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Katsuki always knew that he and Izuku would always compete until the day they retired.
Heck, he could even guarantee that even after retirement, they’d still find a way to compete with each other. Bickering in a nursing home sounded fun to Katsuki (the thought of seeing each other grow old was a recurring past time he would indulge in).
It’s how it’s always been. It’s how they’ve always been.
Meeting each other during high school was a coincidence; what came after? It felt like fate had tugged them both at the right time and to the right destination.
Back then, Katsuki had doubted that Izuku would be of any use to him.
Izuku was scrawny. Weak. Lacked finesse. Had no grasp of technique whatsoever. Everything Katsuki hated in a person.
But Izuku had passion. Motivation. A drive that matched Katsuki’s own.
Seeing him struggle to catch up with the team; practicing in corridors during lunch breaks, getting advice from seniors and coaches, made Katsuki feel an insane amount of respect for his teammate.
The day Katsuki voluntarily set a ball for Izuku?
Wow.
That was the day they both felt a jolt of understanding pass between them. Izuku had always admired Katsuki’s skill, which far surpassed his own. Seeing and experiencing it in person? Well, that placed Katsuki in a league far beyond what Izuku could reach.
But it worked, for both of them. To become the dynamic duo known and feared by other high-schoolers. To become comrades. Partners. Friends.
They continued practicing with each other. Constantly at each other’s sides, wanting to try out a new technique or skill that they saw in passing - believing, in all their hearts, that both could be the push that they needed to achieve a win for their team.
Unknowingly searching for each other in and outside of court, taking their recess together and seeking each other for academics or sports purposes - it was impossible to see one without the other.
Sure, they fought. Their compatibility on the court rarely made up for their miscommunications off court.
However, they made it work. They always did.
Izuku was famous among his peers; he had a bright personality to match his never-ending energy. He was favored (something Katsuki used to despise without knowing why) by both genders as he accepted anyone - never caring about difficulties to communicate.
Izuku had a knack for breaking down walls the size of a dam; something he successfully did to win over Katsuki.
Katsuki knew that Izuku would go places. Meet different people. Interact. Mingle. Play. Date. Have others set the ball for him (this knowledge somehow infuriated Katsuki more than he realised).
It’s just - Katsuki Bakugo never thought that seeing Izuku receiving and spiking a set across the net from someone other than him; would hurt this bad.
Sure, after they both graduated and Katsuki was scouted early on to play at a national level, meant that he would set for other spikers. He even managed to get close with them as well, despite his prickly personality.
And, sure it had crossed his mind that he himself would then play and interact with other players as well; going through the motions to become the best of the best to represent his nation.
It just never occurred to him how painful it would be, to see someone you unknowingly yearned and dedicated your whole life to set the ball for, receiving a set from someone else.
It wasn’t his hand that ruffled the fluffy green hair after a great spike.
It wasn’t his mouth that complimented the freckled boy after managing to dodge a brutal wall.
It wasn’t his eyes that could soak the shit-eating grin that would dominate Izuku’s face after receiving compliments from him.
It wasn’t him by Izuku’s side anymore.
Someone else was there.
Someone else was standing tall beside his Izuku. His spiker. His teammate. His friend. His partner.
And that somehow made Katsuki realise something - something that he tried so hard to ignore all these years in fear or ruining the bond between the both of them.
Katsuki loved Izuku.
Loved him; in all his features, his weaknesses, his tendencies, his habits.
All of it - Katsuki wanted to become his. He wanted Izuku to be his.
Was he too late? It’s not as if they hadn’t had contact all this while.
Albeit, Izuku would usually be the one to strike up a conversation over the phone with him while Katsuki huffed out responses to the green haired chatter.
He loved it. Every second of it.
Now seeing a random brown haired dude swing his arm so familiarly over Izuku’s shoulder and had the audacity to catch Katsuki’s glare and send a smirk his way to taunt him - it felt like a declaration of some kind. A challenge. A provocation.
‘He’s my spiker now.’
The thought was left unsaid, however, it passed through to Katsuki so clearly it almost made him lunge towards the ponytailed bastard.
If it wasn’t for half-and-half, he would’ve started a fight right then and there.
But over what? Over Izuku? Was it worth it?
Katsuki banished the thought away. Of course it was worth it. Everything for Izuku was worth it.
Watching Izuku’s team win the friendly match over theirs was also worth it. A grin formed on Katsuki’s face as Izuku had managed to manoeuvre over his block to land a solid spike across the net.
Izuku grinned towards Katsuki as well. Their rivalries were so apparent even in opposing teams.
Katsuki then realised something - as he waited for Izuku at the end of the match after the post-match discussion - that what they had? It was incomparable to anything else. Unchanging. Unwavering.
Katsuki decided, as he greeted the freckled boy bounding towards him in the hallway while his sandy brown haired teammate watched from afar, that he was about to make the declaration of a lifetime.
A promise. An oath. A vow.
Grasping at Izuku’s front hoodie and bending down to kiss him- claiming Izuku, in front of everyone to see, was a thrill Katsuki wondered why he hadn’t done it sooner.
And as Izuku melted into the kiss and embraced Katsuki (hands around his neck and all), Katsuki really didn’t care what troubles he would cause his PR team to handle.
He stole a glare towards Izuku’s teammates who were gathered to watch the spectacle; some were wolf-whistling, some were grinning and one seething, looking like he was about to storm over and rip them both apart.
Katsuki dared a smirk his way and flipped him off.
Not a dare. A warning. An assertion of dominance.
That no matter how far apart they were, no matter if they played on opposing sides of the net, no matter who sets for the green eyed beauty - that nothing and no one would compare to Katsuki.
Izuku’s his.
It was a simple fact.