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Izuku should really get out of bed. It’s past eleven.
It’s a Sunday, so he doesn’t have to teach. He doesn’t have to do much of anything, and that’s exactly what he’s been doing. The only thing on his to-do list is grading. There’s nothing quite like reading the papers his first-years turn in—he hopes that his hadn’t been that bad when he was their age. They wait for him in a stack on his counter.
Izuku rolls over to the cooler side of his pillow, his back to the wall. His blanket is wrapped around his waist, and he hugs one of his other pillows against his chest. His blinds are closed, but it’s still light enough to see the mass of clothes he has yet to fold. They’re overflowing from his laundry bin and have strewn their way around the floor. Izuku’s not sure how they all got there. He tries not to look too closely—he really needs to get to those.
Reaching toward the desk beside his table, he gropes around blindly until his fingers find his phone. He purposefully doesn’t think about the time, and checks his notifications for the first time that day. There’s a video from Ochaco, a few messages about an upcoming dinner he has with All Might, as always some spam from his old class’s groupchat—how Mina stays so active in that, he has no idea—and a single text from Kacchan, from late last night. Asking Izuku if he wanted to get dinner tonight. Normally, Izuku is thrilled to know he has the option to spend one-on-one time with Kacchan. They don’t see each other too often these days. Izuku’s busy teaching—and grading, he still needs to get that grading done—and Kacchan’s got his hands full with pro hero work, and starting his own agency. So whatever time they do get to spend together Izuku gladly takes.
For whatever reason, Izuku had declined. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe a desire to be alone. Probably both. He’d blamed it on feeling under the weather, and then hadn’t answered Kacchan. He looks at the text now.
What are your symptoms?
Izuku stares at it for a while, and then clears the notification and opens his social media. He should definitely be getting out of bed now, but at this rate a few more minutes won’t hurt. He’s only been scrolling for another minute when his phone buzzes, and his eyes jump to the top to see another text from Kacchan.
How you feeling?
It makes Izuku smile. He imagines Kacchan on the other end, wherever he is—probably somewhere with Best Jeanist—his mouth drawn in an unsure frown because he always thinks about every single word he types before texting it. Izuku called him a grandpa once, which Kacchan obviously hadn’t been a fan of. Izuku debates his reply for a few minutes, buying himself time with another few scrolls. Another text comes through.
Text me back so I know whatever you're sick with hasn’t killed you yet
Izuku laughs softly and finally opens their text thread.
Hi Kacchan
Still sick :/
But alive
Sorry again about dinner
Izuku waits for a response, but after a few minutes of silence figures Kacchan’s probably been pulled into some type of work. Izuku sets his phone on Do Not Disturb and places it face down on his desk. He rolls onto his stomach and presses his face into his pillow. He can sense the unfolded clothes on his ground as if they’re slowly creeping towards him.
He has shit he has to do. He needs to get up.
But maybe just a few more minutes.
It’s Izuku’s painfully full bladder that finally gets him on his feet. He kicks his clothes out of the way and steps into his bathroom, flicking the light on. After washing his hands, he squints at himself in the mirror. His curls stick up in every direction, and his eyes are adorned with dark bags underneath. He looks a little pale, too—he really needs to be getting more sun. He cups his hands and splashes the water across his face. He stares at his reflection for a little while longer. His stomach growls quietly.
Izuku finds himself in the kitchen. He gives the essays he hasn’t yet graded a dismal glance, and then pours himself a glass of water. He forces down a couple small sips before setting the glass on the edge of the counter. He needs to do dishes, too, he thinks. There’s a slowly growing stack in his sink.
The small digital clock on Izuku’s stove says 17:05. He rubs his face with his hands and sighs, long and loud. He should really eat something, and he hasn’t worked out today—or yesterday, actually—and those papers are practically haunting him like a damn ghost. He’d promised he’d get his students' feedback by tomorrow.
Izuku rests his elbows against the counter, the top cool on his bare arms. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, slowly pushing deeper and deeper. White stars start to dance across his vision when there’s a knock on his door. It’s strong and short, two brisk raps on the wood.
Izuku lifts his head from his hands and looks at the door.
He should answer. His legs won’t move.
Maybe whoever it is will leave.
Seconds later, four more knocks pound against the door.
“Oi, Izuku! You in there?”
Izuku’s heart is suddenly in his throat. That’s Kacchan’s voice. No, he wasn’t supposed to come here, he thinks, eyes darting around his apartment. Dirty dishes in the sink. Papers strewn across his counter. Even the pillows on his couch are knocked to the side.
“Izuku!” More pounding. “Open up.”
Why is he here? Izuku has specifically avoided dinner tonight because he knows Kacchan will start prodding him with questions he doesn’t want to answer. He grips the counter, staring at the door. Maybe if Izuku doesn’t move, Kacchan will give it up.
It’s shitty. He knows it’s shitty. But Kacchan can’t come in.
“Nerd, I’m giving you ten seconds to open the door or I’m kicking it in. You know I will!”
That does get Izuku moving, because he can’t fully trust that Kacchan wouldn’t follow through with the threat. He sticks a hand through his hair with no idea if it actually tames his curls or makes them crazier. God, he hasn’t even brushed his teeth. He’s a mess.
“Alright, ten seconds is up—”
Izuku opens the door.
Kacchan stands with his fist raised, mouth open. He’s dressed in black sweats and a tight undershirt. The black material stretches across his muscular form, black fabric dipping in all the right places across his chest and stomach, around his shoulders and biceps, accentuating his extremely fit form. It’s a little distracting—of course on top of everything he had to be wearing that. He holds a takeout bag in one hand.
Kacchan takes Izuku in, eyes roaming across his face, his tangled curls, his t-shirt and baggy All Might pajamas. Kacchan’s seen Izuku look much worse for wear—broken bones, bloodied and bruised body—but Izuku still feels his face flush. He’s a mess. Not technically sick, but he knows he looks the part.
“Brought you something.” Kacchan holds up the plastic bag.
“Kacchan, what—”
Kacchan pushes past Izuku, shouldering his way into his apartment. Izuku doesn’t try to stop him.
“You weren’t answering your damn phone,” he says, “So don’t complain if you don’t like what I got.”
Oh. Kacchan brought him food. Izuku can smell the savory scent as he sets the bag of takeout on the counter, and he wants to wrap him in a hug for the gesture. He also wants to kick him out of his apartment as soon as possible. There are very valid reasons he hadn’t wanted him here.
“Kacchan, you didn’t have to.”
“I know.” I wanted to goes unspoken, but clear in the way the words come out softer than usual.
Izuku approaches the counter, where Kacchan has pushed some papers out of the way to make room for the food. Which smells very good the closer Izuku gets.
“You got electricity in this place?”
“What?”
Kacchan gestures at the ceiling. “You’ve just been sitting here in the dark all day?”
Izuku hasn’t really thought about it, honestly. The late afternoon sun is on the opposite side of his building, and it’s already fairly dark. Izuku peels open the lid as Kacchan turns the kitchen light on. It fills the room with a warm light that Izuku hadn’t realized was missing.
“What did you get me?”
“There’s this new place by the agency.” Kacchan stands across from Izuku, the counter separating them. “They deep fry everything—sounds like something good, when you’re sick.”
Izuku makes a small sound of agreement. He sits in front of the box of food, purposefully not looking at Kacchan. It’s not even that big of a lie—people pretend to be sick to call out of work all the time. But Izuku knows he can’t lie to Kacchan, about anything.
“So, you don’t answer your phone anymore?”
Izuku sighs. “Sorry. I got distracted and didn’t think to check.”
“Mhmm.”
Unfortunately, Kacchan knows that Izuku can’t lie to him, too.
“Izuku.”
He’d been trying to avoid looking at Kacchan, but Izuku can’t help his gaze from flicking up to him, not when he says his name like that. His arms are folded across his chest, his eyes narrowed.
““You’re not sick, are you?”
Izuku thinks for a moment as he holds Kacchan’s gaze. All he has to do is say he is. Just say thank you for the food, tell Kacchan he’s highly contagious, and make him leave. Because he really doesn’t want to talk about this and he knows Kacchan will ask.
Except now that he’s here, Izuku really doesn’t want him to leave. He sighs internally and drops his gaze, cursing his feelings.
“Not…technically.”
“Knew it.”
That brings Izuku’s gaze back up to Kacchan, his eyebrows raised incredulously. Kacchan leans against the sink.
“What—there’s no way you knew.”
Kacchan rolls his eyes. “You’re a whiney attention whore when you’re sick. Should’ve complained some more if you were trying to actually get away with the lie.”
Izuku squints at Kacchan. “I am not whiney. Or an attention whore.”
“Still lying?”
Izuku fights the desire to roll his eyes. He takes back his earlier thought. Kacchan can leave whenever.
“You’re so annoying,” he says, and Kacchan smirks because he knows that means he’s won.
“That’s gonna get cold,” Kacchan says, pointing at the food in front of Izuku.
“Oh.” Izuku looks around for utensils, and as if reading his mind Kacchan pulls open the drawer on the other side and hands him a pair of chopsticks. Izuku takes them gratefully.
“Thanks. This smells amazing. How much do I owe you?”
Kacchan actually scoffs. “Nothing. Duh.” He steps closer and leans against the counter, much closer now. When he blinks, Izuku can see each individual blonde lash. Kacchan pulls a piece of fried pork from Izuku’s bowl and pops it into his mouth. Izuku does the same, and wow, he hadn’t realized just how hungry he had been. His stomach actually growls as he swallows, loud enough he knows Kacchan hears it. Surprisingly, Kacchan doesn’t comment on it. Instead he suddenly stands again, and to Izuku’s horror starts moving towards his bedroom.
“You got a hoodie? I’m freezing.”
The disaster that is Izuku’s room flashes through his mind. He knows that deep down Kacchan won’t judge him, but that fact doesn’t make Izuku less embarrassed about how far he’s let it slip.
“Wait, don’t—I can grab it—”
Too late. By the time Izuku’s stood from his seat Kacchan’s down the hallway. Izuku’s apartment isn’t huge, and Kacchan knows his way around. Accepting defeat, Izuku sinks back into his chair. He’s still hungry, so he chews on his food dejectedly, head in one hand. Not how he had wanted this day to go.
Kacchan lays one of Izuku’s old All Might hoodies across the back of the chair next to Izuku. He pulls it out with a foot and sits down.
“You really know how to keep a room clean, huh?”
“Shut up,” Izuku says, staring at his food. He can only imagine what Kacchan thinks about it, about him and the lack of grip he has over something as simple as his own room.
He sees Kacchan reach towards him in his peripheral vision. Izuku turns his head as Kacchan touches Izuku’s hair. Izuku's eyes go wide and he swallows, because that’s crazy. Kacchan runs his fingers through the ends, and he gives an honest to god tug.
“When’s the last time you showered?”
Because he really doesn’t want to answer that question, and his scalp is tingling from where Kacchan’s fingers had been moments before, and Kacchan is reading him like an open fucking book, Izuku shoves food in his mouth instead of responding. He gives Kacchan a one-shouldered shrug and takes his time to chew. Surprisingly, Kacchan doesn’t push. He grabs a paper off the stack.
“What’s all these papers for, anyway?”
“Student papers,” Izuku says around another mouthful. Partly to avoid talking, and partly because he really is hungry now.
“Huh.” Kacchan scans over the first page, and snorts. “Damn, you gotta grade this shit?”
Izuku kicks Kacchan’s leg lightly. “They’re only first years.”
“And I know we both wrote better papers at that age.”
“...They’re learning.”
“Oh, right, isn’t that your job?”
Izuku lets himself roll his eyes this time, making sure Kacchan sees the overdramatic turn. “You try it sometime, it’s harder than it looks. They think they know everything already.”
“Yeah, I’ll pass. They’re all yours, professor.”
It’s not the first time Kacchan’s called him that. It’s not the first time Izuku’s liked it more than is probably normal, either. They sit in silence while Izuku eats. Kacchan looks through the other papers, occasionally laughing or pointing out phrases that he thinks are funny. It’s nice to just exist, without the pressure to answer questions or talk about anything serious. Just sitting together.
“Hey.”
Izuku startles. He’d zoned out, twirling a few leftover noodles around and around in the bowl. Kacchan’s looking at him, face unreadable.
“Wanna watch a movie?”
Izuku is a little surprised at the suggestion.
“Don’t you have patrol tonight? Or work tomorrow—either way you probably don’t want to stay up too late—”
“No patrol,” Kacchan interrupts. “It’s still early, anyway.”
Izuku sighs, pulling a knee to his chest. He knows what Kacchan’s doing. “Kacchan, I swear I’m okay—I don’t need you to like, watch over me, or—”
“Did I ask you if you’re okay?” Kacchan’s interruption catches Izuku off guard, his voice blunt. “I wanna watch a movie. You in or not?”
Izuku looks at Kacchan. He pictures the two of them, relaxed on the couch, watching a movie, just existing together. It’s not nearly the first time Izuku and Kacchan have spent time together, and not even the first time that it’s been at Izuku’s apartment—clealry Kacchan considers himself at home enough to let himself into Izuku’s room—but this suggestion, situation, whatever he calls it, feels different. Something about Kacchan’s energy…it’s softer. It’s frustrating, because Izuku doesn't need Kacchan to do this, and he doesn’t want him to feel like he has to.
But the fact that he’s doing it is also really, really nice.
“Um, yeah, that would be fun.”
Kacchan stands. He pulls Izuku off the chair by his shoulder. “Deal. You have to shower first.”
Izuku frowns. “Not fair.”
“C’mon, some water isn’t the end of the world.” Kacchan pulls Izuku from the counter and pushes him, palm flat against his back, toward the bathroom. “I’m not sitting on the same couch as you if you don’t. You smell.”
“I do not,” Izuku argues. It’s pointless, though, because he probably does. Which is embarrassing. Kacchan’s right, it’s so easy to just take a shower. He really should’ve done that ages ago.
“Go on,” Kacchan answers. Izuku shoots him a glare, but he doesn’t put any heat behind it. Kacchan’s still sitting, but facing Izuku now.
“Don’t go through my stuff,” Izuku says.
“Like I’d choose to step foot in that room again.” Kacchan makes a shoo gesture with his hand, and Izuku steps into the bathroom with one final look at Kacchan’s level gaze.
Begrudgingly, Izuku is glad Kacchan makes him shower. The hot water feels nice on his skin, not enough to burn but close. He lets it run across his face, down his body and to the drain. and chest. He doesn’t really want to wash his hair, but he thinks about the look Kacchan would give him and makes himself work the suds into his curls. He watches the bubbles spin down the drain. It would be nice to stand under the water for the rest of the night, with nothing to focus on but the warmth, but he doesn’t want to keep Kacchan waiting.
He shuts the water off and towels himself dry before wrapping the towel around his waist—he’d forgotten to grab clothes from his room. When he steps out of the bathroom, he instantly looks for Kacchan.
He’s sitting on the couch, scrolling with the remote. He looks up at the sound of the bathroom door opening, Izuku doesn’t miss the way his eyes drift down before snapping back up, his face unreadable.
“Hurry up, this movie isn’t gonna watch itself.”
In his room, Izuku pulls on the first clean clothes he sees. A plain grey t-shirt and another pair of All Might pajama bottoms, these ones dark blue with little yellow and red symbols. Izuku squeezes the last drops of water out of his hair, leaving it dry but damp, and hangs his towel up on the way to the living room. There isn’t a wall to separate his kitchen and his couch and TV, but Kacchan has turned off the lights above the counter, leaving the place dark save for the TV glow.
Although it’s his own space, Izuku approaches the couch carefully. Kacchan’s sitting on the far right. Izuku gently sits on the other end, leaving plenty of space between them—but not too much, at least hopefully not too much. He doesn’t want to make it awkward. Kacchan is wearing the hoodie he’d grabbed earlier. Something about seeing him in Izuku’s clothes, even something as simple as an old, worn-out sweatshirt, scratches at a part of Izuku’s brain. It just makes sense, Kacchan here on his couch, pale skin and features illuminated by the TV, wearing Izuku’s hoodie. It’s nice.
“What are we watching?” Izuku asks.
“I dunno, it’s your TV.”
Izuku scans over the list of movies on the screen, but nothing really catches his eye. He shrugs before looking back at Kacchan.
“You pick.”
Kacchan’s brow creases as he scrolls. Izuku watches him rather than whatever he’s searching for. He traces the way his eyebrows furrow along his brow, the way his mouth straightens as he thinks. So focused, in something as simple as picking a movie.
“I haven’t seen this one before.”
It takes Izuku several seconds to realize Kacchan spoke. He tears his gaze away from his face and looks at the TV, where Kacchan’s selected an older movie, a comedy. Izuku looks back at Kacchan incredulously.
“You haven’t?”
“I’m not a movie person,” Kacchan answers grudgingly. He pushes play and settles into the couch, eyes trained on the screen. Izuku forces himself to look away from Kacchan for the second time and turns his attention to the TV. It’s a movie he’s seen before. He lifts his feet onto the couch, heels tucked and knees pulled to his chest. He wraps his hands around his ankles and rests his chin on his knees.
He tries to watch, he really does, but sooner than later he finds himself zoning out. The main character looks a little bit like Kota, and his thoughts stray to his students. And those papers, the ones that he definitely won’t be getting done in time for tomorrow. Which he probably needs to do some laundry for the next day, or at least fold the stuff already washed so he can actually know what he does and doesn’t have. And Ochaco’s been wanting to work out with him, he needs to plan that. Not to mention that All Might wants to go to dinner, and he’s pretty sure that he originally asked Izuku days ago and he really needs to reply to him. He thinks Aizawa had asked him something recently, too, and he should be checking his phone because he’s an adult with adult responsibilities who shouldn’t let something as simple as his mood cause all of that to be thrown out of the window—
“Izuku.”
Izuku jumps. The movie is paused. He’s not sure how long he’s been zoned out, but Kacchan is leaning forward, staring at him.
“I—sorry—did you say something?”
Kacchan doesn’t answer right away. He looks at Izuku, eyes narrowed. Izuku wraps his arms a little tighter around his legs. He can’t tell what Kacchan’s thinking about.
Finally Kacchan says something.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Izuku’s instinct is to deflect, and then it’s to ignore. He doesn’t let himself do either, because obviously Kacchan isn’t going to drop it. He’d known as soon as Kacchan had knocked on the door that the topic would come up. So he takes a deep breath, sighs, and rests his head back on his knees.
“No.”
Izuku can’t talk about it. He has no idea what he would even say, and at the same time he’s terrified that if he starts talking he won’t stop. They’re both quiet, and Izuku focuses on the screen in front of him. The way the main character’s hair falls across one side of his face, mid-dialogue. In the corner of his eye he sees Kacchan shift on the couch. He finally breaks the silence.
“C’mere.”
It’s hard to see Kacchan’s face in the dark, but his eyes are soft. His feet rest against the ottoman, and the arm closer to Izuku sits on the top of the cushions. An invitation.
“What?” Izuku asks quietly.
Kacchan’s voice is almost as quiet, rough around the edges. “Come here, nerd.”
Part of Izuku, the part that’s terrified of anything beyond just friends with Kacchan, wants to stay exactly where he is. The other part of him, the one that can’t ever get enough of Kacchan, is feeling very much the opposite. So he releases his death grip around his legs, and scoots closer. He moves slowly. He’s been in close proximity with him before, but that’s always been for training, or during a fight, never…this.
Kacchan tilts his head. “It’s not like I have cooties.”
Izuku blushes. “I know.” He covers the final stretch, and settles next to Kacchan. He lets his legs rest off the edge of the couch, and they sit there side to side. Kacchan’s body radiates warmth. Izuku feels stiff, unsure of how much touching is okay. Is this what Kacchan had meant? Had he only wanted Izuku a little bit closer, not all the way? Maybe he should move back—
Kacchan wraps his arm around Izuku’s shoulders, and his thoughts stop mid-track. Kacchan pulls gently on Izuku’s shoulder, tugging him even closer. And then Kacchan speaks, his voice quiet, but mouth so close to Izuku’s ear he can feel the whisper of his breath.
“Just…relax, Izuku. It’s okay.”
It’s okay. It’s such a simple phrase, but as if Izuku had been waiting for it, his body melts into Kacchan’s side. He tucks his legs back up to the couch, but this time he rests his knees against Kacchan’s leg. Accepting this situation for everything it is, Izuku nuzzles into Kacchan’s side and rests his head on Kacchan’s chest. Kacchan’s hand drifts from his shoulder to his arm, his palm warm as his grip tightens ever so slightly. Izuku has never imagined that Kacchan would be so comfortable to lay on. And even though he’s wearing Izuku’s hoodie, Izuku can still smell his perfume—chestnut and something akin to pine, and it’s exactly how Kacchan always smells but Izuku’s in such close proximity that it makes him nervous.
“Are you sure this is okay?” His voice is barely even a whisper. In response, Kacchan actually laughs. It’s short, but Izuku relishes the way his chest rises.
“I’m the one that offered, aren’t I? Stop worrying.”
“Okay.”
Kacchan pushes play. Izuku tucks his arms into his lap. Moves them around his legs. When neither of those are really comfortable he holds his breath, takes the risk, and sets his hands on top of Kacchan’s thigh. Kacchan’s breath hitches. Izuku feels his body tense, but several moments later Kacchan breathes again and relaxes.
The movie plays on. Izuku stays cuddled into Kacchan’s side—cuddled, he’s actually cuddling with Kacchan—and he focuses on the rise and fall of Kacchan’s chest. He can hear his heartbeat, quiet but steady. When his thoughts start to wander, he’s pulled back to the present moment by the way Kacchan’s breath rustles the curls at Izuku’s temple.
Izuku’s anxiety tends to appear in physical habits—muttering, finger tapping, nail picking. He tries to stop them when they happen, but it’s like every thought and feeling that he stores up inside decides to get out a different way. At some point, he starts to bounce his leg. It’s a small movement, but his knees are tucked and he knows Kacchan can feel it. He catches it for a few seconds, but then it starts again. Catches it, stops for a moment, starts again. A repeat cycle, one that’s starting to drive even Izuku a little crazy so it has to be making Kacchan lose his mind. Izuku starts to lean away, but before he can get anywhere far Kacchan’s arm tightens around his shoulder again. Izuku freezes.
And then Kacchan grabs Izuku’s leg with his other hand. Actually grabs him, right above his knee, and holds Izuku’s leg against his thigh. His grip is firm and unmoving—unwilling to let Izuku draw away.
“I don’t mind.” It’s Kacchan’s voice, deep and rough and the same as always, except there’s something else there, too. Something new. Izuku would use the word tender.
Kacchan doesn’t move his hand for the rest of the movie. When Izuku’s thoughts wander a little too far and his body starts to respond to the anxieties, Kacchan simply squeezes softly and holds Izuku against him. It’s electrifying. And at the same time, Izuku slowly feels his body relax. His anxieties begin to lessen.
Eventually the credits are rolling. Kacchan shifts slightly, and Izuku should probably lift his head and get off of Kacchan now that the movie is over, but he really doesn’t want to do that. Not right now, not when they’re like this. Feeling brave—or maybe it’s his sleep-addled brain—Izuku pulls his legs from Kacchan’s side and scoots until he’s lying on his back, head resting on Kacchan’s lap. Kacchan tenses but doesn’t object, only watching him. When Izuku’s settled, they just…stare. For a few seconds, a minute, Izuku isn’t sure. Kacchan watches Izuku so intensely, but Izuku doesn’t look away.
“Did you like it?” he asks. He almost regrets asking, because as soon as his voice breaks the silence, Kacchan looks away. He licks his lips quickly before answering.
“That might have been the dumbest movie I’ve ever seen.”
Izuku smiles, and before he can really think through what he’s doing he grabs Kacchan’s arm and pulls it to his chest. Kacchan’s gaze jumps back to Izuku, which makes the decision completely worth it. Izuku focuses on Kacchan’s hand, running his fingers feather-light against his palm, over each callused finger.
“You’re the dumbest movie I’ve ever seen,” Izuku hums, turning Kacchan’s hand over and running his fingers over the back. His skin is always so warm. As Izuku traces his fingers along the veins that run down his arm, goosebumps cross Kacchan’s skin.
Kacchan snorts. “You pick next time.” There’s a new edge to his voice, something captivating.
Next time. Izuku likes that. He looks at Kacchan’s face, but Kacchan’s looking away. They sit like this for a while, in comfortable silence, Izuku running his hands over Kacchan’s skin, his head practically in Kacchan’s lap. It’s so easy. Has no desire other than to sit here with Kacchan. Izuku still doesn’t want to talk about it, not really, but he feels like he owes Kacchan something, and right now he thinks he could finally say it.
“It’s so hard, sometimes.”
His voice is small, even in the silence. He hasn’t quite planned out what he’s even trying to say. Kacchan looks at him again—not saying anything, just letting Izuku think. Another minute passes before he grasps the words.
“I care so much. About everything. I just want to help people. I just want to be there for someone—for anyone that needs it.” He pauses. “Like Aizawa, like All Might…like you. You’re all strong. So strong. I want to be like you.” He pauses again. Breathes in, out, and tries not to squeeze Kacchan’s palm too tightly.
“It’s so hard sometimes.” His voice is steadier now. “I need to be—I have every reason to be—to be happy, to…to smile, and to laugh…” Izuku bites the corner of his lip. He can feel the customary pinprick heat behind his eyes, the one that’s always there whenever things get serious, whenever he tries to talk about himself like this—about his feelings. He squeezes his eyes shut.
“I should be fine. I should be capable. I should be stronger. Some days, I can’t even get out of bed.” A single tear tracks the outside of Izuku’s cheek. His next breath is choppy. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I shouldn’t be like this. I shouldn’t let myself think these things, I shouldn’t…” he trails off. He doesn’t even know what else he shouldn’t be doing. He just knows it shouldn’t be this.
“Izukuk.” Kacchan's voice is loud, much louder than his own. Izuku opens his eyes to Kacchan’s scrutinizing stare. The muscles in his jaw are tight. When he speaks, it isn’t just reassuring—it’s like Kacchan’s trying to convert him.
“You’re the strongest person I know.”
Izuku shakes his head. Of course Kacchan would say that—Izuku hadn’t expected anything different. It’s what he’s supposed to say, isn’t it?
Kacchan smacks Izuku on the chest, a tap that lacks any actual force. “Don’t shake your head, damn it. Izuku, listen—”
“Kacchan, you’re supposed to say that,” Izuku interrupts, screwing his eyes shut again. He lets his hands fall from Kacchan’s arm and rests them at his sides. “It’s what everyone always says.”
Eyes still shut, Izuku feels rather than sees Kacchan move. He pulls his leg from under Izuku’s head and. And that’s fine, really, because Izuku knows that he shouldn’t be feeling like this. And Kacchan doesn’t need to be listening to him. Besides, it’s late, and Kacchan has patrol tomorrow.
But then Kacchan grabs under Izuku’s shoulders and pushes him up. Izuku yelps in surprise, opening his eyes, but he isn't ready for the momentum and Kacchan easily pushes him into a sitting position. Izuku scrambles for his balance, turning to face Kacchan, and he ends up sitting cross-legged in the middle of the couch. Kacchan mirrors his position, sitting as if he hadn’t just manhandled Izuku into his position. They’re close enough that their knees could touch if either of them leaned any closer forward. There’s a fire in Kacchan’s eyes.
Shit, did Izuku make him mad? What did he say? Maybe it was the self pitying aspect of those thoughts—
“Fine. Let me tell you something no one says to you, then.”
Izuku breathes carefully as Kacchan stares. And when Kacchan speaks it's choppy, raw and unformed.
“You should have never carried the responsibility that you did. All for One, Shigaraki, everything…Izuku, you…you were a kid. It’d be like you asking one of your first years to fuckin save the world. You know you would never do that.” Kacchan’s hands are fists in his lap. “We were all kids. We all carried shit that should have never been asked of us.”
“But we did,” Izuku says. “We did anyway, and I have to deal with that.”
Kacchan looks around the room as if physically searching for the words to say. “You’re right. You do have to deal with it. But—” he looks at Izuku— “guess what dealing with it looks like?”
Izuku can’t pull his gaze away from Kacchan’s.
“It looks like this.” Kacchan gestures at Izuku. “It looks like trying and trying and ignoring all your fucking feelings because you’re supposed to be fine. Since everything turned out okay you’re supposed to be happy. Because you won the war, right? That’s what you think, isn’t it?”
“Well…yeah. I am fine. And I’m trying to be happy, I really am—”
“Right. And that’s what it looks like. It’s all about ignoring your feelings and forcing yourself to be happy because you’ve got to keep going, there’s more to do, you got off alright because you aren’t dead, and you should be fine. That’s what it looks like now because that’s what was expected of you, back then.”
It’s too much. “Kacchan, I can’t—I don’t have a reason to feel like this.”
Kacchan raises his eyebrows. “Don’t have a reason—you serious, Izuku? Look at what fucking happened to you. You don’t think you have a valid reason to be depressed?”
Izuku stares at his hands. Broken, scarred. His eyes burn. A few tears drop against his skin, and when he speaks he barely chokes it out.
“I’m supposed to be strong.”
“There’s nothing special about being strong if you aren’t willing to look at the struggle that gets you there.”
Izuku wipes his palms against his eyes. “I don’t know how to do this,” he whispers. There’s a break, silence save for an occasional sniff as Izuku breathes, and then Kacchan speaks again.
“It starts with this.” Kacchan gestures between them. “Actually talking about it, acknowledging that it’s there. That’s how you start.”
Izuku looks at Kacchan, vision blurry. “When did you get good at this?”
It’s dark, but Izuku thinks Kacchan actually blushes. He turns his head away. Shy.
“I’ve had a lot of shit to work through, too. Still do.”
And if that wasn’t the truth. Kacchan’s been through so much. Too much. Izuku touches Kacchan’s wrist, and immediately Kacchan opens his palm. Izuku slips his fingers through Kacchan’s and holds tight.
“Thank you, Kacchan. I’m sorry. It’s late. You don’t need to stay longer.”
Kacchan tightens his grip on Izuku’s hand, and as smooth as when he’d originally pushed Izuku up, he drags him forward, right into Kacchan’s chest. He falls back, pulling Izuku with him, and they land side by side on the couch. Izuku stares breathlessly as Kacchan shifts so he’s better facing Izuku. One of Kacchan’s legs is in between Izukus. Their faces are inches apart.
“Don’t start that apology shit, nerd. I’m not going anywhere.”
Unable to look away from Kacchan, unable to think of much of anything else, Izuku nods. Kacchan’s gaze is magnifying. Lying there, he’s hit with just how beautiful he really is, every inch of him. His eyelids are growing heavy but he fights it, unwilling to look away just yet.
With one arm tucked under his ear, Kacchan wraps the other around Izuku’s waist and leaves it there, a grounding weight. Izuku’s arms are pinned between them, and he sets his hands lightly against Kacchan’s chest, one fisted in his hoodie and the other pressed over his heart. He counts the steady beats in his head, and eventually lets his eyes close. He’s so lucky to have Kacchan here, right here. Lying with him, breathing next to him, the both of them close enough they’re sharing the same air.
“Thank you, Kacchan.” He speaks directly into Kacchan’s chest, so he’s not sure if he even understands him. At some point he hears Kacchan’s voice, barely a whisper.
“Goodnight, Izuku.”
Izuku wakes up in his bed. He half expects Kacchan to be next to him, but when he reaches out he finds an empty mattress. He turns off his alarm clock and sits slowly, taking a few deep breaths in preparation for the day. Class, all day. And then those papers, he will get around to doing those papers tonight. Laundry will just have to wait.
When Izuku opens his eyes all thoughts of his day disperse. Every piece of clothing that has been scattered from the overflowing laundry bin is folded and piled, not just neatly, pristinely. They’re even organized by items of clothing. Izuku looks around to see that his desk is cleaned off, too.
Somewhat in shock, he moves to the kitchen and actually gasps out loud. His paper-cluttered counter is cleaned, papers stacked neatly. The dishes in his sink are washed and laid out to dry. On the edge of a counter sits a little note. Izuku recognizes the handwriting instantly.
Had to go to work. Good luck with those little shitheads today. Tell them I think their papers suck ass.
P.S. check the fridge
Izuku holds the note close to his chest. There’s an honest to god plate of breakfast food in the refrigerator. Izuku doesn’t even remember the last time he went grocery shopping, but somehow Kacchan managed to find what little scraps he had cooked him breakfast.
Izuku reads the note again. For the first time in a while, he can’t stop smiling.