Archive of Our Own

"What are you doing, sensei?"

From one of the many nooks in this dwelling for scholars, viridian eyes look up from the words resting below his palm to see a fan-turned-student appraising him in complete and utter bewilderment.

"Nothing exciting," comes from its depths after a beat, dark eyes narrowing the moment green twinkles with amusement, "is everything oka-"

Those words are cut off by the flump of a satchel hitting the ground, the student in question falling to a crouch before letting out a sigh that may very well be exasperated. Frustrated, maybe? -

"I meant what are you doing hiding under your desk, sir?" they clarify, wincing when gold spikes attached to a red army cap knock against wood.

Ah. Right.

A more recent development in the trials and tribulations of Izuku Midoriya, his newest attempt at circumventing the attention he unintentionally garners is visiting spots he's known to frequent and hiding himself away until he's near-impossible to find. Sometimes that means waiting for the last set of students he taught to leave the classroom before sitting in and around his old seat to start planning future lessons; sometimes it involves trekking to Ground Beta and finding the tallest building, watching the sun set as he decompresses from one job before clocking in for another -

And sometimes he grabs what school work needs marked and sets them under his desk, running through as many as he can until sunlight is replaced by lamplight and he's left trying to distinguish if what's been written is a typo or if it's time for him to return to his apartment.

(The first time Eraserhe- Shota strolled past Izuku's desk and noticed a pair of All Might socks sticking out from its depths he was quick to squat low enough he could look Izuku directly in the eyes and let him know that this arrangement of his was 'particularly unorthodox'.

For a teacher who spent numerous days of Izuku's youth curled up in a sleeping bag right behind the lectern, that's really saying something.)

"Midori- sensei?"

Izuku blinks out of his thoughts only to meet a weary stare head on. Oops. "Sorry, Kota, did you need something?"

Instead of answering immediately, Kota chooses to roll his eyes then give a huff that's definitely exasperated. "He get back to you yet?"

Words as coarse as they are curious - add in the light crackling of nitroglycerine in a tanned palm and it's like Izuku's back in his third year. "I didn't realise you were that excited to be under his tutelage, Kota."

Kota's hand, curled into a fist against his knee, is squeezed tight enough the knuckles turn white. "Like hell I am," he mutters, like the wobbling of his lower lip and his face beginning to blend with the crimson of his cap isn't giving him away.

Some things really are destined to stay the same, huh?

"I'm sure he'll let you know soon, Water Hose," pausing to underline a mistake in the essay he's still perusing, Izuku's answer is met with a not-too quiet breath of relief. "What do we say about patience?"

"That it gives heroes an excuse to take credit when they've barely pulled their damn weight?"

Izuku's pen comes to a halt, nib resting at the tail end of his correction as he looks up to give dark eyes a single raised brow.

There's only one person he could have learnt that from, and it certainly isn't him.

To his credit Kota seems somewhat reticent in the quiet that follows, unclenching his jaw with yet another sigh.

"Sorry," he says, clearing his throat until that voice of his becomes a low, well-practiced droll. "Knowing when to be patient is what makes a good hero great."

Nodding, emerald eyes are quick to find a similar shade of green marring the end of his suggested amendments. "Are you sure you've sent your application to the right hero?" Izuku jests gently.

Well, he meant for that to come across as a jest, but now that he thinks about it…

"Considering we both made the same choice, sensei, I could ask you the same question," Kota quips back.

Izuku, accidentally hitting his head against the the modesty panel with a bang! as his pen hits paper with a light smack!, looks Kota's way once more. "I haven't made a choice," he says firmly, all the while ignoring the ache pulsing behind emerald curls.

The door to the teacher's lounge opens, giving Kota a sliver of silver to carry in his eyes - one that he immediately wields with cut-throat precision.

"He refuses to let you get ready here before you go on patrol, and he won't leave you the hell alone until you're dashing towards the sunset together."

Oh for- here he goes again. "Because he helps me with my suit, Kota. Those hand parts are a real pain to deal with on my own."

"He jumped 10 spots in the chart the moment you started doing hero work together again."

"Because his communication skills have improved!" …Well- "For the most part-"

"If some moron asks why you're not standing by his side on the days you're teachin', he blasts 'em to bits before they can finish speaking."

Once that claim is made, a freckled mouth clamps shut.

For 8 years Izuku has watched newspapers hit the stands as dawn dyes their pages orange and scanned paragraphs summarising a scathing reproach as the media converges on this hero post-criminal culling, all the while allowing labelled flash drive after flash drive to seek refuge in a drawer once its recorded the rare interview that same hero is forced into during 'language appropriate' late-night talk shows. Of course he's quick to compliment whoever lent their aid and lambast anyone who twiddled their thumbs on the sidelines (patience, right?), and usually what jabs he makes at their former classmate's expense tends to be prelude to some sort of spittle-encompassed, fire-infused praise…

But when they start critiquing the greatest hero's absence from the front lines?

Well, Izuku's seen that, too, in all its snarling, bellowing, incendiary glory. Watched it happen right in this very room just hours ago, actually, after an incredibly persistent reporter jumped right on the landmine that is the number 4 hero's absence as dust from a barely-collapsed building rolled sluggishly towards them. Poor guy didn't realise that would become the precursor to an explosive lambast Izuku's sure to see painted auburn come morning.

Unfortunately, his silence is enough for Kota to make the flagpole of his point sink deep into the ground as his knees finally hit the floor, eyes sweeping clean to his and locking on.

"You might think you haven't made a choice, sir," Kota says, refusing to look away as he exchanges blades for bullets in the next passage of light, refusing to even blink as he aims his sights down that scope, "but at least one of you has, and if it's not you then it's gotta be him."

Izuku, aware that this hill Kota has decided to lay his life on is similar to one he finds himself eyeing in some sick, twisted version of hope, swallows.

"It's okay to be annoyed that he hasn't gotten back to you about your application, Kota," Izuku says instead of coming clean, voice nothing more than a wisp of wind that brings with it a fictitious flurry of leaves, "but it's not okay to keep bringing up conspiracy theories, alright?"

Another pause rests heavy between them, the opportunity for Kota to take his shot interrupted as verdure winds its way before him.

"Respectfully, sir," he says, lowering the scope before adding those weapons back to this temporary armoire, "you're hopeless."

Except for the dagger that keeps his tongue sharp, apparently. "So it seems," Izuku says as he picks up his pen. If only he knew. "I'll ask him next time I see him, alright?"

"So, what, in like 15 minutes time?"

A single line meets the page, turning the katakana for 'n' to 'shi' on the essay before him.

"What makes you think that?" Izuku asks shakily, casting his eye over this paper. Honestly, if he knew crawling under here would bring this much distraction he would have at least thrown in some correction tape before settling down.

Kota's scoff is scorching, if not incredibly amused. "He didn't appear in class earlier, right?"

A second line crosses over, turning the katakana from shi to… something completely illegible.

Izuku knows that it's because his return to the top 5 has thrust him back into the spotlight, making him succumb to a schedule that's far more restrictive than the routine they've found themselves keeping these last few years, although Izuku can't help but find it baffling that that he's only become busier now when his life should have been this way from the moment he debuted. Even then, it's not as if he appears all that often around these parts, despite how his current pack of students are convinced that appearing 2 to 3 times a week at your Alma Mater has to 'mean something', whatever that means.

"- and when he doesn't appear in your class he starts skulking around this place lookin' to have lunch with you, and when that's not possible he stalks us until he finds out where you are," Kota apparently continues with a mutter, suddenly shivering as his mouth curls into a grimace. "He's out there, right now, waiting for one of us to appear, I just know it."

Izuku has always been impressed by how easily Kota observes both his surroundings and those close to him. Now he can't help but wonder how many of these observations have been exaggerated to the point of becoming a near-fib.

"You know if you keep lying no one will believe you when you're honest, right?" Izuku says.

The glare that appears before him is blistering, so much so it feels strange knowing Kota's quirk has little to do with how his coal-like eyes glow when they roll.

"You're worse than hopeless, sensei," he grouses, driving the point home as he huffs out a laugh, "you're annoying."

Ouch.

"Don't ask 'cause I was pressuring ya," continuing as if he didn't take his dagger and sheath it between Izuku's ribs, Kota rises from his knees back into a crouch. "It's not like I care what he says, anyway."

Izuku, knowing full well if Water Hose's application was denied it would bring him back into the arms of the Wild Wild Pussycats, lets the shadows darken the lie into some semblance of the truth. "Have a safe trip back to the dorms, Kota," he calls out.

As another scoff sounds from above, Izuku watches the wheels of his chair scoot closer to the centre of the desk until they knock against a pair of uwabaki-adorned feet.

"Only thing I have to fear is that damn hero of yours harassing me," is barely heard before that bag of his is lifted from the ground and those same shoes fade from sight.

Once those words register as faculty farewells are made and a door slides closed, Izuku's pen clatters to the ground.

His hero!?

It's not- there's no 'his' about it. Sure, he appears at the back of Izuku's classes when the day's particularly slow and he bats at green curls with an unmarked paper before forcing him to eat a homemade bento, but that's- it's not like that makes him his, right? If that was the case he would go out of his way to buy Izuku coffees and pull him out of work so they can cuff a couple of crooks and hang out on an agency rooftop while they mourn the loss of his favourite coffee shop and celebrate reaching the top 5 together-

…

Okay, fine, that may have happened recently, but he would have made it known if it meant something, right? It's not as if Izuku even really remembers what happened, anyway - not the phantom taste store-bought onigiri light on his tongue, nor the heat of their bodies as they rest beside on another, not even the thumb swiping across a screen to type while the other was allowed to find respite in the quirk-warm curve between a thigh and calf…

Just another unimportant, completely forgettable spring morning.

…Although sometimes, Izuku can't help but wonder -

"When the hell did you start hidin' down here?"

- just how many times he's gonna keep knocking his head against his desk, apparently. Ow.

Green eyes squint as the back of Izuku's head throbs, appraising loose black trousers cinched at the knee by steel caps and tucked into orange-onyx boots before widening once they see garter-like straps wrapped around muscular thighs. The pain fades as he follows that myrtle-green path, mouth going dry when what lies at the end is thin waist bracketed by large, gloved hands, long fingers tapping against a pouch as they wait, 'patiently', to be acknowledged.

Despite their absence, Izuku can hear the chorus of his students swooning in the distance.

(If they're still standing, that is.)

"Please don't tell me you chased down my students asking where I was," he says feebly, a familiar scent now beginning curl against his chest: sea-salt and cinnamon-spice, blending delicately with an earthy, rain-like aroma.

What follows is the famous click of the tongue, although it's cut short by the squeal of Izuku's chair as it gets pushed to the side yet again. "'Course not," he hears -

And what follows is the descent of an orange X and a sight for sore eyes: tall collar dipping low enough to reveal a crooked grin that's intolerably handsome and terribly attractive, blond spikes that look impossibly soft bouncing once they fall into a crouch, garnet eyes sparkling in this late-afternoon light once they find his own.

"You could be hidin' away in some stupid corner of the world and I'd find you every damn time," he finishes.

Izuku, wincing as he stares at sunlight personified, realises a touch too late that he's now trapped between varnished walnut and the number 5 hero.

(Or he's number 2, if the 'Sexiest Bachelor' charts is what you choose to follow instead. Not that Izuku could blame anyone, both for choosing to believe the validity of that chart over the other and for finding themselves shaken when in Katsuki's presence. If it weren't for the concrete dust clinging to his shoulders and silt turning the blond of his hair silver you would think he'd just finished modelling for Uwabami, not just punched a hole in his time card.)

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Izuku attempts to chastise, distracting himself from the heat slowly crawling up his neck by getting his lost pen within his grasp -

"I never do," Katsuki throws out like it's nothing, and yet it's spoken with so much conviction the utensil fumbles its way out of freckled fingers, "what the hell is this?"

Izuku, at last clutching the pen in his hand, settles back down with a wobbly smile. "I know you're not behind your one all that often, Kacchan, but forgetting what a 'desk' is called is incredibly impressive."

It's been said by past classmates and future heroes that Katsuki's scowl wracks shivers down their spine, and blinking leaves the film reel of their life play behind their eyelids. That was always confusing to Izuku, who all but welcomes that familiar warmth blooming in his chest once he finds himself under it, pistil and petals swaying softly when red eyes narrow and a tanned mouth curls.

"I meant you sitting under here, asshole," he grunts.

Teasing Katsuki will never get old, truly.

"I'm just beginning to mark a couple of things," tilting his head towards the tower of pages by his side, Izuku's grin widens when Katsuki's scowl grows fiercer, "welcome to the life of a teacher, Kacchan."

Katsuki's resulting stare is somehow irritated and unimpressed all at once. "May as well be my life, too," he grumbles softly.

The implication only strikes true when gloved fingers find their way through the arm of Izuku's chair and press into the cushion. "I've only asked you once or twice!"

"Yeah, this year. You know if you stopped giving them so much shit to do you wouldn't have to spend all your time time marking it, right?"

"And let them think hero work is about saving lives and not the insane amount of paperwork that follows? I'm not that cruel, Kacchan."

This sudden bark of laughter is the ocean crashing against a cliff's edge, seafoam spraying across Izuku's skin and skittering until it turns to scree. When it recedes into an endearing chortle Izuku wades further into those waters, undeterred even when it goes above his ankles then his waist, shivering when it ripples over the bumps on his arms and the quiver of his throat.

Never has there been a sound more beautiful, he thinks, this warmth bobbing gently below his chin. How amazing would it be to hear it every day?

(Never has there been an opportunity more clearly squandered, he ruminates, streetlights flickering over his 'suit'case as he listens to a question inferred then translated while he succumbs to the cushioning at the back of Katsuki's car.)

"Okay," Katsuki begins once his mirth is nothing more than the ebb before the flow, "so you've been slackin' so much you've spent god knows how long hidin' down here -"

Katsuki's sight snaps to the much-smaller pile of papers covered in green biro, amusement fading into shock moments before his jaw drops.

"You're kidding, right?" he implies.

Izuku swims his way back to shore, hurriedly scratching a note of apology for the numerous marks he made in the top corner before adding a tiny (and slightly wonky) smiley face. "About what?"

The growl that rolls its way towards Izuku is quirk-warm and undeniably his. "Please tell me the taller pile is the shit you've already completed," Katsuki says.

Swallowing, the tip of Izuku's finger pressing into the pen goes bone white. "Well-"

He barely gets the chance to explain when his answer is met with a sneer so deep it pops an illusive dimple in a tanned cheek. "The hell are you gonna do when we arrive late, hah!?"

We? "I have until 7, right?" Izuku says, pausing as he remembers the amendment to his evening plans. "Well, 6, 'cause I'm meeting-"

"Izuku."

Thank goodness Katsuki's eyes aren't actually flammable otherwise these papers of his would be nothing more than a pile of ash. "As long as the majority are marked it's okay!"

"It's ok-"

Interrupting himself, Katsuki lets the roll of his eyes guide his head towards the ceiling, and Izuku forces himself to look at his workload instead of the indescribable view of Katsuki's neck, doing all he can to ignore how it's trembling, surely, when the exhale that follows comes out more like a growl.

Any other day this would be where Izuku attempts to coerce-slash-bribe his way into asking Katsuki to give him a hand - but Izuku watched that near-escapade earlier with bated breath, is well aware that an event like that alone is enough for Katsuki to hang up his costume and call it a day. It'll be fine-

"Ah, fuck it," Katsuki expels suddenly, looking at Izuku before tilting his head to the side, "scooch over."

…

"Wait, what?" comes strangled from his throat just as Katsuki falls to his knees.

It'll be fine, he thinks, as Katsuki's glove catches the edge of his chair before it finds the floor; it'll be fine, he thinks once more as time slows with one palm pressing against the floor before the other; it'll be fine, he repeats desperately as knuckles brush against his calf, crimson eyes find themselves just inches away from viridian -

Before Katsuki takes his spice-salt-earthy self to the other side of the stack, the ticking of a nearby clock returning to its usual droll when a tanned back hits the wall of wood with a grunt and makes their surroundings shake.

"Why is there so much fuckin' space under here?" Katsuki grumbles distortedly, Izuku seeing a hand reach out from the corner of his eye to take from the top of the pile before it disappears again, "how did you figure out you could fit-?"

The pleather of Katsuki's gloves is cold as his fingers brush against Izuku's throat before finding their way to his chest, and it's truly a miracle that Katsuki doesn't feel the heartbeat thundering below his fingertips as they press against his chest. When he settles back down it's with a click and a sigh, and when Izuku defrosts enough he can turn to look he notices the pen that usually calls his breast pocket home being held between curved forefinger and crooked thumb.

"What are you gettin' them to yap about now," Katsuki asks suddenly, settling back down with a thump! as his eyes start to appraise the words on his lap, "Eyebag's quirk or somethin'?"

"The ethics that come into play with quirks that affect the mind," bleeds softly past the thin line of his lips, Katsuki's answering grunt followed by a lid caught between sharp teeth, a red scribble dying the very first paragraph, a somewhat quibbling sigh as Izuku frees himself from his somewhat addled state of mind. "You don't need to do this, Kacchan."

"And give you an excuse to skip tonight?" Katsuki drawls after freeing the lid so it rolls to the bottom of the page. The nib scratches up and down and up and down to leave a trail of scarlet that looks awfully familiar. "Shut up and lemme handle half of it like always, nerd."

Instead of turning him down again, Izuku finds himself looking at the (at this point commonplace) corrective marker that is a frowning, ink-scrawled Katsuki blasting apart someone's poor opening statement.

If he really didn't want to do this he wouldn't have offered, right? And the kids do love it when their papers are graced with his... 'art'.

(Maybe Izuku finds it endearing beyond comprehension, too.)

"You offer to help and call me the nerd?" Izuku says, mouth twitching to a smile when Katsuki pauses drawing to meet Izuku in the eyes. "Pot meet Kettle, Kacchan."

Their gaze holds steady, and Izuku swears ruby-red eyes fall somewhere near his jaw before meeting emerald once more.

"Pen meet paper, Izuku," Katsuki snarks back softly, "if you're the reason we're late I ain't listenin' to them complain."

With a huff of laughter and a shake of his head, Izuku brings his knees up until they become a makeshift desk. There's that 'we' again. "It'll just be me getting berated, don't worry," circling a spelling mistake before moving on, he twists his mouth in thought. "I'll probably arrive a bit later than you, depending how long it takes us to get there."

The doodling by his side stops.

"Round face, I take it?" Katsuki says.

His words are strangely coarse. Curious, considering it's only been a handful of seconds since he last spoke. "Yeah," smiling softly to himself, Izuku adjusts his grip on the pen before looking Katsuki's way, studying the soft slope of his nose and the dimple the downturn of his mouth has created. Maybe he should have turned down Katsuki's aid. "she's meeting me here before we head over."

There's not much of a reaction from Katsuki upon hearing this. In fact, he's become rather still, which is awfully similar to that last meet up they had - the one with the offer and the running and the 'if someone's special you should make it known' speech he gave just hours before.

"It's a fuckin' miracle she's stickin' around," Katsuki eventually bites, speaking towards black ink and the crimson cloud of 'smoke' that now plumes around it. "You gotta treat her and her time with more respect, 'Zuku."

If Katsuki's words weren't completely confounding, the shortening of his name would be turning his stomach into knots, as it usually does. "I already do?" Izuku says, heart thudding uncomfortably when Katsuki's jaw clenches, "why would that have changed?"

"Because you're-"

In all the years their lives have been intertwined, Izuku has never seen Katsuki shut up this fast; In all the years since they became close, Izuku has never seen Katsuki swallow his words and grunt out a sigh instead.

"Just focus on marking this shit, otherwise you're on your own," he mutters after a beat, refusing to look his way.

Izuku doesn't, at least not at first, choosing instead to watch how Katsuki's exhale ruffles the curl of the paper in his lap, how he bites the inside of his lip in… thought, perhaps, going by the nib leaving tiny marks between two lines as he taps it endlessly against the page, like he used to when they were only a desk apart.

What he wouldn't give to be given a glimpse into this man's mind, see how it is he's looked at now compared to 8 years in the past - if it's at all changed from when he said about chasing after him for the rest of their lives, if it's at all similar to how he-

Crooked fingers are warm where they press against emerald eyes until all he can see are stars, the callouses rough as he drags them past lashes and freckles so they can make the hollow of his cheek sting.

If only Kota could see them now, huh? Would he still be determined to set up that scope on the same hill, keep his finger hovering over the trigger as he waits for Izuku to confess something he can barely admit to himself?

Oh, right.

"Kota was asking if you accepted him yet," Izuku says from between his hands.

A snort of amusement bleeds past the blockade of paper. "I think he forgot to add 'impatient' as one of his defining traits in his application," he hears then, bookended by pages turning and a loud click of the tongue.

Ah, yes, the recent addendum to the summer sidekick program that UA touts loud and proud towards any heroes with an agency to their name and an impressive track record to boot. While heroes can still apply for specific students once the annual tournament comes to an end, students can also apply to work with a hero of their choice so no one is left out.

It's just like Toshinori to see a weakness with this system that's been in place since its creation and give the underdogs an opportunity to level the playing field.

"Or it's because 90% of my class already know where it is they're heading," Izuku clarifies, knuckles meeting paper as he turns his head, "you know the deadline is next week, right?"

"'course I know," Katsuki says, a particularly large explosion striking the paragraph under his pen before he continues, "it's called 'weighing my options'."

A thing Izuku never had to worry about, what with finding himself under Grand Torino's wing that first year and spending the next two internships elbow deep in teaching prep. "I'd never rush you, obviously -"

"Obviously."

" - but maybe you could, I dunno, tell him the good news, if that's what it is? Put him out of his misery if it isn't?"

Katsuki sighs so hard it almost tips over their flimsy blockade. "I can't just accept him 'cause he's your favourite, Izuku."

"He's not my favourite."

"Whatever you say, sensei."

Personal. Protective. Possessive. Izuku's stomach caves in, twisting itself into a knot and pulling the ends tight. "Why do you always say it like th-"

"What are you two doing?"

Green and red snap up to see who's brave enough to intrude on their bickering, the pair of them startling when they see Shota Aizawa crouched before them and appraising the pair with a single, inquisitive eye.

"Working?" Izuku answers with a question of his own.

The fabric coiled around Shota's neck does little to quiet the sigh of exhaustion that hides his mouth. "I thought once your class graduated I'd be free of both problem children, but I guess nothing's ever that simple."

Izuku smiles, just as Katsuki scoffs and grumbles "good thing we ain't children then."

And it's a good thing Katsuki's the one on the receiving end of Shota's stare then. Izuku rarely makes it out the other end of it unscathed, or at least without it being followed by some sort of chastising.

"Well, as long as you're not doing anything…" his sight moves slowly over the pair of them, lingering for second at a crooked hand and the pile of papers before his mouth twists, "unacceptable -"

The pen Izuku's pressed against this essay slides down the page as his hand squeezes it in shock.

" - you're the last one left, Izuku," he continues, seemingly unaware of how Izuku's face has started to burn, "remember to lock up before you leave for the night, alright?"

Izuku clears his throat, tugs at the knot of his tie in a feeble attempt to loosen it (windsor, he thinks; much more simple that sheepshank-something that's happening in his gut, anyway). "S-sure thing," he says. "Bye, sir."

A dark eye blinks, the tilt of Shota's head revealing the edge of a scar usually well hidden behind his fringe.

"Bye, Shota," he corrects, as he has done many times since Izuku was given a desk of his own.

Izuku swallows, ignores the eyes hiding beside his own in the shadows. "Bye, Shota… sir."

The snort that follows is loud enough that Katsuki quickly finds himself under Shota's incredulous glare a second time. Unfortunately it's only a temporary distraction, seeing as it's quick to finds its way back to him.

"Why do I bother," is the final thing grumbled before Shota comes to a stand and slides away. The teacher's lounge opens and closes one last time, silver arcing past walls and windows in the silence and leaving the pair of them -

Alone.

Unacceptable.

It takes every ounce of self control Izuku has to not audibly gulp.

He wasn't thinking of anything 'unacceptable' before, but now that Shota has kindly opened this can of worms they're spilling over the sides - wriggling around hands that roam and map the plains of a tanned chest before gliding over the incline of his shoulders and the slope of his neck, curling over legs that slot and pin and wrap around the thin yet muscular trim of this waist, slipping past tongues that taste and glide and explore the maw of his mouth, the line of his jaw -

"The hell kinda 'unacceptable' shit can even be done in here?" Katsuki says, his grumbling snapping the top of this can closed, "this ain't Beta. He knows that, right?"

Izuku's face starts to burn as his thoughts continue to squirm.

Of course things like that would never cross Katsuki's mind. Too obsessed with reaching number 1 to imagine what it would be like to form an amorous connection with the one that's been on his heels his whole life; too caught up in the intricacies of the life of a hero to consider creating one that's more than this dream they share.

He's made it more than obvious in the years that have passed, anyway.

Izuku throws himself back into the paper below his palm, ignoring this traitorous part that convinces him that a pair of red eyes are boring into the side of his face.

"Text Round face before you forget, idiot," he hears then. "I don't wanna be the one you come crying to when things don't work out."

Green eyes roll as he pats the pockets of his slacks and frees his phone, and Izuku's quick to type an explanation before ending it with an entire paragraph of an emoji consisting of a man kneeling in apology before hitting send. Phone tapping against paper, Izuku looks away. "What do you me-"

So, it turns out that Katsuki is, in fact, looking this way - however those eyes of his are roving around the knots and whorls of wood just beside his head and not at all around Izuku's face.

Reading too much into things? Classic Izuku.

"What do you mean 'when things don't work out'?" Izuku eventually asks.

Scarlet eyes snap his way, Izuku's heart thumping when they darken quickly to rust.

"Stop playing dumb," Katsuki says, but it doesn't take long for a scowl to match the glare Katsuki's stare morphs into, "obviously it means when- if you and Round face brea-"

'I am here! I am here! I am here-'

The back of Izuku's head aches in time to All Might's enthused greeting and easily drawing the attention of red eyes, leaving Izuku to scramble and open his phone so a plethora of enthused kaomoji's can illuminate this darkness. A smile crosses his face just as his thumb moves to react to it - a heart, of course - staring at it until warm air coasts its way towards him and a weighty sigh bounces around them.

Whoops.

"Sorry, Kacchan" Izuku says, phone clattering gently to the ground after he locks it, turning then to give Katsuki his undivided attention. "What were you saying?"

A roll of the eyes bring with it a hard stare that speaks for itself, reminds Izuku of a truth that he's been far too reluctant to accept.

"Never mind," Katsuki clips, "dunno what the hell I was thinkin'-"

And within seconds Katsuki returns to his work with an impossible to hear mutter, allowing a silence far more tense than before to fall like a curtain between them.

Izuku, pressing his thumb against the ribbed grip of his pen, lets its ridges dig deep enough into the pad of it his skin starts to sting.

What was Katsuki thinking?

"When was the last time you cleaned this place, sensei?"

From where he stands in front of his wardrobe, Izuku rolls his eyes away from the All Might onesie hiding in the depths and pushes it aside with the screech of pressed blazers and a 'fancy shirt' shirt.

By the time the air between them thinned and they crawled out of Izuku's most-recently acquired hidey-hole, the clock was a few ticks shy of 6pm and pile of papers from before had been condensed to just below his knee. The nerves that made him unsettled hours before were reduced to a quiet buzz when Katsuki held the door open and grumbled about Izuku's work/life imbalance, the uncertainty that made him troubled in the scratching of pens and the turning of pages became a syrup-sweet tease when Izuku locked up behind him and gave his thanks while they walked, slowly, down these familiar moon-lit halls -

And then they crossed the threshold of UA, their conversation cut short once Izuku spotted the familiar visage of one of his closest friends: back inches away from a wall three times her height, swaying side to side while the case clutched in both her hands followed slowly after. It didn't take long for him to give Katsuki a quick farewell before calling her name, dashing towards the beam of her smile until a wave hello-goodbye curled through the crook of his arm and they began to natter their way towards their next destination.

(Although there was a moment when they were walking that Izuku was struck by an impending sense of something he hasn't felt in years: claws piercing around his sternum until a sickly warmth pooled in his lungs, slicing easily through muscle and sinew to turn the air around him clotted, claggy. The inert danger sense he possesses making the back of his head buzz, the unintelligible thing his gut speaks with certain that something of note was right there -

But when he looks over his shoulder there's nothing. No villain waiting to strike, no passersby staring at him agape…

No number 5 hero waving him away, like he is oft to do.

If only Izuku could ignore the uncomfortable thumping in his chest and the worried eyes that look his way, maybe he could breathe easier.)

Before UA could even become a dot in the distance a swift shift in plans was made, namely so Izuku could 'freshen up' after a long day of work. At first it's confusing, namely because Katsuki would have made him aware that such a change in plans was necessary long before they left the teacher's lounge, however it's when his eyes are narrowed at his potential clothing options Izuku ascertains that this was more about satiating their curiosity about his yet-to-be-visited apartment than ensuring he's prinked to perfection before meeting up with the rest of their ilk.

When a light hum winds its way through the gap in his door moments before a heavy knock is made against what might be his bookcase, Izuku pauses his debate between a white-cotton button down and his finest 'T-shirt' t-shirt to huff a laugh.

"Really, Ochaco?" he calls out.

Her giggle, soft and slow and slightly muffled on the other side of the wall, makes a little scoff of amusement pass his lips. "Sorry, Izuku," Ochaco sings softly, although the shifting of paper on wood shadows her words, "but 'sensei' suits you, you know? I kinda like it."

Well, he mainly meant the whole snooping thing, but it's nice to hear that at least one person views this title of his favourably.

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said about me," he attempts to deadpan through the curve of his smile, pushing aside his casual wear so the button-down can slide off its hanger.

The song of her amusement falls short, the familiar jingle of the evening news attempting then to pick up where she left off. "I think we both know that's a lie," she counters, more shuffling taking place as the newscasters begin to keep her company, "and unfortunately for you 'Midoriya Sensei' rolls off the tongue really well."

Ah. Is that why so many of their peers keep saying it? It might be time for Izuku crack down on it before it gets any worse, kinda like -

"Maybe I should be more like Kacchan," Izuku ponders aloud, recalling the constant 'It's Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight' that grumbles past the line of a tanned mouth the moment Izuku dons his suit. "'It's 'Deku' on the field and Izuku out of it'," he attempts to mimic, trying and failing to capture the smokey texture that clings to Katsuki's words as he slips into the shirt, "'only call me 'sensei' when I'm in the classroom'," he continues while adjusting the cuffs and moving towards the buttons-

"I think you lack the explosive factor that makes it so amusing, Izuku," Uraraka gently quips from afar.

Izuku pauses, button caught between forefinger and thumb, and sighs. "And the hands," he laments while pushing it through the hole and moving on, "the arms, the eyes, the mouth -"

Everything else that would make it not just amusing but attractive, too. Not that it needs to be attractive, but that's just part and parcel with the whole 'Katsuki Bakugo' package: capturing the hearts of those around him despite the fire that laces his words, the sparks that flicker in his eyes, the heat that crackles from his hands…

Pressing his hands to his torso allows these eyes of his to flutter closed, Izuku taking a deep breath while he waits for this sickening thing bubbling in his gut to cease.

Someday he'll wake up and this feeling will be gone and everything will be okay. That's what he needs, right? To put these foolish feelings of his to bed so he can look at Katsuki and instead of butterflies flickering in his belly and a score of music playing behind them when they meet he'll feel and hear… nothing. Well, except for pride, but that's a feeling Katsuki will continue to evoke as long as they're side by side.

("I'm proud of you, Izuku," leaving the surprised parting of Katsuki's mouth - a whisper that should have been lost to the traffic below and the sky above but is instead trapped below the thumbs that rest below sunrise-warmed skin, plays on an endless loop when he collapses in the heart of his genkan as sunset skies turn this apartment of his into a burning flame.)

Another thunk! comes from nearby, loud enough that these thoughts skitter away and he can resume closing the rest of his shirt, jumping into the topmost drawer in his wardrobe when it opens so they can hide with his ever-growing collection of interview-filled flash drives. Brushing them aside, Izuku's fingers are quick to find a citrine cufflink, fingers turning cool under its touch and a smile curling gently on his face as he attaches it to one cuff, reaching for its pair -

Only to find nothing instead.

His hand hovers moments before it falls and begins to pat around a minimal amount of accessories and a much larger collection of data files, panic trickling from the crown of his head when nothing of the sort comes to hand, looks into that box and searches again, and again, and again, until -

"Hey, 'chaco?"

The shuffling on the other side of his door stops. "Yeah?"

"Is there a cufflink near you?" Izuku calls over his shoulder, still clinking through miscellany with narrowed eyes and a quickening heartbeat before mumbling "I swear I saw it recently..."

That evening where he reconnected with Ochaco was recent, right?

"Oh, sure!" Her pause is soon followed by a teasing "I mean, it might take a while, but -"

God forbid a man cleans the worst of his mess on his days off, however rare they may be. Sighing, Izuku gives a simple description ("an orange gem at the base, a silver disc at the end"), rolls his eyes when she replies ("don't suppose you have any spelunking gear to make this easier for me?") before returning to his own search. Drawers open and then close, his hands dipping into the pockets of clothes he hasn't worn in an age, repeating the cycle anew once he's in front of his bedside table then his laundry hamper and there's nothing nothing nothing -

"Izuku?"

The relief that fills him is euphoric, but peeking around the door and witnessing Ochaco standing in the eye of a paper-laundry storm with a single eyebrow raised dwindles it quickly to uncertainty.

"You wanna tell me what this is?" Ochaco asks, her innocence betrayed by the curiosity that laces her words and a smile so crooked it's near-wicked.

His mouth parts in confusion until a flurry of white and purple draws his attention, looking just beside her head to see -

A to-go cup, one that would be relatively innocuous if not for the story it tells: a unique lavender wrap cut off by a cream lid, droplets of the same shade dripping from the lip to create waves that 'ripple' at the bottom; a row of mauve boxes curved right along the edge and marked to show that it once held a triple-shot Americano with extra, extra caramel syrup…

And the logo for 'Lavender Lattes', barely legible thanks to the name 'DYNAMIGHT 🖤' scrawled across it.

Oh no.

"I… forgot to throw it away?" Izuku accidentally asks.

It's an excuse so feeble that Ochaco's head tilt of confusion is perfectly understandable. "Izuku," she repeats, amusement fading the second he starts slinking beyond the safety of his bedroom, "what-"

"It's- recent. Only from this morning. I didn't -" curse him for finding sentimental value in things others readily throw away, "I really thought I got rid of it before I left for work, that's-" whywhywhy "- I'm so sorry, I can -"

Just as Izuku dashes past towers of unfinished paperwork and into the heart of this lioness' den, Ochaco holds the evidence clean above their heads.

"Izuku," she presses now, nails glittering on high in this low living room light.

Remembering that same cup going through a similar ordeal in the gloved hands of the number 5 hero, Izuku's face burns.

"Ochaco?" he queries, shovel already tipping the dirt in its hold so it can keep digging further.

Brown eyes, usually soft, become bark the moment Izuku says her name. "I know your favourite place was wrecked a couple of months ago, Izuku, and I'm pretty sure only a handful of people know your coffee order," shaking the cup again, Izuku stares at it transfixed as she continues to speak. "I know your order. Tsu, Tenya and Shoto probably do as well -"

Her sight lingers on the name that's written there before shifting back to him.

"Only one other person is coming to mind, Izuku," she finishes quietly, "and it's his name on this cup, not yours."

The shovel in his hands gives a clang! as it hits stone.

"I can explain," Izuku warbles, curls barely visible from the top of this self-made grave.

When her hand falls the cup remains elevated in the air, this ruddish-tinge accrued in her eyes bleeding to her cheeks when she reaches up to grab it once more.

"I only wanted to tease you about it, I didn't mean to-" cutting herself off, the smile she gives him then wobbles, pinky finger now removed from that familiar lavender wrap. "I won't force you to say anything, Izuku, but as your friend I'd like you too," it stretches just that bit further, her tone softening at the same time, "how often have you listened to me when I've had things on my mind, huh?"

The coffee cup remains in her hand, all while the name of his- their hero remains visible.

God, he's really messing everything up, isn't he?

The back of his legs hit something soft, and it's only when lavender taps on top of a paper-laden coffee table Izuku recognises the garment-covered upholstery of his couch, watching almost lucidly as pale hands grab the remote nearby to turn the garbled rabble of the news to silence. It looks to be about 'Lavender Lattes', coincidentally, mug shots flickering on the screen as somewhat-recognisable scowls are thrown at the viewer, the headline that scrolls at the bottom incredibly hard to read-

But it's only when he tries to blink and that sans-serif scrawl becomes illegible Izuku realises it's because he's started getting teary eyed, of all things. Out of all the habits he's managed to tamp over the years, why wasn't this one of them?

"It's complicated," he admits, wrinkling his nose in a feeble attempt to clear his sight.

Ochaco's snort of amusement almost startles those tears back into their ducts. "Everything about the two of you is complicated," she teases, one hand squeezing his as she settles by his side and leans towards him - the small stretch of her smile glistening from some sort of lipgloss, the soft strands of her bob shifting when she tilts her head and looks at him. "Is it easier if you start from the beginning?"

Izuku's laugh is a sudden bark, and he winces when it comes across as wet. He knows the question is probably a byproduct of her quirk counselling program, but with a history as storied as theirs where can he begin?

"I thought he hated me," he blabs suddenly.

Right at the very beginning, apparently.

"I-I mean, maybe not hate, but- even if that was how he felt about me when we were kids, I didn't really care." Izuku lets himself think upon it further, sniffling as she slowly starts to dab under his eyes with… something rough? "As long as I was near him, even if it meant living in his shadow, that was the only thing that mattered to me."

"Even when he wasn't the kindest?" She asks in the midst of his pondering, pulling away to reveal a napkin balled up in her free hand.

Izuku snorts. That's certainly one way of putting it. "When he was some bark and a little bite all I could think was that his fangs were striking," smiling, Izuku lets himself relax with every run her thumb makes along the side of his hand. "He was smart, cunning, headstrong - he had a vision for the future and nothing was getting in his way. It was beautiful. I- god, Ochaco, it still is beautiful."

However at one point these feelings went from being solely about what Katsuki stands for to every little thing about him: the power that he holds in his hands juxtaposed with that laugh that leaves him in a spray of foam and the crumbling of a cliffside; the habitual need to deny what's being asked of him and berate the askee before going through with it anyway; early morning coffees and onigiri in the shade of a rooftop and his eyes so very, very close when he tries to stop Izuku's curls from becoming one with his lunch.

The TV screen by their side flickers. Green eyes follow, watching as an Izuku of months past crouches in the aftermath of his favourite coffee shop being totalled, appraising a thoroughly-destroyed interior with nothing less than bemusement. Katsuki, handsome as always, crosses his arms as well as he can with those gauntlets of his, staring at Izuku with a look that's impossible to decipher before he rolls his eyes away.

"I'm sure you think it's stupid," he continues, this news programme producing more 'live' footage he had yet to see. 'Izuku' is now mourning the sign cracked in two on the ground, an onyx-orange glove hovering just inches away from his back moments before it gets curled into a fist and knocks against a head of emerald curls. "When everything happened that day with Shigaraki and All for One I felt determined, and in the days that followed I was- I felt so many things, but I felt braver nonetheless - but letting him know that I-"

He can't even think it let alone say it aloud, heart burning viciously as he forces himself to look away from them.

"That's terrifying, Ochaco," he finishes with a whisper.

They just about sewed their friendship together when these feelings of his took root, sprouting against his will when sustenance came in the form of touches and looks and words until it became what it is now - petals on the precipice of unfurling if only a spark of sun could reach it, this flower that wilts the more his poking and prodding gets disregarded or denied. Numerous times Katsuki has looked his way and Izuku swears that below the snark and smoke there's another inscrutable thing within reach -

But then his attention is seized by something in the distance and he's stomping far enough away it can no longer be acknowledged. He's saying 'doesn't matter' and letting his hand fall away before Izuku can decipher the truth from his words. He's staring at the back of Izuku's head, hard, not knowing that Izuku can see the clench of his jaw and the curl of his fist from the corner of his eye.

How much longer can Izuku hold still this belief before Katsuki breaks his silence?

(What will he do when Katsuki tells him it was in his head the entire time?)

"Is it okay if I speak?"

He blinks his way back to reality, looking over to see the hand not holding his raised quietly in the air as if waiting to be called upon.

Laughing, Izuku reaches up to take it and bring it back down, both her hands now occupied with his own. "You don't need to ask me for permission, Ochaco, this isn't one of my classes."

The pinks of her cheeks grow a shade or two darker. "I know, but-" cutting herself off, she looks towards the screen, "I think what I want to say isn't very… nice."

Izuku's known Ochaco for almost a decade at this point - it would take a lot for the words she says to be interpreted as anything but nice. "I'm sure it's not as bad as you think it is."

Following her line of sight, they spend a moment watching the Wonder Duo bickering and throwing jabs at one another before beginning a clean-up mission that took up the majority of that spring morning. Not for the first time, Izuku thinks they look good together. In the depths of his want, his desire, a part of him foolishly thinks they belong together.

"Katsuki died, Izuku."

Izuku's heart plummets out his chest, falls to the floor and rolls under the coffee table to lie with stolen stationary and loose leafs.

He takes it back - it really is that bad.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be so blunt, but that's what happened, right?" she says, a tense tremble to her words as Izuku casts himself back 8 years ago, remembers how quickly relief faded to complete and utter despair. "Thankfully fate intervened and let him find his way back to you - a little worse for wear, sure, but breathing nonetheless."

The world's saviour, appearing atop that coffin in his effervescent glory. The speed of which they followed each others line of thinking without a word being exchanged has been touted by millions in the years that have passed as a textbook example of teamwork, trust - a connection that could only have been forged through this childhood they share, regardless of how tumultuous it may have been -

And yet Izuku feels trepidation curl in the pit of his stomach when Ochaco gives a shaky exhale, nails beginning to dig into his palms.

"I was thankful he was alive at the end of it all, that the casualties on our end were less than anticipated, but all I could think was-" Ochaco stops for a moment, lets her face pinch enough that it teeters between despair and disgust, "if Katsuki could come back to life, then maybe there was a chance she could, too."

She.

The name doesn't need to be spoken aloud for Izuku to know just who it is that haunts her still.

"I know she did some awful things, inexcusable things, but the moment I heard what happened to him I found myself asking the universe if it could give her a second chance, too. I returned to where- everything happened, selfishly hoping that my prayer's were answered. " Her sigh then is brittle, eyes glazing over in the midst of her confession, "I'm still selfish, really, hoping deep down that she hated me so much for what happened that's the reason she's gone and not because-"

Ochaco falls into a contemplative silence, reds and oranges associated with the number 5 hero reflected so very clearly in her eyes.

"I've tried, you know?" she begins after a beat, encouraged to keep speaking when Izuku squeezes her hands, "Moving on, making sure she lives on in these kids that I help, but a part of me can't help but think-

"He's alive, Izuku," she says, fingers clutching at his palm with a grip as desperate as her words. "He's alive, and he's here - meeting you after classes and going on patrol and- and he's buying you your favourite coffee, just because he can," squeezing tighter, her eyes taking on a sheen he's only seen a handful of times before, "you have the opportunity to begin building a future with someone that means the world to you, and I think- I hope it never comes true, I truly don't, but if something happens and his luck runs out -"

His heart has barely made its way back to his chest when he feels it sink, discordant thunk!s vibrating through bone as it rolls down the curve of his ribcage to ache, painfully, in his gut. "Ochaco."

" - you'll be like me." Eyes, turning to kindle for the fire that burns there, sparking and swaying the longer he watches those flames dance, "he'll haunt you just when you think you've moved on. You'll keep wondering what they would be doing if they were here and how you could have saved them if you changed something, anything-"

It doesn't take long for one hand to free itself so Izuku can pull her close, hold her, just like he did when the war was won and all that was left to do was heal.

"I just want you to be happy, Izuku," she says, sniffling as his hand begins to run gently along her back, "this is the opposite of that, don't you think?"

Because while these ghosts will cling to the two of them forever more, closure ensures that the weight of one is less intrusive, less obstructive than the other.

I'm sorry, is all he can think, letting his neck meet the back of his sofa so his eyes can find their way to the ceiling.

For a moment they rest like this, Izuku tracing familiar shadows above as silence falls upon them once more, a thumb running back and forth between shoulder blade and bicep until the shaking stops and quickened breaths slow.

"I can't believe this turned into you listening to me again," Ochaco says, words wet.

Izuku, chuckling quietly, pulls her closer, adjusting himself so his cheek can pillow the top of her head. "It's a good thing I'll never get tired of it."

Her hum, soft and sweet, is a far cry from the way her voice was cracking just moments ago. "You're far too good for us, Izuku," he feels muffled into his shoulder, "all of us."

While he doesn't say it aloud, Izuku has never disagreed with Ochaco's words so vehemently in his entire life.

Another moment passes with no words being exchanged, the room around them dyed in reds and whites and greens as the TV, for whatever reason, continues to play clips of Katsuki and Izuku racing to see who can clear debris quicker. It can't be all that interesting for everyone tuning into the evening news - either it's a remarkably slow news day or they want him to remember that this coffee shop of his is no more and that he's feeling… things.

Eugh.

"You should tell him tonight."

Izuku's hand freezes against her arm, panic coiling deep in his gut before springing out of him as a laugh. "And have him dive out the window to get away from me?" make him cut Izuku out of his life without looking back? "I think I'll keep it to myself, thanks."

Because this dynamic they've created for themselves is more than enough, truly. What use is it risking everything they've built on the off chance his dreams are more than that?

"I dunno," she says, a light he had sorely missed finally entering her eyes as she pulls away to peer at him through clumped eyelashes, "you didn't see how he looked at you when we met up earlier."

Wait, what? "With exhaustion, probably," Izuku mumbles while looking away, twisting his mouth in thought when she leans back and starts to smooth the fabric on his shoulder, "I'm honestly surprised he's going tonight."

"If that's where his lodestone is he doesn't really have a choice," she teases, her words starting to spark at tear-soaked kindle. "You should tell him how you feel before we go home. Seriously, Izuku."

It's funny how it takes hours for this knot in his stomach to unravel but seconds for it to reform. Hilarious, really. "That's a bit soon, don't you think?" he says feebly, swallowing when nausea begins to creep up his oesophagus. "Maybe it's better if I leave it for now. Next week. Never -"

A pair of hands - sans pinky fingers - clasp his face so tight it turns his mouth into a pout and cuts his rambling short.

"If you think confessing tonight to the man you've been pining over for 20 years tonight is 'too soon', Izuku, you'll only get the courage to tell him when you're sitting side by side in a retirement home," Ochaco snaps gently.

Oh. Izuku would kind of love that, actually.

"Don't start thinking about how much you would love that, please, otherwise you'll never say a thing."

…okay, fine. "I'll think about it?" he says, speech muffled slightly until a nod of satisfaction is followed by a hand falling from his face to her lap, "thank you, Ochaco."

At first she doesn't answer, keeping that one hand on his face so she can look him in the eyes. Her thumb brushes gently below his eye, fingers petting the line of his jaw once, twice before she brings herself closer, pressing her lips to the curve of his cheek.

"Anytime," she says after pulling away, words as soft as her smile and the kiss that still lingers on his face.

Once upon a time they may have healed this hurt together.

Too bad this life of theirs isn't a fairytale.

"We do have to go, though," she says with a sigh, patting his cheek twice before setting him free. "Rain check on the cufflink search?"

Ah, right. They went on one hell of a detour, didn't they? "Unfortunately," he says, moving his hand then to thumb at the lone cufflink still attached to his shirt, "I wonder where it went to…"

It's baffling that the only citrine and silver he can see is the one weighing heavy on his wrist and the one at the corner of his eye, although the light the latter brings is cut short as the TV turns off and silences whatever special was running on the news. Nothing more than a mystery to be solved at a different time.

"Maybe this is a reason to keep your apartment tidier, hmm?" she says, Izuku looking up just in time to see her eyes flicker to where his thumb presses and curves around the gem.

Now she just sounds like his mom the last time she swung by. "I hope you enjoyed your one and only visit, Ochaco," he grumbles, undoing the lone cufflink so it can skitter across his coffee table and rest just beside the cup that started this whole thing.

(Maybe its pair going missing is less of an enigma than he realises.)

"Good thing I've already snooped where I could," she teases, standing up while brushing the back of her skirt with her hands before letting them curl to fists against her hips, "now, we've got some friends to meet up with and a boy to confess to! Let's go, Deku!"

It's not unusual that his hero name is spoken like a battle cry, and this one in particular is supposed to have him jumping to his feet and reaching for a blazer before stomping out the door with a cheer - but instead of moving he remains seated, looking back at a now-quiet TV as butterflies drop from the roof of his stomach and start to flutter anew.

When is he supposed to drop a bombshell like that?

"Where do you think you're going, sensei?"

From where his foot meets oak-wood floorboards, a loud croak leaves Izuku caught between the shoji that marks the exit and the 20 sets of eyes that now look his way.

Well, almost 20, seeing at there's currently only 19 heroes occupying the corner of this evening's choice of izakaya. The pair that's currently missing arrived to a wave of cheers - much later than a kinda-late Izuku and Ochaco, which was strange; appearing as the passenger and not the driver, which was stranger still - before choosing to ignore a longstanding tradition by dipping his toes into the sea of his 'squad' instead of the pool by Izuku's side, water turning tepid when Tsu slides in between Ochaco and Shoto and leaves him slide into the spot he had reserved. There was a moment of surprise, sure, but he's allowed to not spend the evening by Izuku's side. It's fine. Everything's fine.

At least that's what he believed until he stood up with the intention to grab another drink (or two, maybe even three with how this evening is going) and noticed those blond spikes were nowhere to be found.

Before Izuku even realised what he was doing, his feet were moving on their own and landing him right under a spotlight controlled by golden eyes.

"Outside," he says to Denki just as the room falls silent, fighting the urge to air his exasperations as speaking brings with it a ruckus, "It's too, uh, warm. I'll be back before you know it!"

The floorboards continue to creak as he walks at twice the speed, dashing past the bewildered bartender buffing a glass and towards the exit that will save him from the discordant chorus that calls after him.

"- it's not even that hot - the drinks will keep you cool, Sensei! -"

" - you can't just leave her like that, man, c'mon -"

" - really think you should hang back, Midobro -"

That last one is interrupted as the shoji slides open, Izuku turning once he passes the threshold to immediately meet hesitant red eyes a handful of tables away - incredibly similar to the ones he wishes were there it almost startles him right back into the room - before he finds himself a green-fuzzed moth drawn to a flame flickering from whence he came.

'You've got this!' Ochaco mouths once he looks her way, a hand raising lightly into the air before coming down as a fist curled with determination.

That isn't why he's-

No time to explain, he thinks, copying the movement with one fist not two and grinning when she gives a nod of approval. There's another wave of noise as he unfurls a hand to close the shoji behind him, cutting the cacophony of voices on the other side to naught as paper windows shake and embalm him in a blessed silence.

Okay, step 1 of his impromptu plan? Done. Easy. Now it's time figure out where he could have gone. Not that there's even many options for Izuku to peruse, what with the exit that rests before him and a set of stairs that leads to some sort of rooftop area, according to a sign nearby.

Never mind. Step 2? complete.

A squeal rings in his ears as the door below his palm swings open, Izuku gulping down cool summer air the moment it rolls down the stairs he just scaled and shivering slightly when it prickles along the exposed expanse of his forearms, his neck. Green eyes are quick to flicker around slate tiles and steel dining chairs pushed into glass tables, skimming past potted plants that line waist-high wooden rails before following string lights that wind around wooden beams and intertwine with ivy that curls overhead -

Before finding themselves latching onto a back Izuku can name based on shape alone, covered by a dark leather jacket that hides the nape of a tanned neck but accentuates shoulders that shift in time to a rhythmic tapping that echoes Izuku's way. Charcoal denim is wrapped around his legs, cuffs tucked into simple black boots that stop inches above his ankles and provide the backing beat to this tune, one knee bent and pressing against a wooden rail just as soft, blond spikes fall prey to the wind's charms.

There you are, he thinks, ticking the third and final step.

"I've been looking for you," falls from Izuku's mouth moments later, the words twisting with the beat before him to create what might be the beginnings of a symphony.

Or not, seeing that the tapping and the thumping draws to a close once garnet eyes widen over a leather-covered shoulder.

"Me?" Katsuki asks, a near-drawl tightening his voice. When Izuku nods, those eyes of his are quick to narrow. "The hell were you doing that for?"

The hand Izuku has pressed to cherry wood twitches, fingers itching to dig nails into the lines that dictate fortune, love.

Why wouldn't I look for you? Izuku wants to say.

"Would you believe me if I said it's 'cause I missed you?" he teases instead.

The correct choice of words, thankfully, seeing as Katsuki's eyes remain steadfast on his instead of resting halfway across the city - although this guard he's taken to hiding behind doesn't shift until he looks away, dropping it with a grunt of disbelief.

"Dunno how you even found me," Katsuki mutters sourly between a car horn blaring and the chatter of passersby, raising his voice then to speak words Izuku thinks he's actually supposed to hear. "You stalkin' me or some shit?"

Oh, please. "The stars are out, Kacchan - where else would you be?"

From the moment Thirteen's projector whirred to life against a board and chalk circled constellations Katsuki was nothing less than enraptured, so much so Izuku couldn't help but watch him instead of paying attention to the lesson in question. Not that Katsuki would ever admit his obsession, choosing instead to keep star charts hidden in his desk and let a telescope gather dust where it lived in his wardrobe, scrawl notes dictating the difference between what he sees in the sky above and what's observed on something Izuku wasn't quick enough to read before that book was swiped away and blasted to smoking, singeing confetti.

Needless to say, the lesson Izuku learnt that day is wherever there are stars Katsuki is sure to be gazing upon them.

The sound of the door squealing shut is covered by a distant shriek, his non-existent danger sense giving a phantom tingle much different than before as it ricochets around them. It's not long before surprise melts off Katsuki's face, Izuku only finding himself relax when it's followed by a cackle of amusement while Katsuki loosens once a series of giggles ricochet in the street below.

"Not that it even matters," he grumbles once those people pass, Izuku moving close enough that he can see that blond brow furrow as he glares at the layout that makes this hobby of his impossible to indulge in, his lips curving into a sneer as flame-wrought eyes attempt to set fire to the ivy-twisted wood above. "Who thought this was a good idea?"

Huffing his amusement, freckled arms cross against the railing as Izuku mirrors Katsuki's stance - one leg standing straight, the other bending so the knee can press against varnished wood - before looking once more at the slope of Katsuki's nose, the dimple the downturn of his mouth has created.

If Izuku didn't know him like he knows the back of his hand, it's a facade he would have fallen for it quite easily.

Turning to observe at the city they protect, Izuku shifts until his arms are stretched out before him, hands clasping together as he sighs.

"If there's anything you wanna talk about, I'm willing to listen," Izuku says towards weather-worn bricks, watching as apartment blocks and high-rise buildings glimmer with each block of light that flickers on and off. Explosions leaving a palm and glinting off glass; sunlight catching the ripples that crest in undulating waters. "I've heard I'm pretty good at it."

Seconds pass with no words being shared, the silence that follows heavy enough it's a wonder the world hasn't started to warp under its weight.

"Anything?" Katsuki repeats just as that bough is sure to break.

Izuku nods. "Anything."

This time when Izuku shivers it has less to do with the evening chill and more to do with turning his head and being greeted by a stare that's nothing less than piercing, burning. The gentle glow of coals sparking to life where Izuku's pulse races between wrist and wood, slowly carving a path from elbow to neck and finding solace where the line of his jaw meets the curve of his cheek.

Before he can make the copse of Izuku's eyes catch, Katsuki breaks away with a sigh of his own, unfolding his arms to push himself away from the railing - not to vacate, as Izuku half expected, but to change his stance. In the blink of an eye leather bites into timber where Katsuki leans the weight of his back against it, elbows resting where the top goes flat and letting his hands hang loosely at either side of his waist.

When he settles back down, those eyes fall to his - smouldering embers, slowly coming alive when the wind rekindles those flames.

'You didn't see how he looked at you when you left UA earlier,' echoes dully in the back of his mind.

Izuku chokes on the smoke that falls past his mouth, holds his breath instead; waiting, waiting, waiting -

"You're an idiot."

…

Who else does Izuku have to blame but himself for expecting to hear something profound?

"When I said 'anything' that's not exactly what I meant," Izuku mumbles, hating how his cheeks warm until they're rosy red.

Eyes a deeper shade of red roll. "Then you shoulda been more specific, 'cause comin' outside with no jacket when it's been cold as hell?"

Leaning in, the heat of Katsuki's bicep bleeds past the cotton of Izuku's shirt, his breath searing against a curl-covered temple before -

"Idiot," is whispered right against the curve of a freckled ear.

When those words fall and bloom against his mouth, whiskey-bitter and cherry-sweet, Izuku shivers again.

(How Izuku would love to grab him by the collar and taste them for himself.)

"It's way too warm in that room, Kacchan," Izuku begins, attempting to derail his line of thinking and almost immediately tripping over the hurdle that pops up when Katsuki hums disbelievingly right by his cheek, "y-you must have left before it got bad, now it's like sitting in a sauna-"

Only to find his words cut at the quick once he feels Katsuki begin to put distance between the two of them (thank god), Izuku looking over and witnessing the bunch of those muscular shoulders before they loosen as one arm slides out from the sleeves of his jacket. A freckled mouth goes dry when the cuff of a white shirt digs into the meat of a tanned bicep once the second arm is freed, Katsuki barely shivering when he folds the jacket roughly with quirk-calloused hands.

"I ain't dealing with your group of brats if you fall sick," Katsuki grunts, face warming a little under fairy lights as he holds it towards Izuku, "half of 'em can't spell my damn name right - I wouldn't last a day without blastin' 'em to bits."

So distracted by the offering placed before him Izuku barely registers the threat to his students.

Izuku has to grip the beam before him with both hands in an effort to listen beyond the roaring of blood in his ears, the alarms blaring in all their spinning, crimson glory.

"Congrats on becoming UA's newest substitute, Kacchan," Izuku says, letting a smile crack through his stern facade, "I think I'll be okay, but thank you."

Katsuki blinks only once before a gruff 'ah' follows.

"I forgot," Katsuki says then, "what's that saying about idiots not catching colds?"

Katsuki's shoulder is much warmer than the curve of Izuku's knuckles once they press against it, his surprised bark of laughter when he stumbles back making a smaller one fall from Izuku's mouth. Instead of pulling away he lets his knuckles warm against the cotton of Katsuki's shirt, only stilling after another shiver ripples through him.

"Stop being stupid," Katsuki says as he presses himself further into Izuku's fist, "take the damn thing before you freeze to death, or whatever."

'Or whatever', as is Katsuki's creed. Izuku's stare, now unimpressed, is maintained even when a lone curls tries to obstruct his sight, feels it worsen when he finds it reflected in crimson cracked between blond spikes. Ever the distraction, Katsuki takes this moment to let tanned hands slip past Izuku's defences, a wordless 'do it' passing between them when red eyes shift between the leather that rests against his chest and the line of Izuku's mouth.

Always so damn pushy, that Katsuki. Where would Izuku be without him?

Wrinkling his nose, Izuku lets his hand fall away from the warmth of Katsuki's shoulder so it can begrudgingly accept this offer, far too surprised when that same heat begins to prickle through the cold that's taken hold of his fingers. By the time he unfurls it his fingers no longer shake, and he shakes it out a bit before grabbing it by the collar, letting his arms slide through the sleeves -

Oh. Oh wow.

Katsuki has always run hot, says it's just a side effect of his quirk (or whatever), but the wool that lines his jacket is the perfect temperature, a sigh of delight unintentionally passing Izuku's lips when the collar slips over his shoulders and rests against his nape. It's a bit large, seeing as Katsuki's not just taller but bulkier from the ribs up, leaving Izuku to wrap one half over the other at his torso, the cuffs pressing against the centre of his palms. It's warm, very much proving Katsuki's point about him being an idiot, but it's nice, nonetheless.

And then Izuku makes the fatal mistake of breathing.

Well, he was just following what bodily function is necessary to keep himself alive, but the first inhale he takes brings with it spices that gently tickle his nose, and an even deeper one starts to decipher each note as it makes itself known: cinnamon and clove curling around sugar-sweet caramel when his arms cross at his chest, a sea-salt-something winding with that specific earthy scent Izuku adores when the collar brushes against his jaw.

If this is what it's like wearing Katsuki's jacket, what would it be like being held by him?

(Oh god, Izuku, not now.)

With an inhale that's far too deep and way too satisfied, Izuku lets his face fall away from the collar, opens his eyes -

And freezes when he meets the intense stare of Katsuki Bakugo, who undoubtedly witnessed every. single. thing that just took place.

Izuku would love nothing more than the ground to open up and swallow him whole, right here and now.

"You did want me to take it, right?" he asks, a timidness he hasn't heard since early UA days creeping into his voice when the silence turns stifling. The jacket around him squeaks as his hands clutch at leather-covered biceps, "if you want it back I can-"

A hand reaches out toward the collar of his jacket, pressing it tighter towards Izuku's neck where it had started to pull it away and loosening what panic started to grip him by the throat. Izuku watches scarlet become lost somewhere between that single, stubborn curl and the side of his face, remaining stock-still even when Katsuki pulls away.

"Stop fussin' over nothin'," he says, in that way he has been doing a lot recently: gritted and gruff and warm, maybe even a little bit fond. "Keep lookin' at the sky, sensei."

It doesn't take long for Katsuki to follow his own advice. It doesn't take long for Izuku to ignore it so he can watch him instead.

When Ochaco calls him 'sensei' he can feel a sincerity, a warmth he's sorely missed in the time they've been apart; when the others in their troupe call him it it's teasing, a near-joke of some sort that he's most likely reading too much into; When Katsuki calls him it…

Resting under an engawa as the rain pours and their uniforms cling coldly to their skin, the cadenced tapping of drops against grass and gravel cut off by a near-brutish growl, enveloped soon after in the scent of petrichor before the heavens have a chance to cease their downpour.

Socked feet knocking against a kitchen counter in an apartment close to his own but without the luxuries the owner of it deserves, mouth watering at breaded pork crisping in oil, eggs bubbling in a soy-mirin-sugar sauce, the muscles of a tee-covered back as they work their magic.

Boots knocking against one another at the top of the world as the city turns gilded under the sun's light, what little space that exists between them thick with this impossible thing that waits to be acknowledged, begs to be set free as his knuckles press and slide against a sweat-dappled temple, reveal rubies that stare at him with a reverence he's never deserved.

Is there a word that exists, a sentence he can compose that comes anywhere close to this feeling?

"I like it when you call me that," is as close as he gets.

Katsuki stills, moving soon after to look at him with confusion.

"gonna have to be more specific, 'Zuku." Pausing, Katsuki's mouth twists for a moment before his stare becomes the definition of 'derision'. "''Zuku?' Really? That's literally your damn name."

Well, it's not, the absence of a single syllable enough of a distinction it makes chrysalis threaten to unfurl in his chest, but that's not a topic he's willing to breach right now. "That's not-"

"Idiot."

What!? "Kacchan."

"Moron."

"Kacchan."

"Sens-"

He doesn't even get a chance to finish speaking before Izuku's ears begin to burn, and just as he hopes his curls hide the worst of it Katsuki's eyes narrow, twitch, widen -

"Sensei!?" he exclaims, loud enough that it bounces off the tiles and reverberates between wooden beams, "what the hell is wrong with you?"

Eugh. So mean. "When you say it, it feels… right," Izuku confesses. No point in being facetious when the evidence is burning on his face. "like i was made for it. Like it really does make you proud."

Upon hearing that, Katsuki's face is the one that begins to heat up. Beautiful.

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it," he says, a booming confidence waylaid by the deep red slowly crawling slowly from the collar of his shirt, "Is th-"

Izuku can't even begin to imagine what Katsuki was going to say before he cut himself off, his flush fading the longer he studies the tiles below their feet.

"Anything, remember?" Izuku reiterates.

Katsuki's inhale is sharp, blond spikes shifting as his elbow meets the railing and his hip meets the wood below and he says -

"Is that why you said no?"

..oh.

They never really talked about it, did they? Izuku left that car having turned down an invite he would have accepted if it didn't mean giving up both his teaching job and their rivalry; Izuku had a drink having though non-stop about Katsuki's words, not letting them sink in until he had to wave goodbye and sprint to reconnect with an old friend - one that holds everything in, waiting until it gets to be too much before it spills out of her again and again and again-

"It's… complicated," he admits, aware that it's not just the offer he's speaking about.

Katsuki's snort isn't unexpected, but the slight bitterness that laces it is a surprise. "You tryna tell me everythin' else is simple?"

Because life would be so much easier if the world was less technicolour and more sepia-toned, right? "'course not," Izuku says, green eyes narrowing when red eyes focus on something behind his back, "some things are just hard to put into words."

Izuku watches first hand how Katsuki's fingers run through his spikes as he sighs, t-shirt protesting at the motion by feebly attempting to cuff the muscle with a small squeeze.

Poor thing never stood a chance.

"You got that right," bringing that arm back down, Katsuki's head tilts so he can give Izuku a smile that pops a dimple in his cheek, makes this poor heart of his sing and demand an encore all at once, "sometimes you just gotta be patient, wait for the words to find you, or whatever."

'Or whatever', as is his rite. "You know what they say about patience -"

"That it gives heroes an excuse to take credit when they've barely pulled their damn weight?"

There it is, directly from the source itself. "You're a terrible influence," Izuku grumbles despite the grin that lies crooked on Katsuki's face, that deepens that dimple further, somehow.

"Whatever you say, sense-"

Suddenly, Katsuki stops.

Talking, moving - hell, maybe even breathing as Izuku bears witness to the number 5 hero standing statuesque against this rail.

"Just 'cause I like the way you say it doesn't mean you have to stop, Kacchan," Izuku says, embarrassment colouring his words.

A scowl crosses the tanned face before him then. So he is still alive. "Shut up," Katsuki grumbles, "there's just- something."

…

Izuku waits, feels his smile wane under the intense scrutiny of Katsuki's gaze. "Something?"

Red eyes narrow. "On your face."

The face in question becomes a blank slate. "If you're gonna say something stupid like 'your mouth' or 'your freckles', Kacchan, you can forget it."

"No, I- fuckin' hell, I mean-"

Katsuki leans towards him as if to prove a point, Izuku's breath stuttering when calloused fingers find their way to the back of his ear. It's not long before the curve of Katsuki's palm meets the line of his jaw, his thumb moving soon after to pet at the freckles that rest below a viridian eye as Katsuki -

Holds him. Gently, like its glass below his touch and not skin, eyes widening when Izuku feels his face begin to burn a similar shade of red.

"Sticky," Katsuki mumbles, the top of his thumb brushing against Izuku's lower lashes each time it shifts - back and forth, over and over.

'Sticky'? Izuku hasn't eaten anything to make that happen, and his drinks have remained in their glass all evening. What on earth could be on his cheek that's-

Ah.

"Lipgloss, I think," Izuku mutters in a daze.

Red eyes shutter, so much so Izuku finds it impossible to see any sort of light caught there. "Well, that shit's gone now," Katsuki says before he kisses his teeth, begins to pull away, "you gotta tell her to be more careful -"

In a flash a swirl of freckles curls around a tanned wrist, letting Katsuki's hand hover above the face it held mere seconds ago.

"You should make sure," comes from Izuku in a rush, "in case you missed a spot."

Instead of blasting his face to smithereens and stomping through the exit without looking back, Katsuki's eyes darken.

Not the way they do when some pesky villain is up to no good or when he discovers someone's lunch has been left abandoned in the vacuous wasteland of his fridge (of which Izuku is not guilty of doing.. most of the time). No, this is a whole other beast: pupils on the verge of voracious as they jump from freckle to freckle, the reds of his pupils a thinning line wrapped with fairy lights and ivy every time he blinks.

"The hell are you gonna do if-" Katsuki says, eyes more onyx than scarlet flickering away before returning to him, "you gotta death wish or somethin'?"

Izuku lets a grin curl across his face, waits for it to be captured by the palm that hovers over it. "If I didn't have one, Kacchan, I wouldn't let you near me at all," he teases.

The seemingly fickle thing that made Katsuki's body tense is expelled with a long, exaggerated sigh. "You'll not be saying that when you're 6 feet under," he mutters, his fingers pressing once more to the swell of Izuku's cheek, "idiot."

Izuku inhales at the touch, Katsuki's exhale rolling past his jaw soon after - amber glistening in a glass, maraschino cherries resting on top.

"You smell like whiskey," Izuku murmurs.

Along with the spice and the petrichor and whatnot. It's been a while, though, since Izuku found himself close enough to taste it.

Katsuki stills, eyes dropping when a calloused thumb falls to swipe slowly by Izuku's mouth before returning to the crest of his cheek. "Shitty hair wouldn't let me leave until I had an old fashioned," continuing to warm the skin that lies below, Katsuki's eyes find his as he shrugs, "sorry your favourite example drinks on the downlow, Izuku."

Damn Kota, exaggerating the truth just to see what chaos he can sow. Maybe Water Hose is the perfect fit for Dynamight's agency after all. "I do talk about other heroes, you know."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Katsuki says, despite having sat in enough of Izuku's classes to know that's the case, "maybe that's another reason to give that kid a locker in my agency, huh?"

That kid, he says, like he wasn't watching Kota like a proud parent when he aimed for Izuku's crown jewels moments after meeting them. "Stop trying to recruit my students to be your inside guys, Kacchan."

"Good idea," Katsuki says, pressing hard enough against his skin the muscle of Izuku's cheek starts to push up, the corner of his mouth following as the sight in his eye slowly shutters, "I'll keep goin' until your whole damn class is on the patrol schedule."

Izuku can't stop a laugh from bubbling through his now-lopsided smile, readily accepting this newfound assault as nails gently prick below his lower lids. "That's a little-"

'Farfetched' is what he means to say, but he loses the ability to speak when the hand on his face moves, and Izuku barely has the chance to mourn his loss when that nuisance of a curl is pushed away by a tanned forefinger to return to the rest of its kin. Heart hammering in his chest, Izuku waits for Katsuki's hand to return to his side, wonders if he'll ever be lucky enough to feel it against his face again -

But then tanned fingers splay in the emerald of Izuku's hair, running through curls as they trek, slowly, past the curve of his crown, the slope of his occiput. Fingertips gently drag past where his skull meets his spine, only finishing their journey once they reach the nape of his neck.

"…Good," Izuku mumbles instead, the word taking what little breath is left in his lungs as their own when warm fingers begin to pet gently at the green that rests there.

Somewhere, in the distance, Izuku swears he hears the swell of strings.

"Good?" Katsuki repeats, a smile as crooked as it is delicious finding a spot on his face when Izuku shivers a second time, "you changed your tune pretty quick there, sensei."

How can he not when what music he hears is nothing less than beautiful? This song, plucked expertly by the very fingers that pet at his hair and press against his neck; this melody, wobbling towards a crescendo when a warm palm meets his cheek again, strings and brass and wind coalescing to something ethereal as Izuku realises it fits there so, so perfectly - like his face was sculpted for the sole purpose of being held by these very hands, like he was created to be held by Katsuki like this.

And yet it fades almost as quickly as it appeared, the squealing of strings as bows glide away when Katsuki blinks and the discordant crash of cymbals and chimes as they clatter to the ground when he stills. His gaze, rubies once more, that can no longer meet the emerald that watches, waits; his hands, lifting, as if afraid to let them feel the warmth that lies below lest it burns.

"I think I gotta let go," Katsuki mutters suddenly.

Ice begins to prickle in Izuku's veins. "Let go?" he repeats.

"Of somethin' stupid," Katsuki says- no, confesses, like he's having to drag these words from the pits of hell themselves, "somethin' I shoulda never tried to hold in the first place."

What sweetness plumed in the air moments ago becomes something sour when Izuku inhales. Panic zips quickly up his spine, and Izuku tilts his head until the curve of his cheek is pressing against the dip of Katsuki's palm, breath quaking out of him in sheer relief when they're connected once more.

"Who says you have to?" he breathes.

Instead of holding him like they did before, Katsuki's fingers twitch against his skin. "What?"

"Who says you have to," Izuku presses, wetting his lips as he attempts to string together some sort of sentence that isn't just 'explain further' and 'please no', "What if- I mean, is there a reason you should?"

Katsuki's laugh is a fissure rumbling before smoke plumes and magma spews. "More reasons than there are stars in the damn sky, Izuku," he grouses, tanned fingers caving in to press heavily where jaw meets neck, "if I don't do it now..."

His grip lessens, the intensity of his gaze following suit.

"Anything, right?" Katsuki asks, so soft it's a wonder Izuku was able to make it out at all.

Izuku nods, soft then sharp. "Anything," he confirms, freckled hands reaching out until they find purchase in Katsuki's shirt, mooring himself to these distant shores before he can be swept away. "Hey, Kacchan?"

Katsuki's answering hum buzzes gently against the curl of his fingers, Izuku's breath catching when the hand on his face moves until those fingers are curling around his nape once more, thumb pressing gently just behind Izuku's ear. These scarlet eyes are alive now and they're beautiful, sparks that flicker and flare with each pass they make between viridian, and this pull Izuku's felt his whole life is now a vicious jerk that makes their shoes knock together, makes him tug at the fabric of Katsuki's shirt until the collar stretches, reveals shoulders he wishes he could cling to and the pulse of Polaris that calls for him. The mouth before him parts and the hand on him flexes and the eyes on his search, desperately, for- something, anything, as they said, just as a warmth blooms between his waist and this railing.

'You should tell him how you feel before we go home', he recalls, just as Katsuki leans in close enough Izuku's breath is sure to curl off the side of his jaw and warm his neck, the button of his nose close enough to feel the heat of Katsuki's face. 'Seriously, Izuku.'

"I-"

BANG!

"There you are, Bakubro, we've been lookin' everywhere for- oh!"

Whatever mood they found themselves in snaps when a door bounces off the wall, this string cut clean when Izuku turns to see panicked red eyes flutter in relief and sweat-lined spikes glisten under this canopy of stringed lights. The back of a hardened hand wipes across his forehead, only to pause mid-swipe when red eyes - similar to the ones that are no longer on him - fall to the hands clinging to Katsuki's jacket-less abdomen, smile growing taut when he sees it's because its being worn by someone else.

"Oh," comes from Eijiro a second time.

Izuku's teeth are sharp where they dig into the meat of his tongue, a familiar tang of copper flooding his palate when the warmth on his face disappears.

"Sorry! I didn't- well, if you need a moment I can, uh, leave. Pretend I didn't see anything?" Eijiro pauses then, chooses then to observe the slate tiles below their feet. "Is this what it's like being a chaperone? Man, my ma's never had it easy, did they -"

"Eijiro," Katsuki interrupts, something sharp digging into Izuku's waist as Eijiro's name becomes clipped by the curl of his snarl, "get to the point."

Eijiro blinks before clearing his throat, staring at Izuku. Hard. "It was just- we said about leaving early, remember? early shifts in the morning. Me. Mina. You, actually, as well, so we- you know, gotta go." They quickly snap to Katsuki, his brow raising when their eyes meet, "unless…"

The slow, suggestive drawl of that single word becomes the prelude to a classic Red Dynamight staring contest. Izuku's always known it to be the pause before they fight for the last sliver of whatever snack sits between them on the table, a rock-paper-scissors contest to decide which one of them is gracing the Hero Commission with their presence, but this time it feels -

Different.

Really, really different.

Izuku's skin begin crawl.

It's broken with a sigh, the loser of their exchange evident when Katsuki's hand falls away from where it was apparently on Izuku's waist, leaning away to appraise Izuku with the clench of a jaw, the curl of a fist.

Just like that spring morning a multitude of moons ago.

"Startin' early tomorrow," Katsuki says, as if that isn't when he always starts his shifts. "Tell her I'm sorry, alright? -"

Izuku doesn't realise Katsuki's taken a step back until he can see more than just the red of his eyes. "Huh?"

" - It won't happen again," he continues, words nothing less than confounding, especially when he gently pushes Izuku's hands away with a frustrated "not anymore."

Not any- "Kacchan, what-"

He only registers the hand against his collar when knuckles accidentally brush the line of his throat, unable to speak when it falls to run over his shoulder, down the length of his arm.

"Get home safe, 'Zuku," is muttered quietly between them, tanned fingers finding and curling loosely around freckled ones to give them a squeeze before pulling away.

All Izuku can do is watch when Katsuki begins to walking away, backwards at first so their eyes remain interlocked before turning on his heel with a click of his tongue and a shoulder gliding past a curiously worried Eijiro waving his way. "Katsu-"

A squeal rings in the night as the door closes behind them, leaving Izuku alone once more.

"-ki."

Silence follows, Izuku shivering as he lets the hand still buzzing from Katsuki's touch curl around the top of the rail until the tips of his fingers turn cold, feels his heart begin to sink when the closing of doors and the purring of an engine joins the symphony of this city.

Where else is home supposed to be if not by Katsuki's side?

"Why don't you start from the top, sensei?"

From where he stands in the middle of his genkan, Izuku squeezes his eyes closed and lets his head knock the door at his back closed.

It's a fair request, seeing as his walk from rooftop to table was nothing less than a blur and the walk from izakaya to apartment was even quicker still, but he had just barely set foot in the entrance to his apartment building when his phone began to buzz in his pocket, accepting it to hear a curious, bar-buzzed Ochaco requesting enthusiastically for any and all information that followed his disappearance.

"There's not really much to tell," he lies. Its aftertaste is a bitter thing, his stomach swirling with how easily it fell from his mouth. "Did you make it home okay?"

Ochaco hums, a sweet note that he's only ever heard when it comes to one particular person. "Almost there! Speaking of which, I really should thank you," voice turning to birdsong, Ochaco continues babbling enthusiastically down the line, "Tsu's gonna stay over at mine tonight. We haven't had an impromptu sleepover in years-!"

Ha. Izuku knew it. "Shouldn't you be enjoying her company instead of talking to me?" he attempts to tease, face wrinkling when it's more sardonic than anything else.

Thankfully it's nothing more than water off this duck's back, Ochaco giggling down the line instead of ruffling her feathers. "Who says I can't do both?" she teases back, "honestly, though -"

"- we were worried about you," he hears Tsu say, her voice getting closer just as a rustle makes its way through the receiver. "If you didn't leave as quickly as you did we could have walked you home first, kero."

Well, at least it's Tsu listening in - along with whoever in Musutafu happens to walk past, if the occasional ringing of a bell and blaring of a horn is anything to go by. "I needed some time alone," he says, squinting into the darkness of his apartment and spotting dust dancing in a single, slanted ray of moonlight, "not that this isn't appreciated, but there's no need to worry, I'm fine."

As long as he doesn't think about the heat that curled against his hands, the frustration that clouded scarlet eyes. He just needs to repeat it like a mantra. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine-

"Please don't lie to us, Izuku," Ochaco whispers, a quiet undertone to Tsu's near-woeful "we saw how you looked before you left, Izuku, and you were anything but fine."

What a terrible thing it is, to have your heart live on your sleeve and not in your chest.

"Sorry," is the only thing he can think to say.

"It's okay," Ochaco says. Izuku's eyes fall to a wooden knot just by his foot, starts circling that drain when she mutters assumedly to Tsu before coming back. "Same as before, alright? From the beginning, or anything that comes to mind."

Anything, right?

Izuku takes the phone from his ear, presses it against his forehead and breathes.

It really was just all in his head, wasn't it? Poison from the pollen creating a hallucinatory daydream that convinced him that the events of this evening were in anyway reciprocal: a voice, gruff yet sweet, calling him an idiot for appearing outside sans-jacket; a hand cleaning his face and Izuku keeping that hand on his face, clutching his shirt to keep him close; "hey, Kacchan?" falling from his mouth -

("Get home safe, Izuku," Katsuki said, moments before fading from view.

No promise of meeting at some point in the future. No throwaway sentence about letting him know when, specifically, he reaches his apartment.

…)

"You know when something's changed, but you don't have proof that it has?" he says.

What follows then is neither acknowledgement nor admonishment, but instead the silence of a friend stunned. Static weighing heavy on the line, the barest sound of clicking becomes discernible amid the quiet trundle of cars passing by.

"You can feel it in your gut that something's not right," Ochaco answers near-monotone, "that things aren't the same as they were before."

His throat clears - a little in admission, a little in alarm. "Yeah," comes from him coarse, "yeah, that's it."

The slide of a door brackets the end of his sentence, two distinct sets of tapping making themselves known. She must have made it into her own apartment building, he thinks.

"I don't mean to trivialise your feelings, Izuku, but…" Ochaco says, voice echoing as the rhythm on the other end pauses, "what if you think everything terrible and it's actually fine? What if there's nothing wrong at all?"

Which- well, it's a fair point, but she wasn't there. "This feels different, Ochaco."

"Everything with him feels different," and 'everything with him is complicated', as she said just hours ago. "You're the bravest person I know, okay? Since when has being knocked down stopped you from getting back up?"

"If you're struggling to get back on your feet, don't forget we're here to help you up, Izuku."

"Exactly!" Ochaco chirps after Tsu's interjection, "just because it didn't go well the first time doesn't mean you should immediately give up!" This time when she pauses, however, the silence that follows is terse. "You did tell him, right?"

A freckled mouth parts, closes, then wobbles open. "Well-"

Only to be interrupted by a familiar sigh. "Listen, I don't know the specifics of what happened - and of course you don't need to tell me if you don't want to! - but if you said the words 'I love you' and he didn't respond -"

Izuku pales. "Ochaco!"

" - I could understand being hesitant," continuing unperturbed, something shuffles before Ochaco's voice gets louder, "but if you didn't make it obvious then you need to give it another shot!" A ding! bursts bright in his ear drums, and another thing slides closed. The lift in her apartment building, presumably. "I have an intuition for these things, Izuku, and I really think you have a chance."

And Izuku knows Katsuki like the back of his hand, but look at where that's got him: waiting desperately to see if a handful of minutes on top of a rooftop was enough to topple a friendship 24 years in the making. "What if I don't?" he all but confesses, hating how even saying these words aloud makes his chest feel tight. "What if it's all in my head?"

"Then the man you're in love with is a moron," Tsu chimes in, letting her words sink in before tying off her statement with a quiet, albeit somewhat amused "no offense."

And suddenly it feels like someone's punched him directly in the gut. "Hey."

"What she said," Ochaco teases, "if he didn't see the hearts in your eyes when he walked through those doors earlier, he really is a moron." Another pause follows. "No offense."

There's no way he-

Izuku did not-

"Stop exaggerating, please," he begs, moreso for his own sanity than anything else.

When she hums then it's light, knowing, before it's interrupted by her own gasp. "Oh! We have your blazer here, I can swing by UA tomor-" a rustle makes its way down the line, the jingling of keys and a quiet thanks following before she sighs. "Never mind, I forgot I'm leaving for Hosu in the morning. I might need to add that into our rain check."

Izuku frowns. "My blazer?"

"The one you very kindly left for me before you went home," she teases, just as a click! echoes in his ear, "I know it was chilly this evening and you got a new jacket to replace it, but you didn't need to go that far, Izuku."

A new jacket? Izuku looks down, feels his heart stop when he sees dark leather covering his arms and the woollen lining warping as it presses then falls away from his torso.

Oh god. "I'm so sorry -"

"If you apologise one more time, Izuku, Tsu and I are gonna catapult ourselves over to your apartment to knock some sense into you -"

"- we can be there in a matter of minutes, kero."

Uravity's float combined with Froppy's frog-like reflexes? Izuku shivers. "Can you at least give me one more chance?"

The pause that follows should not feel this oppressive. "Deal," Tsu says, Ochaco following it up with a "Just get some rest, alright? When you're ready to talk about it we're here."

Ochaco claiming earlier that Izuku didn't deserve those that he's blessed to call his friends in his life is nothing less than a damn lie.

"I don't deserve you," he says aloud, "any of you-"

"Are you sure?" Ochaco interrupts, "'cause I think you deserve the world and more."

They're both as stubborn as each other, thus making this a discussion he has almost no chance of winning. "Enjoy your sleepover, Ochaco," he says, releasing a bait that should set the three of them free.

"We'll try," she replies through what sounds like a smile, catching it in her hands as Tsu offers her own farewells. "Sleep tight, Izuku."

Once the dial tone rings out in his ear, Izuku hits 'end call' and lets his head thump against the door one more time.

If you had told Izuku an hour before that he would be steps away from sharing Katsuki's warmth on top of a fairly-secluded rooftop he would have thought you were creating a modern day fairytale, but the evidence is undeniable: Katsuki's touch still tingling on face and his neck and his fingers, the ebb of Katsuki's aftershave following the flow of this petrichor-something that clings to him incessantly, the warmth of his jacket bleeding through the cotton of his shirt and the heat of his breath still curling, gently, around his jaw -

Izuku, phone still in hand, lets the glass find his temple as his fingers find his eyes.

A jacket is just a jacket until it's being handed to you in a cool summer's evening and every breath you take is like standing in a meadow moments after a monsoon passes. A blazer is just a blazer until you leave it at your back to return to this apartment that's supposed to be 'home' and the thing that's replaced it feels like being held by arms that will never find their way to you, not in the way you want them to.

A heart is just a heart until you feel it begin to crack in two, and you're left lamenting the things they could have been and the things they once were.

'I think I gotta let go,' Izuku recalls, the phantom touch of Katsuki's hand seared into skin already scarred, 'of somethin' stupid. Somethin' I shoulda never tried to hold in the first place.'

How easy it would be for Izuku to believe that those words meant anything, if pressing for an answer didn't leave Katsuki attempting to pull his hand away like to do so would make it crumble to dust. How easy it would be for Izuku to risk their friendship if Katsuki hadn't done a terrific job of drawing a line in the sand between them over, and over, and over-

Izuku, from where he stands, hears his phone clatter to the ground.

Did he draw a line?

In the past, yes, undeniably so - a cardboard box clutched tight to his chest as they rest below a star-studded sky when Izuku asks if it meant anything specific; Katsuki looking at floorboards as if he's on the verge of vomiting, his hand clutching Izuku's own when he asks why he bought him a coffee - but now?

What are the chances his facade slipped this evening, letting Izuku become privy to feelings Katsuki has done an impeccable job of hiding away? What are the chances such lines were drawn in the past because Katsuki believed Izuku didn't feel the same way?

When Izuku looks up, lunar light turns a familiar lavender cup periwinkle.

Frustration is what toes him out of his oxfords and kicks them against the genkan until they lie askew, feet dragging through sand until the divide is filled with silt and sediment so socked feet can stomp irritably over floorboards, annoyance narrowing his sight once they fall upon what's been haunting his apartment for months. When he picks it up that single, lonesome cufflink clatters then rolls between lesson plans and unmarked work, green eyes using the moon's rays to trace characters that make up victory personified.

"I'll always be chasing after you, won't I?" Izuku says where it sits heavy in his palm.

In life, in work, in feelings. It doesn't matter if they're 1 or 10 places apart on the charts, Izuku will always be that child, watching a back that runs before him ahead and hoping that someday he'll look back and see him - moreso than he did when he was nothing more than a quirkless classmate, moreso than he did when he told Izuku to get home safe and didn't look back.

If I catch up, will you ever look my way? 

The cup, of course, doesn't deign him with an answer. It was foolish for Izuku to even think that it could.

Sighing, Izuku pads towards the kitchen so he can return it to its rightful place: the shelves at the side of a cupboard by his sink, adjusting it, little by little, until that name with the heart is visible once more.

If there's a tomorrow in his sights, there's another chance within his grasp. If that back is still within his view, there's still an opportunity to meet him, head on, before it disappears for good.

Who else could find the truth that rests in Katsuki's heart if not him?