Work Text:
Katsuki is in love.
Or so Izuku has heard.
The rumour spreads with a dramatic effect through the halls, sticking to the walls and sinking into the floors. It seeps through Izuku’s skin, into his head and coats his brain like a sticky substance, getting all up in there in between every oh so little fold and crease.
The confirmation is everywhere. On ripped pieces of paper, folded neatly, carefully handed around in class and in the giggles of his classmates. It’s almost like everybody knows except for Katsuki himself. Because Katsuki is still unbothered (or bothered) as ever.
Izuku didn’t know what he’d expected, how he imagined Katsuki in love. Would he be louder than usual? Maybe nicer? Or maybe flustered? How would Kacchan be with the one he loves? The one he romantically accepts?
He sees it clearly now. Kacchan snorting at their jokes or sneaking a lingering touch into a mildly inappropriate conversation.
He hates that the image settles so easily in his mind. It’s vivid in a way his own daydreams never are. Katsuki leaning in without bristling, voice low but not biting. Katsuki choosing someone, and choosing them softly.
Izuku swallows thickly.
Katsuki is still Katsuki. That’s the strangest part. He still snaps at classmates, still rolls his eyes at All Might posters, pretending to not fan out about them, still barks Izuku’s name like it’s an insult he’s grown fond of.
If anything, he seems… sharper. More coiled. Like there’s something under his skin that won’t settle.
If he’s in love, he’s doing a terrible job of showing it.
Izuku catches himself watching more than he should. The way Katsuki’s gaze lingers for half a second too long on people who laugh a little too brightly. The way his fingers flex when someone leans into his space. Nothing definitive. Nothing anyone else would clock. But Izuku has always been good at noticing things that don’t want to be seen.
And the worst part is that none of it looks like yearning.
It looks like restraint.
The rumours say it’s someone in their year. Someone “obvious,” whatever that means. Someone brave enough to handle him, loud enough to keep up, sharp enough not to get burned. Izuku kicks himself off that imaginary list without even trying. He’s done that for years now. Muscle memory. And yet, Katsuki’s in love with someone else. If it would’ve been Izuku, it must’ve been Izuku all along. That doesn’t align with the rumours only starting recently.
Maybe there is nothing to worry about. Not that Izuku’s ever worrying. Kacchan can do whatever he pleases to. But the thought doesn’t sit right, no matter how many times Izuku tries to repeat it to himself.
If there really were nothing to worry about, his stomach wouldn’t twist every time Katsuki laughs. Not the sharp, barking ones. Those are normal, but the quieter huffs he lets slip when someone says something genuinely funny. They're rare and most importantly: intentional. Izuku catalogues them without meaning to.
He’s being ridiculous.
Katsuki doesn’t belong to him. Never has. Never will. That truth has been carved into Izuku for so long it barely stings anymore.
During training, Katsuki’s focus is brutal and precise. He fights like he always does, all heat, but there’s an edge to it that makes Izuku’s skin prickle. Like he’s holding something back. It seems like every blast is measured against an invisible line he refuses to cross.
Afterward, while everyone else is still catching their breath, Katsuki wipes sweat from his brow and glances over, straight at Izuku.
Their eyes meet. The contact lasts half a second. Maybe less. But Katsuki looks away first.
Izuku blinks, heart skipping like it’s misfired. It meant nothing. Katsuki looks at him all the time.
The rumours don’t die down. If anything, they grow bolder. Names start getting thrown around. Izuku hears them in passing.
He watches Katsuki react to them with irritation bordering on fury. He snaps at people to shut up. Scowling deeper than usual. Telling Kirishima to mind his own damn business when he asks one too many questions.
If Katsuki were in love with someone else, really, actually in love, wouldn’t he be… happier?
Instead, he looks trapped, as if he’s bracing for impact.
The thought curls low in Izuku’s chest, but he doesn’t let it bloom. He doesn’t let himself hope that the rumour is still nothing more than a rumour. Hope has teeth. It bites hard.
Still, later that night, when Izuku lies awake, he exhales slowly, pressing a hand to his chest.
He shouldn’t think about it too much. But not thinking too much hadn’t been his strong suit, ever. And who knows that better than Kacchan himself? So maybe, even if he’s not entitled to it, he needs an answer.
He sits up again. The moonlight leaves a white streak shimmering through the window as he slides into his slippers next to the bed, before walking out the door quietly. He’s careful, like the building might rat him out if he breathes too loud.
The dorm hallway is dim at this hour, lights softened to a low glow that turns everything hazy at the edges. He hates that he’s doing this, but stops in front of Katsuki’s door.
It looks the same as every other night. Closed. A stupid little placard with his name on it, like Izuku doesn’t know him in his bones. For a second, longer than he should allow, Izuku just stands there, hands hovering uselessly at his side.
He could still turn around. This is impulsive and inappropriate. Katsuki doesn’t owe him clarity. He doesn’t owe him anything.
But then, Izuku raises his hand and knocks.
Once. Twice.
…
He swallows, chest tight, and knocks again, harder this time.
There’s a muffled sound from inside. A low curse. Then, footsteps. Izuku’s breath catches, every nerve suddenly screaming at once. The door swings open.
“What do you want, nerd?” Katsuki snaps, hair tousled. His eyes are sharp and alert, like Izuku’s knocked on his door mid-explosion rather than close to midnight.
For half a second, Katsuki looks ready to bite.
Then his gaze flicks down, takes in Izuku’s slippers, his hoodie thrown on crooked. The fact that he’s standing there, pale and tense and very obviously not fine.
Katsuki’s scowl falters. “…The hell’s wrong with’cha?” he asks, quieter now. Izuku opens his mouth, nothing comes out.
He hadn’t planned this far. Hadn’t rehearsed the words. His throat feels thick, like it’s closing in on itself.
“I-” He stops, tries again. “Can I come in?” And Katsuki hesitates. It’s brief. Barely there. But Izuku catches it. Katsuki steps aside with a huff, clicking his tongue like he’s annoyed at himself more than anything else.
“Make it quick.”
Izuku slips past him, heart pounding so hard it almost hurts. Katsuki shuts the door behind them, the sound echoing too loud in the small space.
The room smells like detergent and him. It’s comforting. Izuku stands awkwardly near the door, hands curling into the sleeves of his hoodie like he might disappear into it if he tries hard enough. Katsuki turns to face him, arms crossed. Waiting.
“Well?” he says. “You gonna explain why’re lookin’ at me like someone died?” Izuku laughs weakly.
“I heard something,” he says, finally. Katsuki’s jaw tightens.
Izuku presses on before he can lose his nerve. “Actually- everyone heard something. I know it’s stupid, and it’s probably not even true. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, but-”
“Deku.” Katsuki says his name flatly. It’s just enough to make Izuku stop rambling.
“What did you hear?” He looks like he might throw up.
Izuku inhales. The air feels heavy in his lungs as he meets Katsuki’s gaze, heart hammering so violently he’s half-convinced Katsuki can hear it.
“…They say you’re in love.” The words land between them heavily.
“…”
“Are you kidding me?” he scoffs, dragging a hand through his hair. “That’s what it’s about?” Izuku flinches despite himself. “I said you didn’t have to-”
“Damnit,” Katsuki mutters, pacing a step away before stopping himself like he hit an invisible wall. He turns back, eyes blazing with something close to frustration. Fear, maybe. Izuku can’t quite tell.
“They don’t know shit,” he says. “None of them.”
Izuku’s breath catches. “So… it’s not true?”
Yes.
Katsuki’s gaze snaps back to him. The room feels too small suddenly. Too quiet.
“I didn’t say that,” Katsuki says.
Oh.
Izuku’s heart sinks. Of course it couldn’t be that easy.
Katsuki exhales, shoulders tense. “You shouldn’t listen to rumours,” he adds, quieter. “They’re idiots.” Izuku nods, because that’s what he’s good at. Nodding, accepting and swallowing things down until they stop hurting.
“I know,” he says, voice small despite his effort. “I just- I needed to hear it from you.” That makes Katsuki freeze.
He turns his back for a moment, jaw clenched, hands fisting at his sides like he’s trying to physically hold himself together. Izuku watches him, heart in his throat, already regretting everything. This was a mistake. He overstepped. He-
“Deku.” Katsuki says it again, rougher this time.
Izuku looks up but Katsuki doesn’t face him yet. His shoulders rise and fall once. Twice. When he finally turns around, the anger is gone.
“You ever think,” Katsuki starts, then stops. Scoffs under his breath. “No. ‘s stupid.” He drags a hand over his face, pacing again, like the words physically won’t let him stay still. “They didn’t start recently,” he mutters. “The rumours.”
Izuku’s chest tightens. “What do you mean?”
Katsuki laughs once. “I mean I didn’t wake up one day suddenly in love.” His eyes flick to Izuku, then away just as fast. “I’ve been dealin’ with this shit for years.”
Years.
Izuku’s breath stutters.
“I just stopped pretendin’ it wasn’t there,” Katsuki continues, voice lower now. “That’s all.”
Izuku feels like he’s standing on the edge of something irreversible. But he’s not sure if he really wants to go back.
“Kacchan…” His voice grows almost silent. “Who-”
“You,” Katsuki says.
It comes out instinctive. Like it’s been waiting for its turn.
Izuku blinks.
“What?” he whispers.
Katsuki looks at him then. With bright eyes. They’re not angry, like he’d expected, but painfully earnest. Terrified, almost.
“You,” he repeats. “It’s always been you.”
Izuku’s world tilts.
“That’s why I’m not happy,” Katsuki says, jaw tight. “That’s why it pisses me off when people talk. They don’t get it. They don’t get you.” He exhales hard. “I didn’t want this. Didn’t plan it. I tried to shove it down and ignore it and pretend it was just… whatever..”
He steps closer.
“But it’s not,” Katsuki says, quieter now. “It’s you.”
Izuku’s chest feels like it’s going to cave in. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, barely audible.
Katsuki’s mouth twists. “Because you deserve better than someone who only knows how to blow shit up,” he says. “And because I don’t think you’d ever-”
Izuku doesn’t let him finish. He steps forward, hands curling into Katsuki’s shirt like muscle memory finally being allowed to exist. Katsuki startles, eyes widening slightly before Izuku presses their mouths together.
It’s not smooth nor practiced. But it’s warm and hesitant and desperate, Izuku’s lips trembling against Katsuki’s like he’s afraid this will vanish if he doesn’t hold onto it tight enough. For a split second, Katsuki is frozen.
But then, he melts.
One hand comes up softly at Izuku’s jaw, thumb brushing his cheek like it belongs there. Katsuki kisses back with a low sound in his throat, like he’s holding back a lifetime of want.
When they pull apart, both of them are breathing hard.
Izuku rests his forehead against Katsuki’s, eyes shut, smiling so softly it almost hurts. “It’s me,” he murmurs.
Katsuki snorts, breath warm against Izuku’s lips. “Took you long enough to notice.”
This time, when Izuku kisses him again, Katsuki doesn’t hesitate at all.
Yeah, Katsuki is so in love.