Archive of Our Own

It doesn't begin when Katsuki is in the middle of the fight. He's not training—he's not even angry. His hands have been popping since he was a kid, a tell-tale for the fury that lives behind his veins, a defense he can't help but use, even against the people that don't deserve it.

But this time, it's nothing more than a simple reaction.

His hand has been improving, slowly and surely. He's spent the last two years shouting at his physical therapist and staring down at his hand while he watches Deku or Icy-Hot spar, wondering when or how—but never if—he'll get back to one hundred percent.

His hand doesn't seem to care. He can curse it out, try and bully it into submission, but the nerves are still shot. The complex system of his arm, all jacked. The doctor said it was like a jumble of wires, too tangled to get the signals through clearly.

But Katsuki isn't a wimp. And he doesn't back down, especially not from hard things. So he has two appointments a week, he does his daily exercises, measures every new explosion he can create like he's trying to win the biggest prize. He adjusts. His other hand is good, and so he compensates—it's weak and stupid, but he's not falling behind.

So he's doing fine. It's a slow process. By the time he got close to forty percent functionality, after six months of being pushed aside as if he was just some extra, it was like being able to fly again.

Katsuki has soared since then. He's stayed right next to his classmates, next to Deku, and he barely notices the pain these days.

So it makes sense that eventually, after diligent training and pushing his stupid therapist into giving him harder exercises—because he's not settling yet, no matter what the idiot doctor says, Katsuki knows he can work harder, get better—four months away from graduating, something changes.

He's sitting at dinner, chewing on stiff yakitori, not even complaining about how overdone it is (he's a monster, but he's not fucking rude), when his hand pops.

There's a subtle one first, kind of like a warning. And then a second later, a larger bang follows, much too hot and brighter than usual, and Katsuki's knuckles twitch, a reverb from the explosion.

Katsuki can't even laugh at the shocked faces around him—Kirishima's hardening on defense automatically, Kaminari practically falling out of his seat—because he's just as surprised.

No one was even talking, just chewing mindlessly.

He stares down at his hand, scowling for a moment.

"Kacchan?"

Deku must've been walking by, or maybe he's gained the ability to teleport, because he's right there at the table before Katsuki can even blink.

He does, though, blink that is. Several times, and then—"The fuck?"

"Are you alright?" Deku peers down at his hand, eyes wide. "Did something startle you?"

"What? Of course not—" Katsuki gestures to his hand, "It just went off. Damn touchy nerves."

"All by itself?"

"Yeah, all by itself, Izuku, is your hearing—"

"Dude, Bakugo. It's been a while since you sparked like that. You burned the table."

"I didn't do anything!"

"Look. There's a little star," Mina is behind Kaminari now, and she's practically cooing. "That's so cute."

"It's not—"

But then his hand does it again, and everyone, too close all of the sudden, jumps back. Except Deku, he just gets closer, reaching out for Katsuki's hand like it's a creature he wants to observe. The dork is probably mourning the absence of his notebook, right about now.

"Did that hurt?"

"Obviously not—Hey, nerd, don't just—"

Deku presses on his hand, pokes and prods. There's no rhyme or reason to it, and even though it kind of tickles, Katsuki tries to stay still. "Is it going to go off?"

"I don't know."

The rest of them move just a bit closer, Kirishima in front, a makeshift shield for everyone else. "Bakugo, you burned the table again."

"Shut up. I didn't even scratch it."

"Oo, babe, can you go stand next to it? And Bakugo, do a pose. I want to take a picture."

Katsuki is about to start yelling, sparks sure to follow, when Deku speaks up.

"Hmm…" His tongue is sticking out now. Katsuki notices that he's already wearing pajamas, suddenly. Chibi All Might is calling 'plus ultra!' on his pants. It's weird. Deku doesn't go to bed this early, and he hasn't even eaten dinner yet. "You've been working on controlling the size, right? Along with the exercises?"

"You're the creepy fuckin' stalker. You tell me."

Deku hums again. "Do you… Do you think maybe it's, you know, like when your quirk first manifested?"

"What?"

"You couldn't control it very well then, either…" Deku looks down, and Katsuki can practically see the past in his eyes. "Auntie had to change your sheets a lot, remember? I mean, if the sweat glands were severely damaged, it would make sense that as you worked the nerves out, they've readjusted, so you don't have the same amount of control over your quirk anymore. And, well, I know you can use it just fine—you've been working on the strength and function of your hand—but maybe that's not the same as actually—"

"Oi," Katsuki tugs on Deku's hair from where he's bent over beside him, almost at shoulder height. "Stop analyzing me. It's annoying."

Deku looks a little bit sheepish, but he just straightens. "I mean, it's just an idea—"

"No, it makes sense, Bakugo!" Mina sneaks up from behind him, placing her face on his shoulder, just barely ducking when he shoves her away. "You know, your hands are getting better, so your quirk is working at full power again, no straining required. Like when you stretch out a muscle, and then grow it back stronger."

"Sometimes I still can't control my quirk," Kaminari says, "no matter how often I train. It's not that unusual."

"Fuck off, I'm nothing like you, Sparky."

Kirishima sits down again, sitting backwards on his chair. "Is it gonna mess with training? Or patrols? I mean, if you can't control it…"

"I can control it just fine. Shut up."

"Uh-huh, sure, Bakugo, because we don't need a new table now."

"Stop talking about the fuckin' table. It's fine. Cheap ass wood, anyway."

"It's okay, Kacchan. It was just an accident," Deku sits down next to him, sneaking a hand to grab one of Katsuki's skewers like no one is gonna notice. He's particularly warm, and his hands are so rough. Katsuki doesn't stop him, though. Who knows when the nerd ate last? "I'm sure Sensei will understand."

Katsuki scowls, kicking him under the table. "You shut up, too! That wasn't my fault."

"Of course not," Deku gives him a stupid grin, nose scrunching. It's stupidly annoying. He looks like a bunny.

"Close your damn mouth when you're eating, idiot, and I'm serious. Some villain probably hijacked my brain. They're gonna take over my body, and I'm not gonna do anything when they start taking all of you extras out, one by one."

Kaminari is on his phone, walking away—all of the entertainment value of his moment gone—as he shakes his head. "Dude, have you been reading those dystopian manga again?"

The way he says it is far too fucking superior. It's like he wants to die.

"He likes the end of the world romance," Mina whispers to Kirishima, who nods seriously.

"Shut up!" His hand sparks again, but on purpose this time.

*

The second time it happens, Katsuki and Deku have just finished a casual spar—one that lasted maybe an hour too long and included many short, short glances at Deku's arms, or the sweat that trailed from his forehead down his face, the curl of his lips with every smile—and they're walking into the kitchen in search of more water, Deku rambling on about something, his hands gesturing with every word.

It's not Katsuki's turn to cook tonight—that was yesterday—which is unfortunate because it means that someone else is going to make something barely edible for dinner, and he's going to have to watch Deku choke it down while giving him stern glances, always telling him not to say anything with his sappy doe eyes.

And, fine. Katsuki's gotten better at keeping his mouth shut—particularly when it's Kaminari's turn to cook, because there is absolutely no way in hell is he eating that.

So, really, when the explosion practically falls from his palm, a bead of sweat Katsuki missed, he's just doing everyone a favor.

It's bigger this time, and louder. Katsuki watches the sparks jolt to life, and then fade in an instant, a glimmering orange and all too powerful.

Mina is walking from the counter with a platter of food in her hands, her eyes catching just on Katsuki as it happens, before she drops the plate on instinct, hands moving defensively to chemically burn whoever just scared her like that.

Luckily, Deku is fast and moves them both out of the way before she can trip on top of Katsuki. Deku's hand tingles where he's grabbed Katsuki's arm, a flash of green light illuminating the mess that is now on the floor before it disperses just as quickly.

Kaminari gasps. "Mina, why'd you—"

"Bakugo, we didn't even say anything yet—"

"Did it go off on it's own, again?" Deku is whispering to him, head tilted as he peeks over at Katsuki's hand. There's a smaller explosion that follows, and Katsuki flexes his hand at the feeling.

It doesn't make any damn sense. He's just finished training—he's practically sweated out, drained of all energy and stamina—so his hand shouldn't be overreacting to walking around. It shouldn't even be able to move at this point. As soon as evening approaches, he can always feel the joints getting stiffer, feel the muscles and nerves of his hand pinch, and so he knows that he has to go easier on it, no matter how irritating it is.

So why the fuck is it popping for no reason?

"Oh, here," Deku steps away from Katsuki, letting curious eyes brush over him. He doesn't ask any more questions, though—maybe he knows that Katsuki wouldn't answer, anyway. "We'll clean up. Don't move, okay, Ashido? I'll go get the broom."

"What are we gonna do, now? We don't have any more ingredients, and I already had to make the rice twice—" Kaminari is groaning, leaning his head on the counter entirely too dramatically.

"We're gonna starve," Mina whines, her eyes seeming darker than usual. "What do you have to say for yourself, Blasty?"

Katsuki looks over, mouth poised to tell her that he has nothing to say, because he doesn't particularly care, but her eyes are deadly. She looks almost disappointed that she missed her opportunity to burn him back.

So, instead of saying anything, Katsuki just laughs, hand going to his stomach as his shoulders shake.

She looks like a pathetic, tiny dog, about to invoke her revenge on him—as if she could ever get close enough to do anything. It's not Katsuki's fault that her face is fucking hilarious.

"What's funny?" Deku asks, broom in hand. He begins to sweep the mixed pieces of ceramic and food around Mina's feet, though he peeks up at Katsuki from the corner of his eyes, lips twitching.

Katsuki just keeps laughing. It doesn't help that Mina begins to pout, pink lips a delicate flower she's probably been training—badly—to manipulate people with for the last seventeen years. He snickers and tosses Deku a rag from the counter.

"Bakugo," Kaminari moves, hanging off of him. "You're not even sorry," he whines.

"I'll show you sorry if you don't back up in the next two seconds."

He doesn't move. Katsuki elbows him, but it does nothing other than get Deku's eyes on the two of them for a moment. The nerd looks away quickly, sweeping as if his life depended on it. Katsuki frowns.

"Our dinner is ruined. Where's your heart?" Mina asks, finally tiptoeing her way out of the carnage, patting Deku on the head as she goes. "People die if they don't eat, you know."

"They'll die if they eat your shitty cooking, too."

"Hey! I'm getting better, even Sato says—"

Kamninari tsks at him, and now they're both hanging off of Katsuki—two tiny children that Katsuki should absolutely not have to deal with. Seriously, is this what hell is like? He'd been thinking he could avoid it for at least another sixty years.

He looks up to find Sero standing in the doorway, leaning against the jam and smirking at his eternal pain. All of his friends fucking suck.

"Why you gotta be so mean, Bakugo?"

Katsuki scoffs, clenching his right hand—feeling that shitty, irritating pain move through it—as he tries to push them both off again, to no avail. They're clingy like children, too. "You're just whiny fuckin' losers."

Deku, who is still picking up the scraps from the floor, which is mostly clear now, looks up. "That was a little mean, Kacchan."

"Yeah, Kacchan—"

"Kacchan—"

Mina smirks. "What happened to his leash, you think?"

"He got let off on good behavior, but that's all ruined now. Back to the kennel, dude," Sero chimes in, because he clearly lacks self-preservation instincts.

"If you three don't—"

Deku stands up and pulls on the sleeve of Katsuki's shirt, another addition to the bunch, and he grins, looking all the terrible, conniving instigator that he is. "Can you throw this away for me?"

Katsuki growls. He shoves all of them off and slams the dustpan into the trash, listening to the snickers from behind him without losing an ounce of cool. Yeah, he can be fucking calm and rational if he feels like it.

Then: "Uh, guys? What are we gonna do for dinner?"

*
Katsuki walks into the common room, and it takes him less than a second to notice Deku. It's dark, and all of the lights are off, but the rough breathing that comes from the couch is familiar, and Katsuki knew he should've shoved Deku in bed hours ago.

He overworks himself on a daily. Doesn't know how to balance school work and hero work, and has no sense of sanctity. And apparently, Deku's also been ignoring every word that Katsuki shouts at him about it. Whatever—if the nerd wants to die, he can fucking die. Not like it matters to Katsuki.

It's only four in the morning. Not early enough to shove Deku back into his room, tuck him into the All Might sheets, and kiss his fucking forehead goodnight. Plus, he deserves the sore muscles and hours of regret. If only the idiot listened, for once in his life.

Katsuki had a nightmare. He woke up with his hands steaming, sweat pooling at every inch of his skin—a shitty, sticky mess. And his heart can't seem to calm down, now. It doesn't realize that there's no damn escape from the spot in Katsuki's chest, because it's stupid. It's hyperactive, delusional, and as Katsuki approaches the couch, it only beats even harder.

Fucking stupid.

Whenever Katsuki wakes up from a nightmare like that—flooded sheets and scorching fingers—he knows that there's no use in trying to fall back asleep. The delusions are always vivid, and his body feels the adrenaline of a fight, even if it was just a shitty illusion.

So, Katsuki always gets up instead. It's only two hours earlier than normal, anyway. The extra time isn't all that bad, even if it means that he's going to be rubbing his eyes all afternoon, seeking a nap he'll never take. He's not a toddler.

He usually makes breakfast instead of lying in bed, completely and utterly useless. He bangs around in the kitchen, employing his hands and stockpiled emotions to a balanced meal, which he'll have ready before the others start crowding the counter, clucking like chickens ready for their morning feed.

And much too often, on mornings like these, Katsuki finds Deku in this exact spot. He's curled up with a pillow clutched in his grip, mouth hanging open. His hair is a tangled mess, and there's drool on the fabric of the couch, and Deku is so noisy and consuming. He takes up every second of Katsuki's life.

His face is strange asleep. It's more intimidating—harder—without the light in his pupils, smile bouncing around his face to display any and every one of his emotions. And there's always far too many.

Katsuki's heart pangs in his chest. Memories and nostalgia stomping around like they own the space.

Deku really needs to stop falling asleep here. And Katsuki needs to stop having nightmares. Neither of them is going to climb to the top if they can't even manage to get a decent night's sleep.

Still, he won't deny that it's better to wake up to this than completely alone. Deku never wakes up, so this is just for Katsuki. A moment he can look without being too overwhelmed. His heart stays within its normal range, even if that range is abnormally high.

Katsuki leans over the edge of the couch, watching for a moment. There's a notebook on the table, and one of the nerd's arm braces, a pen scattered over the edge, just about to tip off. They hadn't spent any time studying this week—Katsuki should've realized earlier. He kept hounding Deku to spar almost every day, and combined with patrol their hours were much more limited.

Katsuki sighs. Deku, in his sleep, shifts over, hair falling over his eyes. He breathes out, a bit too harshly, and Katsuki would laugh at him if he weren't so tired.

He stretches his right hand out, leaning just a bit further so he can move the hair away. His fingers brush against the smooth skin, and Katsuki wonders what the rest of it feels like. He's sure that Deku has scars where no one can see, embedded deeper than he's ever been allowed to touch.

But then he keeps walking, letting that thought air away. Katsuki might as well do something while he's got the time; Deku is going to need breakfast, too.

*
It starts happening during class. Katsuki tries not to groan too loudly when his hand sparks during the middle of their advising hour, while Aizawa is talking about police collaboration and how the HPSC has created new regulations on public information releases since the final battle. As if they don't spend half of their school hours on patrol, anyway.

Luckily for Katsuki, Aizawa doesn't stop lecturing. He just looks over, giving the boy a bland, unimpressed look—like he doesn't possibly know why Katsuki would be annoyed at this information, or why it's urgent enough to interrupt class—but he says nothing, much to the relief of everyone.

No one likes it when Aizawa starts chastising in the middle of a lecture. Especially not when it takes up the rest of the period. Education is very serious, you know.

…Maybe he's just too tired to go through all that effort today.

Still, Katsuki has to figure out a way to shut his hand up—at least for a moment, before he accidentally burns up his notes. Deku might be right, because it feels sort of like it did when he was a kid. Like his quirk has a mind of it's own, and he hasn't spent enough time trying to get to know it.

Plus, he can feel the slight squeeze as the sweat tries to ignite. He doesn't notice it with his left hand, because it's second nature. But this feels strange—like damn bugs crawling up and down his palm, trying to mess with his touch receptors.

It's irritating, though. Katsuki isn't a kid. He'd figured his quirk out years ago, months before any of his other classmates had even attempted to. He's not weak, and he shouldn't be losing control just because his hand is starting to work again.

A foot hooks under the bottom of his chair. Katsuki looks down, signature red shoes practically burning up his retinas.

Deku taps his foot against the ground, some sort of message that Katsuki isn't even going to attempt to decode. He would just turn around and look the nerd in the eyes if he wasn't worried about getting any more bland looks from Aizawa. They've been caught bickering at each other during class three too many times.

There's one more pop, like a final note in a song, and his hand finally stops tingling.

Katsuki steps on Deku's foot and laughs when he hears the tiniest—cutest—yelp from behind him.

*
Kirishima drops his quirk, breathing heavily as he chuckles. "Okay, okay. One sec, man. Geez, are you on a warpath, or something?"

"Quit complaining. You asked for my help."

Kirishima moves over to the wall, where their bags are, and tosses Katsuki his water bottle. Katsuki grumbles out a thanks, or whatever, just loud enough to be audible. "Well, yeah, but you're vicious today."

"I'm always vicious."

Kirishima laughs. He chugs some water, rubbing soppily at his mouth and he exhales, chest heaving up and down. Katsuki sighs, looking around. They're working in pairs today. Since third year started, it's felt like the teachers have been loosening the reins around all of them, bit by bit. There's less structured lectures and less supervision.

It's strange to be here without All Might going around, towering over all of them, dumb tips ringing around the walls. Or Aizawa moving in to interrupt a match with his stupid scarf.

Katsuki isn't complaining, though. He gets to work his arm out as much as he wants when no one is there to nag him about being fucking gentle with himself. As if.

"I think Midoriya's over there," Kirishima says, standing next to him, pointing at the opposite end of the gym. "Pretty sure he said he was gonna work with Shoji. Unless Todoroki kidnapped him again."

"And you're telling me this useless information, because…?"

Kirishima snorts. "You were just looking for him."

"What? Why would I be looking for stupid Deku, or stupid Icy-Hot beating each other—"

"You like seeing him all sweaty. Gets you worked up," he interrupts. Kirishima wiggles his eyebrows, already on the verge of a laugh. "Am I right? I'm right, aren't I?"

Katsuki grumbles, feeling his chest burn. Stupid blondes flush everywhere. "I'm gonna fuckin' kill you."

"Hey," he takes another drink, looking back at the different couples around the room. "I'm not judging, man. Never. Mido's hot."

It might've seemed impossible a moment ago, but Katsuki just scowls even harder, which makes Kirishima laugh even more, and then they're in an unbreakable cycle where Katsuki feels his murderous instincts kicking in, and Shitty Hair doesn't take him seriously enough.

Katsuki reaches with his left hand to shove his friend in the shoulder, growling, "If you say one more word—" and then his hand reacts.

A big explosion comes from his palm, firing just as Katsuki reaches Kirishima's skin.

Both of them jerk back immediately, Katsuki cursing, and Kirishima reacting instinctively—his shoulders hardening from the impact.

Then Kirishima releases his quirk again, and they both stare at the faint pink mark on his skin, almost a complete brand of an explosion. It's shaped like a star. If Katsuki had been any hotter, or if Kirishima had been any slower—

"Fuck. Shit," Katsuki winces, holding his hand far away from the two of them. Using the other to cover his face. "I—I'm sorry. Fuck. What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Katsuki," Kirishima starts, and then Katsuki lets off another cluster of explosions, one after another. Each one creates an even deeper furrow in his brow, an entire trench forming on his face—and his mom already nags about his highly advanced wrinkles.

There's a moment of silence. "You think it's done?"

Katsuki flexes his hand, checking for that feeling. His heart is pounding now, for absolutely no reason, and he knows that he needs to calm down. If he starts freaking out—thinking about the loss of control, or the consequences of letting such a harsh explosion off at the wrong time—then it might happen again. And who knows if he'll be able to stop it?

"It's…" he prods at the skin. "Yeah, it's done."

Kirishima sighs. "Well, I'm glad it was me," he says, rubbing at the mark. The color is already starting to fade, but Katsuki knows that it'll probably bruise. "Hey, my reaction time is getting better, huh?"

Katsuki groans, hanging his head. Something is probably wrong with him, and something is definitely wrong with Kirishima. Or he's just that fucking stupid.

"That's what you're thinking about right now, Shitty Hair? Your damn reaction time?"

"Well, Yaomomo has been giving me tips. I thought it was all going straight through my head, but I'm actually—"

"Kacchan!"

Both Katsuki and Kirishima look over to where Deku is bouncing towards them, higher than life itself. He looks like an idiot, all strapped up in his hero suit, irritating grin on his face. Katsuki's heart is still pounding. Or maybe it's just started.

Katsuki's brows raise, and he tilts his head, preparing himself for whatever nonsense the nerd is going to start spouting now. At least it will be a welcome distraction.

"Oh, sorry," Deku says, nudging Katsuki as he walks up, his compression sleeve rubbing against Katsuki's arm. Katsuki has to refrain from stepping away; he knows that Deku would just follow. "I didn't—did I interrupt you?"

"No, you're fine, man. We're all finished. I should probably go find Shinsou and Kaminari. Doubt Kaminari will be able to walk by himself again."

And then Kirishima waves and walks away, but not before giving Katsuki a completely ridiculous look, mouthing something that no competent person would be able to read. Katsuki ignores him. He also holds his middle finger up behind his back, where hopefully Deku can't see and Kirishima definitely can.

"Kacchan," Deku repeats. He's close. "Guess what?"

"What?"

"No, guess."

"No."

Deku laughs, and he jostles Katsuki's arm excitedly. "Ojirou and I were talking about old movies, and he mentioned the All Might 20XX 2D animated Silver Age special—apparently it was his favorite as a kid—and he still has the physical disc. And he offered to give it to me!"

"You already have that one, nerd," Katsuki says, clenching his hand. He's even cooler now, and he's paying attention. Nothing feels all that off, but he shouldn't let his guard down again.

"Yeah, I know, but it's with the rest of my collection at mom's, and there's no room for all of it in my dorm, so now I'll just have an extra. And we can watch it!"

"We?"

"C'mon, Kacchan," Deku shakes his arm again. "Silver Age is your favorite."

Katsuki scoffs. "That's because it's the best, stupid."

"You're crazy," Deku says, but he's grinning. "Golden Age has the cooler costumes and better movies, but okay. So will you watch it with me?"

Katsuki frowns, stretching his hands as he considers. "I guess he does look pretty fuckin' cool in that one. And the musics good."

"It's one of the best. So, later tonight? I can come to your dorm, I don't mind. Oh, and, well, I guess it could be after dinner, but that's probably pretty late for you, so—"

"I'll make us something. I'm not staying up all night so I can get fuckin' vampire eyes like you."

Deku pokes him in the side. "Uh-huh. Kacchan needs his beauty rest," he practically coos.

"Shut up. You should try it sometime. Six, okay?"

"Sounds great. I'd better go find Shoji again so Aizawa doesn't see him standing around—"

"Get outta here, idiot."

And Deku hops away again, muscles in his legs flexing as he goes. Katsuki is not watching this, of course. He's just… well, muscles should flex when a person walks, okay? It's not weird to notice.

*
Katsuki sets the mugs down on the coffee table, laughing. "You're trash," he says, sitting on the floor and wrapping his palms around his mug. It's fucking cold outside.

So cold, actually, that classes were canceled. It doesn't really matter—half of 3A were out on patrol anyway, stuck shivering in their hero costumes like a bunch of losers. But it left the rest of them with nothing to do besides sit around, shuffling through enough games and movies to rot their brains out entirely.

Plus, everyone was starting to sniffle. Viruses were almost impossible to avoid in the dorm, so the cacophony of coughs and blowing noses was always something to look forward to when winter came around.

"Not fair," Ears mutters. "You nudged me."

"That was a tactical deception," Sero tells her, setting his control down and stretching out. "Were you even paying attention to the rules?"

"You're both trash," Katsuki amends.

Sero points at the TV, pointing at the bright and shiny victory text on the screen. "I just won!"

"Took you like ten minutes. Ears hasn't even played before."

"Exactly."

"You haven't played either, Bakugo—"

"And I'd still beat both of you."

Deku giggles. He's sitting in the corner of the couch, next to Round Cheeks, with his pink nose. His big dumb eyes are focused on Katsuki, and he's got a tiny smile on his face. Katsuki knows exactly what that smile means, so he scowls, shoving the second mug towards the idiot very pointedly.

"Drink that," Katsuki demands, looking away again without an answer.

"Uh, guys?" Mina throws something from the other side of the couch, hitting Sero right in the chest. "Can't we turn on a movie now? You've been playing for, like, three hours."

"It was only three rounds. It's fun, want to try?"

"You can go against Bakugo, since he's so good, apparently."

"I don't need to prove shit to you, Ears—"

"A movie sounds good," Round Cheeks chimes in.

There's a chorus of agreement from everyone else on the couch—much to Sero's dismay—so someone dims the lights and slips a disc into the player. There's no debate over what to watch because they've seen them all already. It's Russian Roulette but with movies (the bullet is the time Katsuki has to spend suffering through another jukebox musical).

And once the lights are turned off, and Katsuki can only make out the vague shadows of the people around him, he looks towards Deku again.

The boy's got the mug in his hands now, sipping intermittently as the opening track begins to play, illuminating his face. He's a bit paler than usual, but he looks content as ever, cuddled up in a sweater and underneath a blanket.

Deku must feel Katsuki's glance because he looks over at Katsuki for a moment, finding red eyes like it's second nature.

They both stare. It feels like nothing—and everything. Katsuki shouldn't last that long because everything that Deku does is heightened in his mind and his chest, but he holds out. He keeps his eyes on the other boy, waiting until one of them lets go.

"Thanks, Kacchan," Deku mouths.

Katsuki nods.

*
Shouto is there. That's the only reason he's even doing this. If Katsuki were by himself, he would just blow them off—he's too busy to go around signing every backpack that's shoved in his face, and too antisocial. How is he supposed to be cordial with the civilians, like Aizawa keeps nagging him to, if he's burnt out from taking photos?

But Shouto says yes, so he'd just look like a bastard if he turned them away now. And it's only a couple of kids. Katsuki can deal with kids—they're honest and rational, at least. It's the adults that really piss him off.

They're patrolling today—him, Icy-Hot, and Deku. The students always get the afternoon shifts and work in pairs of two or groups of three, just in case. The work studies are different from what they were in first year, according to Deku, who says that the Pros are much more reserved with taking in students on even a trail basis, and more vigilant about allowing them to work themselves to the point of exhaustion.

Katsuki wouldn't know, so he can't disagree, but he does anyway. It's the principle of it.

Deku can't go around acting like he knows more than Katsuki does, and he also can't keep pinching at the skin of his bicep whenever he wants Katsuki to shut up. The bruises show.

One of their routes leads down to a school yard, directly across from a neighborhood with a park. Deku and Shouto like this area because of the nice people around, and the kids who always ooo and ahh whenever they walk by. Katsuki doesn't particularly like being around children, but he does enjoy the ego-boost.

Which is how they've gotten here, in this park with an entire classroom of kids surrounding them. Deku has been kidnapped somewhere else, with some brats that are far too convincing (manipulative) for their age, and completely unaware of the word no.

So Deku can't save him from this either. Well, Katsuki's been known to be generous every once and a while.

He nods at the kid, almost reluctantly, and holds a brash hand out for the crumbled piece of paper that the boy grabbed from the bottom of his backpack. It's probably sticky and infected with diseases that only kids are immune to, but Katsuki takes it anyway.

He asks the boy's name again, scribbling the Kanji out neatly, and right when Katsuki's about to add his own name, his quirk acts up.

The paper he's holding with his right hand immediately bursts into flames. Shouto, who is still standing a meter away, nodding diligently at some story a little girl is telling, is quicker than Katsuki—for fucking once—and he grabs it with his right hand, cooling both Katsuki and the pen off almost as soon as it happens.

"Fuck," Katsuki lets out, clenching his fist. "Oh, shit," Katsuki says, this time at the language. He winces. "Uh, I—"

"Here, Kacchan," Deku, with two kids on his back, one on each shoulder, who has apparently been watching this whole time, goes to grab his backpack. And then he's trailing back to all of them, kids still hanging off of him, smiling at Katsuki. "You can use this instead."

Katsuki feels too frozen, looking from between the kid in front of him—wide eyes looking up questioningly, like he couldn't imagine why an almost-pro would just burn something up out of nowhere—and to Deku, who is still smooth and perfectly calm.

He could've burnt that kid. He was right there, kneeling right next to him.

Deku rips out a page from his notebook, and only has to give Katsuki one—c'mon, before the little boy starts crying—look before Katsuki acquiesces. He doesn't need Deku's help. He just… can't deal with any tears right now.

His hand is still slightly unsteady, and he has to focus on keeping his quirk maintained, but he doesn't want anyone to notice, so he can't dwell.

Katsuki signs the new paper quickly, being vigilant with his other hand and using Shouto's tall ass shoulder to scribble on, and then he's nudging the little brat's head, ruffling his hair as he tells him to get on his way home. This time sans any vulgar language.

"That was nice," is all Deku says when he's escorted the other kids back to the playground, sliding up to Katsuki with an irritating pep to his step. He's close, and his praise makes Katsuki want to push into him.

Katsuki doesn't respond, instead.

*
The fight is over. Katsuki has Deku pinned to the ground, and this might be his favorite sight in the world—no, it is. He loves winning, loves the feeling of adrenaline fading away as he breathes, his body coming back to itself. And he loves how Deku looks like this, loves his ridiculous little smile, the squeaking inhale and exhale as the nerd tries to catch his breath. Katsuki could do this over and over.

But he has to get up eventually, if only because at some point, when he's all there again—thoughts of strategy and martial arts returning to somewhere in the background—he recognizes the feeling of the body underneath his. The strange heat of his hands on Deku, and how soft the other boy feels, how strong every limb of his body is from all the training he puts in.

He can see Deku's mouth moving as he breathes roughly, the tongue that darts out to wet his lips, as green eyes carefully catch on Katsuki's.

Deku is all-encompassing in every aspect—including his dorky face, so clear when Katsuki is this close to him, every fading shade of the freckles on his face, the curve and bump to his scar—so if Katsuki sits there for too long, he knows he'll forget that he's supposed to be moving.

Katsuki stands before it goes too far, gets too close, though, and he's still grinning wildly, entirely too prideful. They both shake off that tiny moment; it means nothing.

When Katsuki hears Deku laugh from the ground, Katsuki knows that he's really laughing at him, but that's fine for now, because he won.

"C'mon, nerd. You can suffer your lame-ass defeat after you get up," Katsuki reaches his hand out, shirt riding up his forearm.

Usually, Deku would hesitate—too aware of relying on Katsuki's bad arm, no matter how many times Katsuki grumbles about everyone infantilizing him—but maybe he's too worn out from the match, because he only grabs it, this time, his grip strong.

Which is exactly when Katsuki's hand sparks—not soft and gentle, like it's been getting these days, but loud enough that everyone else in the gym looks over—and Deku makes a sharp sound of pain, flinching away from the force like Katsuki just burned him.

Because he did.

Katsuki looks to Deku as he shakes his hand out, clenching his fist as he tries to process through the burst of pain—it'll be numb in just another moment, from the shock—then shifts his eyes to his hand. It's normal, unknowing, and when he tries to move it again, it listens.

He was supposed to be getting this under control. He was working on it.

"It's okay!" Deku says, voice high and breathy. "I'm fine. I pulled back in time, I think. It's not too bad. I've had worse," but then he hisses and tries to avert his hand from Katsuki's gaze when he looks over.

Katsuki doesn't say anything. He wants to reach out and drag Deku towards him so he can inspect the damage, but he doesn't want to hurt him again. He can only stare, face completely blank.

What did he just do?

It was different with Kirishima. He's not as fragile as Deku; he doesn't have the malleable skin, and he's always prepared for Katsuki's attacks. Why the fuck doesn't Deku put his guard up around him, knowing full and well that he could do this?

"Kacchan," Deku whispers. He gets closer again—and he really shouldn't. Why does he keep doing that?

There's usually more than one; they've learned this. It's a pattern. Katsuki can't control it, and when he tries to, it only gets worse. But Deku doesn't care, he is too close again, almost like when Katsuki had pinned him down, and he's speaking so softly that Katsuki can feel the breath on his cheek, goosebumps following someplace he doesn't want to know. "It's okay."

His eyes must be wide because everything is so clear. Deku is close again, but he's almost blurry, too. His breath is slightly shaky as he speaks, because he's still so hurt.

"It's okay," Izuku repeats.

And it builds like it always does—sweat pouring from his eyes, a total loss of control, the inevitable silence that follows every loud bang. Katsuki's face shifts, and he looks down to where Deku is injured.

It's infuriating. It's ridiculous, and he's so—

He can't look anymore. Katsuki walks away, the no, it's not falling somewhere that it can't be heard. The only sound that comes from him is another explosion, crackling as he walks away. Because he can't manage that either, anymore.

*

Deku shows up at the door, tail between his legs. He looks uncomfortably uncomfortable. Like he's the one with the issues, and not the victim of them all. He always looks a bit like that, though. Especially around Katsuki.

Since they were kids, it's been the same. Deku too nervous to sit still, and Katsuki too involved to look away.

Katsuki has showered and scrubbed his hands with an unspeakable vigor by the time the other boy gets there. He's changed his clothes, switched out his sheets, tucked his homework away somewhere that it can't be seen, and he still feels so restless.

There's nothing he can do. The training hasn't helped, his awareness hasn't changed, and he can't just go around and accidentally set off an explosion every once and a while. What if he's near something that's easily breakable? What if he's next to someone else, again?

And he can't get that little yell out of his ears. He's hurt Deku before—hurt him on purpose, aiming for the worst spots—but somehow this is worse. There is nothing Katsuki can do about it this time—not even change himself as an apology.

And so, pacing around his room and setting off spark after spark, looking for some difference in his right hand, nothing has changed. He's upset now, but that's not the catalyst anymore.

"Hey, Kacchan," Deku finally murmurs, after a moment, and he's already smiling—the damn sunshine-y idiot. "Sorry, I know it's late."

Katsuki should yell at him for being there. He's fucking tired. He's done, and looking at Deku just makes all of that worse.

"Um, can I come in?"

Katsuki catches sight of it, Deku's hand.

"Why the fuck is your hand wrapped up?"

The idiot tries to hide it behind his back, but it's covered in gauze, too bright and imposing to be missed—especially for someone as observant as Katsuki. "Oh, uh—well, I put a salve on it cause it's just surface stuff, and it really doesn't hurt too bad—"

"Did the old woman die?"

"Kacchan! Don't say that. No—I just didn't want to bother her. You know, the first years just finished their midterms today? So, Recovery Girl was really busy, and besides, like I said, it doesn't hurt that bad. It's all good, now."

Katsuki should reprimand the other boy for that. Should drag him by his ear down to the clinic and sit there with his eyes fixed on the idiot until he's gotten proper treatment. He should be knocking at Aizawa's door, demanding that he scold Deku, too.

Katsuki stares. He has no right to any of that.

"Go away, Izuku."

Deku smiles, softly, like this is a sweet nothing he's been waiting to hear. Katsuki should find ecstasy in the notion, but it only makes him sick. "I just wanted to check on you. You didn't come down for dinner, so…"

"Go away."

He’s in the room now, shutting the door, acting like everything is perfectly normal. 

"Did you get a nap in? You had the early patrol, and you seemed pretty tired earlier—"

"How many times do I have to say it, huh? Did I break your ears too? Leave."

"Kacchan, really, it's okay—"

"Don't fuckin' say that!" Katsuki shouts, unable to help it now. And he was doing so well, too, being so strong. "It's not okay. It's not fine. You're such a shitty liar, it's pathetic."

"I'm not lying."

Katsuki laughs. "You always do this. You prance around, ugly grin on your face, spouting that people are good, that there's redemption, that it's all fuckin' fine. Well, guess what, Izuku? It's not all fine. You can't get hurt and act like nothing happened. You can't let me hurt you, and then—"

Katsuki turns away. He's so angry that he's almost calm. So disappointed and guilty. And there's nothing worse than guilt, nothing worse than having nothing to do. At least he can use his anger, turn it into fucking power, hone it until it's something worthwhile. Sharp and vicious and mean.

Guilt just sticks around. It watches with big eyes, every blink just another goddamn reminder that Katsuki can't do anything. It beckons him to come forward, to get closer. And he's too weak to let it all go; he's too cowardly.

"It was just an accident, and I'll be fine. I know you didn't mean to. "

"You don't know anything, Deku."

"Kacchan. We don't have to talk about this right now, okay?" Deku tells him, almost pleading. "When was the last time you ate? Let's go get you something. I bet you're exhausted. Tsu and Yaomomo were supposed to cook tonight, I think—

"Didn't I tell you to get out?"

"Kacchan."

"Stop saying that!" Katsuki almost growls. Sparks bend at his fingertips, and he can see the sparkles in the air. It's ridiculous, it's so goddamn stupid. "'Kacchan,'" he repeats weakly. It sounds too scared. "Damn it, it's annoying. Stop saying that like it means something. You're not a fuckin' kid, Izuku, so quit acting like one."

This time, Deku doesn't say anything. Katsuki can practically hear the nickname again, this time as a bit of a reprimand. That's what he always says when Katsuki does something wrong. There's a different meaning behind it every time the word falls from Deku's mouth.

But he's only quiet. He's been cautious this whole time, trying to avoid any of Katsuki's weak spots because he's just sweet like that, so considerate, but Katsuki can see the quiver of his brows, the slight shift in his eyes, and he knows that the soft approach is over. Deku is frustrated, now.

He's so familiar with that look—who isn't frustrated with Katsuki?

Katsuki just laughs. "I'm pretty fuckin' mean, aren't I?" He asks, and it's not funny, but now he's got that grin on his face. It feels so freeing—it feels like letting everything go. Katsuki hasn't been able to do that in months, hasn't dared to let out anything he knew would bounce back, ricochet at his chest, and bleed out from his mouth, flooding every corner.

Deku doesn't answer. They both know he can't deny it, anyway.

"I'm an asshole. Arrogant and inconsiderate, and harsh. I yell more than I speak, I don't listen to anyone. And, I'm scary, too, you know? People are scared of me," Katsuki works his jaw. His chest hurts again, and he hopes it isn't something to do with his heart. He's sick and tired of going to the doctor, of being so fragile. Too late, now, though.

Deku is still frowning. It only serves to make Katsuki more upset—why is Deku always the one there, watching him fall apart?

"You ever seen Ears flinch?" He continues, almost hissing. "She'll get real uncomfortable if I yell and get too close. Kirishima, too, sometimes. Shitty Hair laughs it off, but he'll avoid me for a couple hours if I say something that gets under his skin. I could make him sob like a kid if I wanted. Wouldn't that be fuckin' funny?"

"No one is scared of you, Kacc—"

"And sometimes when I walk around on patrol," Katsuki continues, "and a brat notices me, they'll duck away, hide behind a bush, or building, or whatever. Guess I make a nasty first impression," Deku nears, so Katsuki laughs again. He watches when it shifts something in the other boy's eyes—he knows too much, but he's dumb enough that he just doesn't know when to quit.

"Or they'll just start crying. If their parents are around, I get looks. Like I fuckin' care what some extra thinks of me. I look their way, then they'll avoid me, too. Suppose I'm not very personable, huh? Not really winning any likability points."

Deku says nothing. He's standing by the door. He could make a quick escape if he wanted. He could duck away, and Katsuki wouldn't even follow. Deku could ask Katsuki to never speak to him again, to transfer schools, or work in some shithole like Otheon, and Katsuki would do it.

Except, he wouldn't, would he? He can't let go, can't let Deku hold something away from him, get any sort of advantage. So if Deku asks for anything, he'll just do the opposite. There's no other way ahead of him.

Katsuki has to dig his claws in, or what else is there?

"I'm mean, Izuku. I'm a bastard—you know what they used to say on those lame online forums about Endeavor? Well, they'll write worse about me because I'm mouthy. That's what mom says. I don't know when to shut up. Aizawa says it, too. He wants me to do more shitty PR and practice with interviewers.

"I'm mean," Katsuki repeats. "And I don't know why you can't just get that through your damn head."

"You're not mean, Kacchan. The people who know you would never think that, and if others could see—"

"See what? Me blowing up your hand? Running people off by yelling at them until they're scared?"

Deku's eyes are sad, and he's taken a defensive stance, the same one he does when there's a villain around the corner. He never blinks at something frightening; he never hesitates.

He's still not hurt—he's just concerned, just fucking sorry—and Katsuki doesn't know how to get him there. He doesn't know why he wants Deku to hurt, too.

"Stop looking at me like that," Katsuki hisses. "Like I'm wounded. Everyone treats me like that. Like some rabid animal that they need to be cautious around. And you know the worst part?"

He turns away.

"It's true. I'm mean on purpose, I say things to get under people's skin because I like their reactions, I'm harsh because I don't want to be nice, and I'm only a hero because I want to be the best. Because I'm scared of being anything else. I want fuckin' recognition. I don't care about saving people or being—"

"You know that's not true—"

"—Some goddamn symbol. I only care about myself because I'm weak. Because I'm—"

"Okay, Kacchan. Okay."

"And that—" Katsuki knocks the hand that Deku tries to grab him with away. He doesn't even have to look to know it's there. "That. You're always doing it, too. Placating me—I'm just a whiny baby throwing a fuckin' tantrum. I'm just another thing you need to fix, huh? Another person to save. You're so goddamn self-righteous and fucking dumb. Every shitty 'it's okay' or 'I understand.' You don't, Deku! You fuckin' don't. You're the golden boy, the piss-happy chosen one, you don't get it."

Katsuki groans, and his head is fucking pounding. The words are escaping him, swirling into whorls of venom, so black that he's not going to be able to see eventually; he keeps going—he'll work blind, if he has to. Deku can't be immune to this.

"And you're only going to get more hurt, alright?" Katsuki squeezes his fist, ready for the sparks. "Just look at the shit that happened today—and I wasn't even trying. Can't you see that? Or are you really that reckless? That stupid?"

Finally, Deku's face twitches. Katsuki can't tell if he's mad or just keyed up. He doesn't know, but that's enough—it's enough.

Katsuki stands up, and he doesn't grab Deku because he isn't sure what will happen, so instead he just walks right for the door, opening it and suddenly wondering if anyone else might've heard him spitting malice right at Deku. Nothing they wouldn't already know about him, anyway.

"Go," is all he says, and it's not as harsh as Katsuki means it to be.

"Kacchan," Deku says, and he seems to wince once he realizes how it sounds. Like another shh, Katsuki, calm down. Katsuki doesn't flinch. "I'm not leaving you. I—I can't. You—you're not—"

His hand sparks, and he can barely tell.

"Go, Deku," Katsuki grinds out, again. It's painful to say it, this time—but it's not any worse than seeing this any longer. Katsuki can tell that Deku is going to cry, and he can't deal with that. It was what he wanted, but maybe not all wishes should come true. "Please."

Deku's lip quivers, and he searches Katsuki's face for something that isn't there, and after a moment, he nods. He stays there for another moment—like he's waiting for the but, expecting Katsuki to keep him there, cling onto him like some kid. Katsuki won't, though, and Deku should already know that.

He does, because he steps past the doorframe, and doesn't look behind him as Katsuki slams the door.

Maybe he doesn't have anything left to say to Katsuki—maybe there's really no argument to be had. Can you argue with hard facts?

It shouldn't hurt when Deku walks away, his footsteps echoing down the hall. No, it should make Katsuki feel better, should make him lighter, somehow. It should ease the fears away, cool his hands off. It really shouldn't hurt so bad.

It does, though.

*
Katsuki avoids Deku for the next four days. It's the coward's way out. Remember what he said about facing his problems head-on? Well, apparently that only applies when he's in complete control of the consequences.

He's just a scared little kid now, sticky and all alone, and he's ducking around the house, staying out too late so his mom doesn't get a chance to scold him for doing something wrong.

Deku wouldn't scold him, and maybe that's worse.

So he ducks out of every room that Deku walks into. Luckily for Katsuki, he's been paying far too much attention to the nerd, so he can almost feel the air change before Deku appears somewhere. He recognizes the sound of Deku's footsteps from down the hallway, knows exactly when he likes to shower and how often, reserves times in the gym that Deku hates, or when he's scheduled for patrol.

Katsuki avoids the common areas and makes his meals when no one else is around, sacrificing an early bedtime to do so. He's not getting much sleep anyway. He tunes out every word of every class and then goes into his room to study until every door to every room has been shut for the night.

It's not that hard at all. He knows Deku in this way—during the day-to-day, every slight step to their shared goal. And as long as Katsuki doesn't catch sight of his face, or hear his voice murmur something too tempting, he knows that he'll be able to keep this up.

Maybe he'll last weeks or months. Graduation is soon, so he may just wear a blindfold as he walks across the podium and then go work at a high-class agency with no fucking threat of Deku appearing out of the blue.

He can't stare into green eyes and watch himself demolish the spark in them anymore. It's just not worth it.

So Katsuki's a weak coward, but that's nothing new.

Kirishima only brings it up once, two days in, when they're walking back to class from lunch. Katsuki knows that the other boy just can't hold back—he's not like that. He's caring, too, and he's learned how to read Katsuki's face.

Even if his emotions are one note—anger—they still show up as something new every once and a while. None of his friends would be here if they weren't able to catch on eventually.

Kirishima clears his throat, not bothering to get Katsuki's full attention before speaking. "Did something happen?"

"What?" Katsuki doesn't look. It's not necessary—Kirishima is just going to have his ridiculous puppy-dog eyes on, and it's going to do nothing but make Katsuki feel like he's just stolen some bone, candy from a baby, or some shit.

"With you and Mido. You've been… well, you're usually always together, but you've been hiding away in your room. And you're grumpy. If you want to talk, I'm here, Katsuki. Or if you need—"

Katsuki shoves past him, scoffing at the idea. "I don't need your fuckin’ help, Kirishima."

Kirishima doesn't touch it after that. He keeps up with Katsuki when they spar, because he's too kind and far too easy on him. But Katsuki has no other release right now, so he just keeps hitting the red head, waiting for his skin to eventually crack.

Shouto must notice, too, because he starts giving Katsuki irritating little glances. Every time they're out on patrol together, he hovers, keeping creepily silent and ignoring every curse that comes out of Katsuki's mouth. The half-and-half idiot doesn't actually say anything, though, because he knows what's good for him.

Shouto's a shit gossip, too, so it wouldn't even benefit him to find something out and report back to the rest of the idiots.

It's not till the evening of the fourth day that Katsuki finally slips up. It's just after dinner, freezing outside, and gray everywhere. Katsuki is in the gym, following his usual routine—albeit several hours later—when the door opens.

Katsuki should've been able to feel it, but working out tends to dull all of his senses. The control calms him.

Deku stands there, bag in his hands, eyes wide as he notices Katsuki.

It's only been four days, but the nerd looks run-down. He should be rejuvenated, without Katsuki around to drag him to train, or yelling expletives in his ears, but Deku looks even more tired than usual. And he's never at the gym this late—he hates routines, and likes to stay close to the dorm once the sun goes down so that he doesn't get in trouble.

His shoulders slump, and the corner of his mouth quirks, just enough for Katsuki to notice. He can't remember the last time he didn't notice something about Deku.

"Kacchan. You're up late."

Katsuki has no control over his body as he grabs his water bottle, his towel, and ID, and then books it towards the door. He's always been stupid fast, so it happens before he can really think.

"Wait, don't—" he hears Deku call. Maybe fear really does cloud the senses, because Katsuki can't hear the rest.

*
When Katsuki was nine, he got new bedsheets. It wasn't the first time—from the moment that his quirk appeared, it had been difficult to manage. Katsuki found that it reacted with the rest of his body. When his heart rate rose, even a little bit, tiny sparks would form at the base of his palms.

At that age, though, the explosions weren't dangerous enough for this to concern any of his teachers, and the doctors said it was normal. With power type quirks, there was always an adjustment.

So Katsuki went through plenty of sheets. He demanded the new All Might ones every time the sheets got bad enough for the hero's smile to turn black and deformed. His parents listened, but mostly just because it was a hazard to have his sweat-doused sheets lying around the house.

But after a year of this, it only made sense that they were getting frustrated with him, patience having burned away a long time ago. His mom usually got frustrated with him, but Katsuki knew that was just momentary. He got frustrated with her, too, but when he tripped and skinned his knees, he still wanted her to help him put the California Smash Band-Aids on. He knew that she loved him, even if her love meant lots of yelling.

So he knew when her fuse was running short, and after the tenth set of sheets, the limit was fast approaching.

His dad didn't get mad often, but he was stressed about it all the same. Katsuki was getting stronger, too, so it meant more regulated explosions and even more danger when everyone in the house was unconscious.

Katsuki would let loose at school, uncaring about the consequences of a big or small boom.

But when he got home, he practiced out in the yard. He was careful about his surroundings—the best heroes were always aware—only letting off explosions when he knew there would be no rebound, no damage to anything near. But his practice never seemed to help when he was sleeping.

And Katsuki was about to give in and start trying to stay awake later at night, so that maybe his body would be too exhausted for his quirk to work, so it would no longer seem like he was just some ignorant kid without any control, when his mom came home from work one night and handed him a bag.

"Open it," she'd said, slipping off her shoes in the genkan. Katsuki was there when she opened the door.

"What is it?"

"Just open it, brat."

So Katsuki did, but he gave her a nasty look while he did it. It was bigger than him, and when he untangled the fabric, he could see All Might looking back at him. "Sheets? But I haven't—"

"These are different. I had them made special. It took so damn long, but I think they'll finally last."

Katsuki scowled down at them, not daring to ask.

She only smiled, ruffled his hair, and moved down the hallway to his room, speaking to him as he followed. "They're resistant to your quirk. I had some pompous scientist explain it all to me. Fire quirks are common enough, so there's a market—but I wanted to be sure."

"So, they won't…?"

"Nope. Now what do you say, brat?"

"Finally!" Katsuki shouted, grinning proudly as he began to tear the old sheets off his bed. And usually his mom would've scolded him about not saying thank you, burst his eardrums completely, but she only grinned and assisted him in trashing the old sheets.

Katsuki doesn't know why he's thinking about this, currently, laying in his bed. His sheets are plain now, but they're made of the same material. After age twelve, he grew out of the random activation, but it was better to be safe. Or, at least, that's what his dad always says. He's a fragile old man.

Katsuki's glad for it right now. He wakes up with hot hands, sometimes, and knows that not much has changed since then—even though everything has.

He doesn't have much longer. Katsuki can feel it, as the minutes tick down, and it's making his palms clammy. He should be surprised that Deku lasted this long in the first place—the day after their fight, or maybe three hours after, he expected Deku to be at the door, pounding on it until someone else came out to tell him to stop.

Deku is always more gracious than Katsuki expects, though, so maybe he should've known.

Still, after his escape earlier, he knows that the grace is coming to an end. Deku is going to come to his door, maybe shout at him for once, and then what? Katsuki is still going to be hostile, and his quirk is still going to be fucked. He's still going to be a coward, and Deku is still going to have to save him, even if they both know he's playing at a losing game.

Is Deku going to just decide that everything is fine again? Is he going to smile at Katsuki, gaze at him with green eyes, and swear that none of it really matters—is he going to lie, straight up?

Does Katsuki want to live with that worry from now on—the one where he has to maintain not just his feelings, but Izuku's too? Does he want to watch Deku parse out his words, eventually decide that this jab wasn't too mean, this cruelty was only a joke, for as long as he sticks around?

To watch the other boy determine over and over again that he's really safe this time, even if he's not?

The worst part, though, is that Katsuki knows Deku won't think like that. He doesn't hold Katsuki to anything; he doesn't bite his tongue around him, and is no longer afraid of losing Katsuki altogether, in just a moment. Deku is strong. He holds himself accountable and keeps his emotions close to his chest, protecting them so that Katsuki doesn't have to.

Even if, in the smallest pit of his chest, Katsuki knows that he wouldn't mind trying.

But Katsuki can't dwell on that. He's pathetic, but he isn't an over-analyzing nerd. He's never shied away from doing something, but he has no clue what action to take now.

So he thinks about his sheets instead. He wonders if he's going to spend the rest of his life having to create different avenues to keep people safe from him. If only there were a fire extinguisher for his personality. Something he could keep with him at all times, just in case.

And then Deku knocks on the door.

"Kacchan!" he calls, like Katsuki wouldn't know the sound of his fist if it hit him in the face. "Come on. Can we talk?"

Katsuki's body is entirely numb as he goes to answer. He might as well be opening the door to his own intervention—all they need is a fucking circle of chairs and some shock factor. And a mental facility to ship him off to afterwards.

He opens it anyway. Deku looked so tired earlier, and selfishly, Katsuki misses him. He's never missed anything, but Deku has always been something other.

"Kacc—Hey," the door opens to reveal Deku, hair slightly wet, with a stupid personalized All Might shirt on. It's Silver Age and tacky. His face is wary, and he's got dark circles under his eyes, bright red cheeks almost overcoming his freckles. But the smile is grateful—Deku grins like Katsuki is a prize, and it only serves to make Katsuki frown. "Hey," he repeats, sounding almost awed.

"What?"

Deku looks down, then back up. "Can we talk, Kacchan?"

Katsuki frowns even deeper.

"Please?" he says, wide, blinking eyes. Deku is the pinnacle of manipulation—his stupid face should be enough to take down any villain with how scary and enticing it is.

"Nothing to talk about," Katsuki grumbles, the last of his restraint just holding up.

He should yell and scare Deku away. He can't.

"I'm not—I have to talk to you, Kacchan. I'm sick of you avoiding me, and I… I'm worried about you. Kirishima says—"

"He's a fuckin’ gossip. I'm fine."

"Kacchan," Deku says, shaking his head like he's disappointed, and then he walks right in, side-stepping Katsuki completely. The nerd has no boundaries. "I don't know why you're hiding from me. Or lying. You—we're supposed to talk to each other. We have to communicate. And I know you're not fine."

"I'm fine. If you're just here to make yourself feel better, to pile it all back onto me, then I'm good. I don't need this shit."

"I want to talk to you," Deku emphasizes, his brows firm. "We need to talk about it. It's not going to go away just because you're uncomfortable, Kacchan."

Katsuki laughs. "Uncomfortable? I'm not uncomfortable. If you're feeling so uneasy, then you can figure it out on your own. I'm fuckin' fantastic. I don't need anything, Izuku. I’m not some helpless extra.”

Katsuki would push him out of the room, would shove Deku away, take some joy in watching him fall on his ass—but he still doesn't want to touch him.

His heart is pounding again, and Deku doesn't even look irritated anymore. It's like he knows that Katsuki is just posturing, knows that if he waits it out, then Katsuki will break down again without Deku having to do a thing—

"I don't want to fight, Kacchan. Like I said, I'm worried. You—you look tired, and I haven't seen you anywhere, and it's… strange to not have you around. I do need you, you know? We rely on each other."

"As fucking if I would ever—"

Deku shakes his head, "I know when you're lying, and I can tell when you're upset—"

"You don't know anything, Izuku. You don't," Katsuki says, voice finally cracking.

The door is closed, and Katsuki's hands are dangerous. He can't even escape now, because he's too fucking scared to try.

"Kacchan," Deku is right there—he knows all of it—and it's too much. He's too soft and too bright. He's everything that Katsuki knows he'll never be. "I do. I know you."

He reaches out and grasps Katsuki's right hand with his own. Deku squeezes.

Katsuki looks away, shakes his head. He would pull his hand away from Deku—should, just in case—but they're shaking, and no one needs to know about that.

He's not looking at Deku, but when he starts speaking, Katsuki can feel every expression on his face.

"You…" Deku sighs. He runs a finger on Katsuki's palm. "you only go home twice a month—and I know you'll say it's because you can't stand being there more than you have to. But you go with Uncle Masaru to source material sometimes, right? And he sends you letters, because he misses you," Deku smiles, tapping Katsuki's hand. Katsuki isn't sure how he knows this. He shoves those notes into the bottom drawer of his desk, where no one should be looking.

Deku doesn't give him any time to think about it, though. "You like training with Kirishima best—not just because he's strong, or a good opponent, but you know he won't get hurt. Sometimes you erase Kaminari's name from the meal schedule and write your own. He never notices."

Katsuki is looking at him now.

The other boy licks his lips. The green eyes dart away from Katsuki for a moment, contemplative. His lips are bright pink, and his eyes are so big.

"You—when you don't get enough sleep, or don't drink enough water, you get tension headaches. I think your hands probably hurt a lot because you keep that joint cream in your bag, even though I've never seen you use it. You hate wearing any tight clothes—even though a compression sleeve would probably help with your arm—unless it's made out of that fabric your mom designed, the cool material that's resistant to your sweat, you know?"

Katsuki swallows, but Deku is right there. He should yell, or something. He should kick him out again. He should drag him out onto the school grounds and fight him until everything is burning.

He can't move. Deku's eyes are mesmerizing, his smile is hypnotic, and this is when Katsuki realizes that he has to be right next to the other boy, that he needs him like something else. That's why he can never let it go, never let Deku go, like he deserves.

But Deku is just smiling, still too hesitant. "And… when you have a nightmare, you don't go back to bed. That's when you get up and make a traditional breakfast, right? If it's really early, you make enough for everyone. And you're strong. You're so amazing, Kacchan, really. You're the strongest person I know. The bravest. You always push for what you want. You work really hard, but you're so tough on yourself."

Katsuki looks away, too angry to stare at Deku's knowing face any longer. Too scared that he can't be angry anymore.

Deku ducks his head down, though, forcing him to look back. "I know you, Kacchan."

He's not supposed to cry anymore, but he's been losing control for months now. And, truthfully, even now, Katsuki knows he's nothing more than a little boy, listening for the footsteps as Izuku trails behind him.

He swallows, throat aching. "And you still like me?"

Deku's face goes entirely slack, for a moment, and Katsuki feels the first tear fall in response. It's a losing game, at this point, or maybe it's always been. Either way, there's no winning from here.

Until—Deku's resolve turns, his eyes horrified and determined, the same face he gets before a finishing move appears, out of the blue.

And then he kisses Katsuki.

Deku is rougher than usual; his hands move to Katsuki's face quickly—like he's using One For All to push this forward—and the wet streaks down his cheeks are immediately seared. But Deku is certain, and Katsuki almost gasps when he feels Deku get even closer.

Katsuki wants to push him away, moves his hands to Deku's chest so that he can force him back, throw him on the floor, and stomp away. He can't move any further, though, because he's been rendered immobile. This is so much closer than they should be, so much closer than Katsuki has ever deserved, and yet.

It's hesitant, and so fucking frightened, but Katsuki kisses back. He's softer than Deku, but somehow it feels bigger, feels like the same igniting required to control his quirk—a thousand beautiful explosions forming around them.

Deku pulls back, quickly. Maybe he can feel Katsuki's hands heating up, too, even through his shirt. But his voice isn't even a little shaky when he says, "I like you, Kacchan. I like you so much."

Katsuki licks his lips, the feeling much stronger than it would have been ten minutes ago. And it's pathetic, but he has to ask again. "You do?"

Instead of answering, Deku kisses him again—so lightly that Katsuki can barely feel it. He must blink too much, all dazed, because Deku winces. "Oh, sorry," the other boy sort of laughs, moving back too many centimeters. "I didn't—is this—"

Katsuki kisses him in return, and Deku tastes like victory this time.

Deku is smiling, Katsuki can feel it. "I like everything about you," he whispers, his nose subtly clashing with Katsuki's as he moves his head emphatically. "You make me stronger. And happy. I—I like it when you laugh at something I did, when you beat me in a fight, and when you call me dumb."

"You're stupid."

Deku hums, like he's completely satisfied with this answer.

Katsuki can't stand this, though. "I'm…" he starts, closing his eyes. "I know I'm hard to be around. I'm not good like you, Izuku. I don't—damn it—I don't want you to… fuckin' settle, or whatever. To just… deal with me."

Katsuki knows that Deku will keep him safe—knows that he can trust the other boy with everything—because he's proven that to be true. Deku is fast and strong, and he doesn't hesitate.

But even now, Katsuki winces at the vulnerability of his words. It's painful to get them out. He can't not say it, though—not if it means getting to spare Deku this.

Too bad he already knows that it's not going to work.

"Kacchan?" Deku whispers, and Katsuki can't answer. "You're good to me, you know? I like it when you're mean, because it means when you're nice…" Deku is grinning. "Gosh. It makes me like you even more."

Katsuki can feel himself flush. This is a different feeling—a head rushing one. He has to concentrate on his hands, both on keeping them calm and nonreactive, but also to keep them where they are, Deku's grip strong on Katsuki's forearm.

Katsuki swallows.

"And," Deku breathes out, running a smooth circle over Katsuki's bare skin. "I'm going to help you figure this out, so you don't have any more accidents. We can talk to Aizawa—oh, and your doctors. I'm sure there's research, too. Whatever it takes."

Katsuki isn't sure if he should yell or start making statues of Deku, so he just kisses him instead. It eases the restlessness, at least, and Katsuki is coming to find that he likes kissing Deku. He's pleasantly warm, and when Katsuki leans up, Deku makes a sweet sound.

And then Deku pulls away, so he obviously wants to piss Katsuki off.

"And," Deku starts.

"What now?"

Deku giggles, tilting his head back and looking up for a moment. "I think you're nice."

Katsuki snorts. "I'm an asshole."

"Well… life is all about balance, right?"