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Izuku Midoryia had a hatred for the rain.
Rainy weather was a typical thing in Japan. Musutafu was no exception. When June was nearing to an end, Izuku took notice of the clouds closing in. Many people viewed rain as therapeutic, the way the sound of the droplets pitter-pattering on the cold pavement was calming, the scent of an earthy, musky, fresh aroma filling your lungs. Others found it a nuisance. An inconvenience, causing late trains and wet, freezing clothes, streets crowded with umbrellas and people standing still.
Izuku felt neither of these things. Usually, whenever rainfall was foreshadowed, Izuku couldn’t help but feel a pit of dread settle in his stomach. Unbounced to most people, Izuku found the sound of the rain being irrationally nerve-racking. On rainy days like these, Izuku had the habit of feeling more restless than usual. His hands would shake, his mind went elsewhere, and Izuku absolutely could not stand the scent of the wet soil and concrete. The aroma occasionally brought him back to the battlefield the moment it hit him.
Of course, Izuku didn’t always feel this way about the rain. During his high school days at UA, Izuku was very fond of the rain. He used it as background noise for studying or reading a book, he had enjoyed long walks in the rain, or hooking himself up with a hot beverage. It was the coziness of it all that made this weather so delightful for Izuku. However, after the war, most of the class was rightfully disheveled. Things that were so enjoyable and fun for class 1A were now unbearable. For Izuku, rain was one of these things that fell into such a category.
Yet, here Izuku Midoriya stands. Outside of a shopping district in the pouring rain-still brave enough to leave the house in these weather conditions apparently. His blue and gold Allmight umbrella, being his only comfort in the downpour, was tightly grasped in his calloused hands which his gloves hid away. On his opposite arm, bags draped limply, inhabiting a variety of items. There was an abundance of different kinds of produce and fruits, as well as more stationary for Izuku’s favorite hobby, his own personal reward for a successful shopping trip.
Izuku wore his hood up. He didn’t want any run-ins with fans, especially in his gloomy mood. His fans wouldn’t want to see the top hero-Japan’s sweetheart- seeming negative and annoyed with them. Now, as Izuku paced through puddles and through the crowds, there was not a single energetic bone in his body. There was nothing the hero wanted to do more than to lie down and take a nap. The thought of his comfortable, warm bed in contrast to the cold, depressing weather, made him smile. The thought of this contrived Izuku to already feel sleepy.
He immediately slumped into bed, letting his body melt into the mattress and his eyelids droop.
_
Izuku was soaring through the air at a stressful pace. His brain was going at a mile per minute, and somehow-someway he just had to be faster. He had to reach Kacchan and the others before it was too late. The sea-salt became a foul aroma. As Izuku felt himself get closer to returning to his place in the coffin, fighting Tomura Shigaraki, the clouds around him began to gather. The thickness of the clouds became menacing, the air was colder, the gray was replacing the usual blue.
Izuku arrived at the scene, his landing kicking up dust around his boots. His voice was shaking from the adrenaline pumping through his veins, yet his tone was firm. “Sorry I’m late!”
The first thing Izuku noticed was the strong smell of wet dirt and blood. The second thing was Shigaraki’s menacing, raspy voice ringing in his ears.
“I got you a present. Sorry it isn’t wrapped.”
In that moment, the smell of blood became the only thing Izuku could register. That, and the unmoving, lifeless body of a hero. His best friend, his hero, now reduced to a corpse. He looked mangled and bloody, as if his body was already rotten. The hole in chest leaked red, his abdomen had the absence of breath and coated with crimson, and his arm reduced to nothing. The sea of red painted the battlefield. It looked like Shigaraki just cast him aside, as if Kacchan was the most insignificant, unimportant thing on the planet. Izuku filtered out the commotion around him after that. The only thing he could see in his field of vision was the corpse of Katsuki Bakugo. His eyes would not let him look anywhere else otherwise.
Izuku’s breathing was reduced to quick gasps of air.
Blackwhip filled his surroundings, thrashing and crashing around his body. The energy of One for All burst out of him, yet Izuku still could not look away from Kacchan. The sky taunted him with droplets of rain, falling on the bloodied dirt carelessly. Izuku was late. He wasn’t fast enough, and Kacchan suffered the ultimate price. How long did he have to fight without Izuku, just to get mauled by Shigaraki? How long was Izuku not there?
The moment Izuku entered that portal, he may as well have murdered Kacchan himself. He felt sick to his core.
-
Izuku woke with a gasp, he was drenched disgustingly in sweat, and had the taste of blood in his mouth. The image of Kacchan, laying motionless on the ground-being tossed aside as if he were nothing-was still undoubtedly fresh in Izuku’s mind. Just as the idea made him feel sick to his stomach, bile rose to Izuku's throat. In response, Izuku rushed over to the bathroom with limited urgency-still feeling disoriented from this nightmare.
Izuku folded his arms on the toilet seat as he wrenched bile and stomach acid up. Part of him felt disgusting. He felt like a failure for letting Kacchan die, all because he wasn’t fast enough. The other part of him was trying to convince himself that it was just a nightmare. As Izuku continued to regurgitate the awful substance, that side of him proceeded to let him down. His head pounded as he leaned over the bowl.
“Izuku? Izuku!” Kacchan rushed into the room so fast Izuku would have thought Kachan had a second speed quirk. As he lay his warm hand on Izuku’s lower back, a whimper of discomfort and fear escaped the hero’s lips, continuing to cough up nothing.
“Kacc..han?” Izuku mumbled, wiping his mouth and lifting his head of green waves up to view his alive-still breathing- partner in a quick motion. The action caused another wave of nauseousness over Izuku.
The blonde in question responded from behind, “Yeah, it's me. Fuck, ‘Zuku,” his tone of voice was warm and comforting, “let it out.” And izuku unpleasantly did as such.
With careful precision, Kacchan brought his face to Izuku's, their eyes meeting. Kacchan’s gaze was laced with worry and surprise. “I don’t know why this happened to me, I’m sorry Kacchan,” tears pricked his eyes and threatened to spill over. Izuku felt so exposed and embarrassed, that not only had this been their first meeting of the day, but he had to burden Kacchan with this issue.
The blonde embraced the muscular boy, his face buried in his hair, "'Ain't your fault. Quit apologizing,” He mumbled, his voice muffled by the sound of Izuku’s curls, “has this been happening often?” His hands rest at Izuku’s shoulders now.
Izuku shook his head no, “Just the weather. The rain-it just takes me back is all. I’m sorry, I’m fine.”
“Like hell you're fine, Kacchan lifted him off of his feet, a guiding hand placed on his back as he led him back to their bedroom. Izuku sat on the edge, taking a few sips of water before flipping over onto his side, unaware of Kacchan slipping into bed with him. He held Izuku’s head close to his chest, were he was able to hear his heartbeat over the sound of the raging downpour outside. When Izuku tried to say anything, Kacchan shushed him. “‘M not goin’ anywhere, nerd.”
“Thank you Katsuki..” Izuku’s voice was only a mumble, his eyes drooping once more. Despite this whole fiasco he was still tired over anything else right now.
“Love you too Izuku.”