and forcing Izuku to do the same–they found themselves in the elevator. Izuku stood there with heavy eyes, nodding off. Katsuki stood next to him, not too close, but close enough to nudge the boy to a standing position. Finally, the elevator blinked, let out a soft ding, and the doors slid open.
“Oi, Izuku.” Katsuki nudged the green haired boy, who jolted awake. “Get off.”
“‘K.” Izuku hummed, wiping at the corner of his mouth. Slouching forward, he walked out of the elevator, dragging his feet heavily with Katsuki walking a step behind him.
Izuku reached into his short pocket, lazily grabbing his key. He tiredly put it in the lock, but it didn’t turn. No matter how hard he wriggled it, the metal didn’t budge.
“My key isn’t working.” Izuku stated with a wide-mouthed yawn as he retracted the key. Katsuki walked next to him, inserting his own key and turning the lock with ease.
“That’s because this is my room.”
Katsuki walked in casually, but Izuku seemed to perk up from his drowsiness.
Izuku had never been in Katsuki’s dorm room, and the little light from the shrouded moon on the balcony was leaving much to the imagination, but it looked very plain. A bookshelf, a desk, a few posters, a lamp, and a neon alarm clock that read 2:33a.m.
“Kacchan…?”
Katsuki ignored Izuku, walking towards his bed, but not before toeing a palette of blankets and pillows on the floor.
“Since you want to sleep on the floor so bad.”
Katsuki then climbed into his bed, leaving Izuku standing in the dark doorway, brows raised to his hairline.
“I don’t…?”
Izuku didn’t get it, but Katsuki rolled his eyes at his inability to read a room.
“You wanted to make sure I didn’t die in my sleep, right?” He asked with a snark.
Izuku frowned. “Kacchan…”
“So this should be enough.” Katsuki pulled his comforter back and climbed into his sheets. “Stop sleeping outside my room like a beggar. Just knock.”
Izuku felt relief flood through his body as he clenched his shirt.
“Thank you, Kacchan.”
Katsuki grunted in response, flipping over.
Izuku closed the room door with a gentle click, and walked to the palette, which was right next to Katsuki’s bed. He sat down on the blankets, shuffling underneath the fabric and tucking his arm behind a pillow. He laid his ear to it.
He couldn’t hear the dripping noise anymore. And the tufts of blonde from Katsuki’s head seemed to pierce his eyes, even in the dark.
This reminded Izuku of the days when they were kids, sleeping over at each other’s houses. Except back then, they would share the same beds since they were smaller.
Izuku flipped over, cheeks glowing at the thought. He placed his palms on his face, cooling his skin and closing his eyes in an attempt to sleep, but the thump of his heart was too loud to succumb to exhaustion. This entire situation had honestly surprised him so much, Izuku didn’t know how he would go to sleep.
“I had a nightmare.”
Izuku’s ears perked up. He turned back towards Katsuki’s bed to see that the blonde still has his back towards him.
“That’s why I was down there.” Katsuki continued in a gruff whisper. “Sometimes…I have dreams about that day. About that moment. And my fight or flight triggers in my sleep. I sweat a shit ton, and have come close to blowing this half of the dorms and myself sky high.” He holds his right arm in the air, examining it in the moonlight. “It stunts my progress every time it happens. Doc says it’s trauma.”
“I’ve gotten good at stopping it before it gets that far, though. Like…when you have to take a piss in your dream.”
Izuku lets out a soft laugh, and Katsuki pauses. A moment passes, and then he says,
“I’m not good at talking about this kind of shit. But I can listen, Izuku.”
Katsuki then looks over his shoulder, ever so slightly, eyes smoldering in the dark.
“I can do that much. So don’t look down on me.”
Izuku swallows thickly, staring back with wide, understanding eyes. He then nods slowly, which satisfies Katsuki enough for him to turn back over.
Izuku then settles back down, staring at the ceiling with his hands folded over his stomach. He twiddles with his thumbs, tracing the scars on his hands. He hears Katsuki shuffle on his bed again.
“Hey, Kacchan?”
No response. Izuku takes another hard swallow.
“K-Kacchan?”
Izuku looks over to see Katsuki’s eyes closed, scarred arm hanging off the bed, unmoving. Izuku blinked rapidly, before sitting up slightly, inching in a bit closer to the boy’s face, heart thumping loudly as that feeling at the base of his spine seemed to cure. He then let out a sigh of relief when he felt a soft exhale leave Katsuki’s nose.
Of course the boy was asleep. It was nearing 3 o’clock in the morning. The boy was never a snorer, or a noisy sleeper; Izuku knew that from personal experience. There was no need for Izuku to panic. Kacchan was right here.
He was alive.
He is alive.
Izuku let out a sharp sigh, staring at the position at which Katsuki’s arm hung off the mattress. It seemed highly impractical, and would definitely be uncomfortable once the boy wakes. And since this was the weaker arm, it would be best to keep it propped up and secure as not to damage it any further.
“Kacchan,” Izuku whispered. “You’re going to hurt yourself like that.”
But the boy didn’t move. Izuku was then reminded how heavy of a sleeper the blonde was.
Not wanting to anger the boy out of his slumber, Izuku laid back down, staring at the mulled limb. His eyes traced the curves of each gnash and tear. And soon, against his better judgement, his hand found itself on the blonde’s wrist.
Izuku’s eyes darted to see if Katsuki was still asleep, and fortunately he was, or Izuku’s head would have been chewed off. For a couple moments, Izuku allowed his finger to trace the intricate scarring, analyzing the discoloration, the raised skin, and finally stopped at the boy’s thick wrist.
It was warm.
And when Izuku placed two fingers across the thin skin, he felt it. Strong and healthy, coursing through wide veins.
Thump, thump, thump.
Izuku let out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding, dewiness springing on his waterline. His fingers then slipped into the sleeping boy’s hand, oblivious to Izuku’s awake stature. And Izuku folded over, placed his warm forehead onto their clasped hands, and he wept silently.
His tears splattered onto the wooden floor, forming small puddles in the moonlight as he gripped Katsuki’s hand as if it were his own lifeline.
And as Izuku cried, he didn’t notice the clench of the blonde's jaw. He didn’t notice that the hand of the unconscious boy he was gripping so roughly was gripping back with as much fervor. He didn’t notice the change in the blonde’s pulse. He didn’t notice how the blonde’s brows grew taunt, or how a single tear slipped from behind his eye and soak into the pillow case.
But Katsuki noticed Izuku. He noticed more than what he was willing to admit.
He knew that Izuku was beginning to feel useless. Empty. Weightless, even if the boy was too stubborn to admit it.
So in that moment, hand in hand with the boy he cared for too much to let go, he swore to show Izuku that he was more than just an abandoned vessel.
He never wanted Izuku to feel as if he were nothing ever again. He had somehow become everything to Katsuki. A beacon of hope. A friend. A hero.
The future.
And if Katsuki could somehow escape the clammy hands of death, surely he could reignite Izuku and make him feel alive again.
He had to.