Archive of Our Own

Despite the crushing exhaustion weighing on her, Izumi found herself unable to fall asleep that night.

No matter how badly she longed for rest, her mind refused to grant it. Thoughts churned endlessly in her head, tangled in a storm of anxiety that made sleep feel impossibly out of reach.

She spent hours tossing and turning beneath the covers, squeezing her eyes shut in the hope that the unease consuming her would eventually fade, that the nausea twisting in her stomach would disappear if she ignored it long enough. But it was useless.

Even the comfort of her own bed in her dorm room felt unfamiliar now. It was her first night back at UA since she had left in order to protect everyone from Shigaraki and the others. She knew that if she had stayed, it would only be a matter of time before Shigaraki used the Search quirk to track her down. So, for the sake of the people she cared about, she had done the only thing she could—she left.

It wasn't what Izumi wanted to do, not even close. But the memory of what happened to Katsuki during the fight with Shigaraki had burned itself into her mind, replaying every time she closed her eyes.

She thought about that moment constantly, the instant he threw himself in front of her, taking the blow from Shigaraki that had been meant for her instead.

Part of Izumi was angry at him for it.

How could he be reckless enough to risk his life like that? He could have died. She knew she was faster than him, if he had given her even a second longer, she probably could have dodged the attack herself. So why had he stepped in front of her?

Katsuki was never the type to act without thinking. He approached everything with careful strategy and precision, yet that single impulsive decision could have cost him his life. And if it had, Izumi knew she never would have been able to forgive herself.

Still, being confused by Katsuki's actions was nothing new.

After spending practically their entire lives together, Izumi had become more than familiar with that side of him. Just when she thought she had finally begun to understand the way his mind worked, he would surprise her again, revealing another side of himself she had never seen before. Maybe that was simply part of their relationship, constantly challenging each other, always finding new ways to throw the other off balance.

Izumi sighed deeply as she sat up in her bed, running her fingers through her hair, that she was grateful to finally have properly washed and blowdried after so long. Trying to keep yourself clean and upkeep those kinds of things proved difficult when you didn't have access to a regular shower like Izumi was used to, which is probably why the first thing the girls did when they got home was throw Izumi into the bath and scrub her clean. She was grateful to all of them, though, and appreciated their kindness more than they would ever know.

Izumi stood from her bed and stretched her legs out before stepping into her slippers, unable to ignore the urge, she decided that she needed to see Katsuki.

If she didn't do it now, she might never be able to rest.

There were things she needed to say to him, things that she had wanted to say for a long time but the timing was never right. She hated the thought of Katsuki carrying around any guilt for how he had treated her in the past. That wasn't the Kacchan she knew him as, the Kacchan she knew was the one who would throw himself in front of an attack just to protect her from the hit. He had asked for her forgiveness, not knowing that she had given it a long time ago.

Izumi wasn't entirely sure what time it was anymore, nor whether Katsuki would even still be awake. He had always been the type to go to bed earlier than most of the others in the dorms, strict with his routines even when nobody asked him to be. The chances of him already being asleep were high, and guilt twisted faintly in her stomach at the thought of disturbing him after everything that had happened recently.

Part of her told her to turn around and go back to her own room.

To stop being selfish.

But another part, the louder, more exhausted part , was desperately craving comfort, even if she didn't fully understand why her feet had brought her here specifically.

So, for once, Izumi allowed herself to be selfish.

The halls of the boys' dormitory were quiet as she carefully made her way through them, her sock-covered feet silent against the floor. The dim overhead lights cast soft shadows across the corridor, making everything feel strangely dreamlike at this hour of the night.

When she finally reached Katsuki's door, she stopped abruptly.

Suddenly, the anxiety sitting in her chest became painfully noticeable.

Her breathing felt too tight. Too shallow.

Izumi pressed her lips together before instinctively pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying at it gently — an old nervous habit she'd never quite managed to break.

What if he got annoyed?

What if he told her to leave?

Worse... what if he opened the door and looked at her like she was a burden?

The thought alone almost made her turn back around.

But after a long moment, the breath trapped inside her lungs finally escaped in a shaky exhale, and Izumi forced herself to lift her hand toward the door.

Then she knocked.

Three soft taps against the wood.

Quiet enough not to disturb the neighbouring rooms, but loud enough that Katsuki would hear them if he was awake.

The sound seemed unnaturally loud in the silence afterward.

And as Izumi waited outside his door with her heart hammering painfully against her ribs, she realized just how badly she wanted him to answer.

After a moment, Izumi hears the faint sound of movement from inside the room, the shuffle of footsteps against hardwood, followed by the dull scrape of something being nudged aside. Instinctively, she steps back from the door, her heartbeat quickening as she braces herself for Katsuki to answer.

A second later, the door swings open.

Katsuki stands there in the doorway, looking like he'd been dragged unwillingly from sleep. His blond hair sticks up in uneven directions, messier than usual, and his crimson eyes are heavy-lidded with exhaustion. The warm glow from the room behind him spills across the sharp angles of his face, softening him in a way Izumi rarely ever got to see. He's wearing a loose black shirt and grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips, and for a brief, embarrassing second, Izumi forgets how to form coherent thoughts.

He blinks at her slowly, rubbing at one eye with the back of his hand as if he's trying to clear the haze of sleep enough to make sure he isn't imagining things.

It takes him a moment to fully register who's standing in front of him.

"What the hell are you doing here, nerd?"

His voice is rough with sleep, lower than usual, and somehow that only makes the nervous twisting in Izumi's stomach worse.

Her fingers instinctively lock together in front of her, thumbs fidgeting anxiously against each other as she tries to steady herself. Had he gotten taller? Maybe it was the way he was leaning against the doorway, or maybe it was the fact she suddenly felt far too aware of how close they were standing, but he seemed to tower over her now.

She swallows hard.

"I—" Her voice catches almost immediately, mortifyingly small compared to his. Clearing her throat, she tries again. "I didn't wake you up, did I?"

Katsuki lets out a dry scoff, though it lacks its usual bite. "Yes, so this had better be important."

Izumi's face drops a little as she registers the guilt pooling inside of her, maybe she should have thought twice about bothering him so late at night. The old insecurities she used to harbour were creeping up on her again, the ones that would highlight her annoying and needy nature, but she pushed those feeling back the best she could.

His eyes narrow slightly as he studies her, sleepiness slowly giving way to suspicion. "You're acting weird."

"I'm not acting weird."

"You showed up at my room at..." He glances over his shoulder toward the clock inside before looking back at her. "Midnight. That's weird."

Izumi opens her mouth, then closes it again. The confidence she'd tried to gather on the walk over suddenly abandons her completely under the weight of his stare. Katsuki had always looked at people intensely, but being on the receiving end of it like this — alone, in the quiet of the hallway, with him standing only a few inches away felt entirely different.

His expression softens just slightly as his gaze flickers over her face.

"...Something happen?"

The question catches her off guard. Not because of the words themselves, but because beneath the gruffness, there's genuine concern there. Quiet. Unspoken. But real.

Izumi feels her pulse stumble.

For all his sharp edges, Katsuki had always noticed things about her that other people didn't.

"I just- I wanted too... sorry... for waking you..."

"You're mumbling," Katsuki groans, his voice thick with exhaustion as he leans heavier against the doorframe.

The irritation in his tone is familiar, almost expected, but there's less heat behind it than usual. Izumi had always had a habit of muttering under her breath whenever she was nervous or overthinking, words tangling together faster than she could properly say them aloud. Normally he could piece together enough of it to understand, but tonight was worse.

Mostly because his hearing aid was still sitting uselessly on his bedside table.

He'd been too tired to put it back on after he was woken by the knock on his door, and now all her quiet rambling blurred together into muffled fragments that only made his growing frustration sharpen.

Still, despite the haze of sleep clouding his mind and the annoyance prickling at the edges of his patience, Katsuki is aware enough to really look at her.

And the sight of her makes something inside him pull tight.

Izumi looks exhausted.

Not just tired — worn down. Like the weight of something heavy had been pressing against her shoulders for far too long. Her posture is smaller than usual, arms drawn close to herself as though she's trying to hold herself together by force alone. Even in the dim hallway lighting, he can see the faint puffiness around her eyes, the way her expression seems one breath away from crumbling completely.

Like she could dissolve into tears at any second.

The thought sends a sharp, uncomfortable feeling straight into his chest.

Katsuki frowns slightly.

He doesn't know how to describe the sensation. It's not pity, he hates pity. It's something tighter. Hotter. A restless ache beneath his ribs that makes him suddenly, irrationally angry at the knowledge of what had made her like this in the first place. None of what happened was her fault, but she had been left to carry the weight of the burden that Shigaraki and All For One had created.

More than anything, he just knows he hates seeing her like this.

He watches quietly as Izumi inhales deeply, her breath trembling faintly before she exhales again. Like she's trying to steady herself before saying something important.

"I just wanted to see you," she says softly.

The words catch him off guard.

For a moment, Izumi keeps her gaze fixed on the floor, eyes darting nervously across the carpet instead of looking at him directly. Then, slowly, she glances up.

And Katsuki feels his chest tighten all over again.

In the darkness of the hallway, the green of her eyes seems impossibly vivid. The dim overhead light catches in them like sunlight reflecting across river water, bright and shimmering despite the sadness sitting behind them. He can't remember ever noticing before how expressive her eyes were, or maybe he had noticed, and just never let himself think about it too hard.

She looks at him so openly it almost makes him uncomfortable.

Not because he dislikes it.

Because he does.

Too much.

Katsuki swallows thickly, forcing himself to look away for half a second before that strange tight feeling in his chest becomes impossible to ignore.

"Tch," he mutters under his breath, more to himself than her.

Izumi blinks. "What?"

"Nothing."

But his voice comes out quieter this time.

Softer.

"Just say that then, weirdo."

Katsuki clicks his tongue softly as he steps to the side, one hand still resting against the doorframe as he silently offers her space to come in. The gesture is casual, almost reluctant, but Izumi knows him well enough by now to recognise it for what it is.

An invitation.

She slips past him quietly, murmuring a small "thanks" under her breath as she steps into his room. Her slippers slide off near the doorway almost automatically, neatly tucked beside the wall out of habit.

Behind her, the door clicks shut.

The sound feels strangely loud.

Katsuki walks past her without another word, dragging a hand through his already messy blond hair as he heads further into the room, still looking half asleep. Yet somehow, the moment the door closes behind them, Izumi becomes painfully aware of everything around her.

The warmth of the room compared to the cold hallway outside.

The faint scent of laundry detergent mixed with something distinctly him — smoky and clean and familiar enough now that it settles oddly in her chest.

Her pulse quickens before she can stop it.

It wasn't like she'd never been in Katsuki's room before.

She had.

Plenty of times, actually.

Over time, it had become normal for the two of them to wander into each other's spaces without much thought. Sometimes one of them would drop off notes from class, forgotten equipment, or snacks stolen from the kitchen downstairs. Other times, one of them would knock on the other's door before training, talking strategy while still half dressed and exhausted from the early hour.

It had always been easy.

Comfortable, despite the hostility that clouded their previous years of friendship.

So Izumi can't understand why standing here now suddenly feels so different.

Maybe it's because it's late.

Maybe it's because the room is dim except for the bedside lamp casting soft amber light across the walls.

Or maybe it's because Katsuki himself feels different tonight, quieter somehow, the usual sharpness worn down by exhaustion until only something softer remains underneath.

Izumi's gaze drifts around the room despite herself. It's tidy and organised in the way that Katsuki's room always is, but still lived in. Training gear lies discarded over the back of a chair, notebooks stacked across his desk beside gauntlet sketches and scribbled strategy notes. A hoodie hangs half off the edge of his bed like he'd thrown it there carelessly before falling asleep.

It feels lived in.

It feels like him.

"You gonna stand there all night?" Katsuki asks suddenly, glancing back at her.

Izumi startles slightly, realising she's still hovering awkwardly near the door.

"Sorry."

"Tch. You're acting weird again."

There's no real bite to the comment, though. If anything, he sounds more curious than annoyed now.

Katsuki drops onto the edge of his bed with a tired exhale, elbows resting on his knees as he looks up at her through heavy-lidded eyes. The soft lighting catches against the crimson of them, and Izumi has to look away before she stares too long.

"Sit down or something," he mutters.

Her stomach twists nervously at the suggestion, which is ridiculous. It's just Katsuki. Just his room. Just the two of them like always.

And yet, somehow, it doesn't feel like "just" anything tonight.

Izumi takes a few cautious steps towards the bed, every movement feeling strangely deliberate under Katsuki's gaze. She lowers herself awkwardly onto the right side of the mattress beside him, leaving enough space between them that their shoulders don't touch.

Not that she isn't suddenly painfully aware of how easily they could.

Before sitting down, she'd noticed the small hearing aid resting on the bedside table beside his lamp, abandoned there in his exhaustion. Without even really thinking about it, she'd instinctively chosen the side he heard better from.

A small adjustment.

One born entirely from habit.

Katsuki notices immediately.

His crimson eyes flick briefly toward the hearing aid on the table before returning to her face. Something unreadable shifts across his expression for half a second, subtle enough most people probably wouldn't catch it.

But Izumi does.

Because she's always paid attention to him in ways others didn't.

Neither of them mentions it.

Still, the quiet awareness of it lingers in the room anyway.

The mattress dips slightly beneath Katsuki as he shifts back against the wall, stretching one arm behind his head with a low sigh. Izumi folds her hands nervously in her lap, trying very hard not to think about how close they're sitting now compared to before. Close enough that she can feel the warmth radiating from him. Close enough that the faint scent of smoke and detergent clings stronger here. Her chest tightens unexpectedly.

They sit in silence for a while, the kind that stretches long and heavy between two people who care about each other deeply but have never quite learned how to say the things that matter most.

Neither of them really knows what to say next.

Communication had never come easily between them.

Not when they were children.

Not now.

Katsuki had always been sharp-edged, loud, aggressive, cruel in ways that had cut deeper than he'd probably realised at the time. His words had a way of lodging themselves beneath Izumi's skin and staying there long after the moment had passed.

And Izumi...

Izumi had always followed him anyway. Even when it hurt. Even when every harsh comment and angry shove had left bruises somewhere invisible inside her chest. She had spent years pretending none of it affected her, swallowing down every bit of sadness with a smile and a quiet, "I'm fine," because acknowledging the pain would have made it real.

Would have forced her to admit that Katsuki's opinion of her mattered more than she wanted it to.

But things had changed.

Slowly. Awkwardly.

Over time, the sharp hostility between them had worn down into something gentler, something uncertain but real. They were learning each other again now, not as children clinging to old expectations, but as people trying desperately to bridge years of hurt neither of them fully knew how to talk about.

Friends.

Maybe truly becoming friends again for the first time since they were little.

Still, despite how much things had improved, the memory of earlier that day continued to echo through Izumi's mind.

Katsuki's apology.

The raw honesty in his voice when he'd admitted the guilt he carried. It replayed over and over in her head now, impossible to ignore, bus also, impossible to talk about.

"I never thanked you for what you did... before."

Izumi's voice finally breaks the silence, quiet and worn at the edges, carrying the same exhaustion etched across her face. The words come slowly, like she's been turning them over in her head for a long time and still isn't entirely sure how to say them aloud.

Beside her, Katsuki glances over. One blond brow lifts slightly as confusion flickers across his tired expression.

"What're you talking about?"

Izumi shifts awkwardly where she sits, fingers tightening together in her lap. Katsuki watches the movement carefully, noticing the way she avoids looking directly at him again — like she's trying to organise thoughts that feel too heavy to say properly.

For a moment, she says nothing.

Then finally—

"During the fight with Shigaraki," she murmurs. "You got hurt because of me."

The room falls still.

Katsuki's expression changes almost imperceptibly, his gaze lingering on her a second longer than before. It's subtle, but Izumi notices it anyway. She always notices things about him other people miss.

He hadn't realised she still thought about that moment so much. Truthfully, he tried not to think about it himself. Not because he regretted it. But because whenever the memory resurfaced, the split-second decision, the panic that had gripped his chest when he saw the attack heading toward her, something inside him still feels too raw.

At the time, there hadn't been room to think.

His body had moved before his brain caught up.

No hesitation.

No planning.

Just instinct.

And that alone unsettles him more than he'd ever admit aloud.

Katsuki looks away with a quiet scoff, leaning back harder against the wall as if physically distancing himself from the conversation might make it easier.

"Don't flatter yourself, nerd," he mutters. "It was an error in judgment. Nothing more."

The words come out rough and dismissive, but they lack conviction.

Izumi hears it immediately.

So does he.

She nods faintly anyway, though Katsuki can tell instantly that she doesn't believe him. Because an error in judgment wasn't something Katsuki Bakugo made.

Not in battle.

Not when lives were on the line.

He was many things — angry, stubborn, difficult — but reckless in a fight was never one of them.

Izumi lowers her gaze to her hands again, her voice softer this time.

"You almost died."

The words hit harder than Katsuki expects. A strange tension settles across his shoulders. He clicks his tongue irritably, though it sounds weaker now, defensive rather than angry. "I'm obviously fine."

"That's not the point."

Katsuki finally looks at her properly then. And the expression on Izumi's face makes his chest ache in that same frustrating way it had earlier at the doorway.

There's no dramatics in her expression. No tears. No guilt-tripping accusation.

Just honest fear.

Fear that still hasn't fully left her even now. It's written all over the exhaustion in her eyes.

Katsuki's throat feels unexpectedly tight. He hates this feeling. Hates how seeing her upset twists something deep inside him until he can barely think straight. For a long moment, neither of them speaks.

Then quietly, almost hesitant, Izumi says, "You scared me."

The confession lands between them softly. But somehow it feels louder than anything else she's said tonight.

Katsuki's heartbeat stumbles once against his ribs.

And suddenly, sitting this close to her feels dangerous in a way fighting villains never has.

"But I guess that's not really why I wanted to see you." Izumi lets out a small sigh as she says it, the sound soft and tired in the quiet room. Katsuki waits for her to continue, his attention fixed on her at first, but somewhere in the silence that follows, his focus drifts unintentionally.

His gaze slips from her face downward before he can stop himself.

Only then does he fully register what she's wearing.

A loose tank top and sleep shorts — clothes clearly thrown on in the middle of the night before coming here. The fabric looks soft and thin from wear, hanging slightly from one shoulder as she shifts beside him.

Katsuki's eyes catch briefly on the faded scars scattered across her arms, pale against her skin beneath the warm light of the bedside lamp. Some are old. Some barely noticeable unless you looked carefully.

For some reason, seeing them here like this in the quiet vulnerability of his room instead of on a battlefield, makes something heavy settle in his chest.

Then his attention betrays him further.

His gaze flickers lower for half a second as Izumi breathes in, the fabric of her tank top pulling slightly with the movement, and realisation hits him all at once.

Oh.

Heat rushes violently to his face.

Katsuki jerks his eyes away so fast it almost gives him whiplash, suddenly staring very hard at the opposite wall like it personally offended him. She wasn't even wearing a bra.

What the hell is wrong with you?

He curses himself immediately, jaw tightening as embarrassment crawls hot beneath his skin. He hadn't meant to look. It just... happened.

Beside him, thankfully, Izumi seems too caught up in her own thoughts to notice his brief moment of internal catastrophe. Or maybe she notices the sudden stiffness in his posture and misreads it entirely.

"I know it's late," she says quietly, still looking down at her hands. "I just... couldn't stop thinking."

Katsuki forces himself to focus on her words instead of the dangerous awareness currently making his brain short-circuit.

"Tch. You do too much thinking."

Normally the comment would sound teasingly harsh, but this time it comes out strangely uneven. Izumi glances at him then, finally noticing the way he's pointedly avoiding looking in her direction.

"...Are you okay?"

"Fine."

The response comes much too quickly.

Suspiciously quickly.

One of Izumi's brows furrows slightly, confusion flickering across her tired face, but Katsuki refuses to elaborate further. Instead, he drags a rough hand down his face, silently willing the heat in his cheeks to disappear before she notices it too.

Which, of course, only makes it worse.

Because now he's hyperaware of everything.

How close she's sitting beside him.

The soft sound of her breathing in the otherwise quiet room.

The faint warmth radiating from her shoulder only inches away from his own.

It's ridiculous.

He's fought villains without flinching, stared down life-or-death situations without hesitation, and yet somehow sitting next to Izumi in the middle of the night suddenly feels infinitely more overwhelming.

And the worst part?

He isn't entirely sure why.

"You gonna get to the point then or what?" Katsuki asks bluntly.

His tone is gruffer than usual, mostly because he's still stubbornly trying to keep his eyes fixed anywhere except directly on her. The wall. The desk. The floor. Literally anything else.

Unfortunately for him, Izumi shifts beside him before he can recover properly.

She turns so she's facing him now, one hand pressing into the mattress to support herself as she leans slightly closer. The movement causes the bed to dip faintly beneath their combined weight, and Katsuki's attention is dragged back to her despite his best efforts.

But the embarrassment simmering beneath his skin disappears almost instantly the second he sees her expression properly.

Izumi looks exhausted.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

Her eyes are glassy beneath the dim light, dark circles faint beneath them from nights without proper sleep. There's something fragile about the way she's looking at him now, like she's been holding herself together for far too long and is only just beginning to crack.

And suddenly, Katsuki can't think about anything else.

"I'm so tired, Kacchan," she says quietly.

The slight tremble in her voice makes something twist painfully in his chest.

"And I'm so worried about everything all the time." Her gaze drops briefly, fingers curling against the blanket beneath her. "I'm scared of Shigaraki finding me here... and what he could do."

Katsuki's jaw tightens immediately at the name.

Izumi barely seems to notice.

"So many people have already gotten hurt," she continues softly. "And I want to save everyone. I do. But..." Her breath catches faintly. "What if I can't?"

She drags both hands over her face, exhausted frustration bleeding through the motion.

"I'm so tired," she whispers again, quieter this time. "But every time I close my eyes my brain just—" She exhales shakily. "It won't stop. I can't sleep anymore."

The confession hangs heavily in the room.

Katsuki stares at her in silence for a moment, unsure what to say.

Not because he doesn't care.

Because he cares too much.

Because he understands exactly what she means.

Probably better than anyone else could.

The pressure. The responsibility. The constant fear of not being strong enough to protect the people counting on you. Katsuki knows what it feels like to carry those thoughts around until they become unbearable weight pressing against your ribs every second of the day.

And looking at Izumi now — small and exhausted beside him, trying so hard not to fall apart — makes his chest ache with something fierce and protective.

"Look, De—"

The nickname slips out instinctively before he catches himself.

Katsuki pauses. Izumi blinks at him in surprise.

A strange tension settles between them for half a second.

"...Izumi," he corrects quietly, the use of her actual name sounding oddly careful coming from him.

Too careful.

His crimson eyes meet hers fully now, steady and intense.

"Why d'you think we all brought you back here?" he says. "You're not going into this fight alone, so stop with that shit."

His voice is firm, rough around the edges like always, but beneath it is something undeniable.

Conviction.

He means every word.

Izumi's breath catches faintly as she looks at him.

Katsuki had never been particularly good at comforting people. His words weren't soft or poetic. He didn't know how to carefully talk someone down from their fears.

But when Katsuki believed something, he believed it completely. And right now, he was looking at her like there wasn't a single universe where he would let her carry this alone.

The intensity of it makes warmth spread painfully through Izumi's chest.

"You really believe that?" she asks softly.

Katsuki frowns immediately. "Obviously."

"But what if—"

"No." His voice cuts through hers sharply, though not cruelly. "Quit acting like everything's your burden alone."

Izumi falls quiet.

Katsuki exhales slowly through his nose before continuing, quieter this time.

"You're always trying to carry everybody by yourself." His gaze flickers away briefly before returning to her. "It's annoying."

Despite everything weighing on her chest, Izumi lets out the faintest breath of laughter at that.

And the sound visibly softens something in Katsuki's expression.

Just for a moment. But it's enough to make her heart ache.

The quiet laugh fades quickly, but the warmth of it lingers in the room.

Izumi lowers her eyes again, shoulders finally seeming to sag now that the words she'd been holding in had escaped her. Katsuki watches the exhaustion settle back over her expression almost immediately, heavier than before somehow.

Like speaking about it out loud had only confirmed how worn down she really was.

A faint crease forms between his brows.

"You look like shit," he mutters.

Izumi snorts tiredly. "Wow. You really know how to comfort people."

"Tch. You know what I mean."

She does.

That's the problem.

Katsuki studies her for another moment in silence. The dark circles under her eyes. The way she keeps absently rubbing at her wrists when she's anxious. The tiny pauses between her breaths like even existing feels exhausting right now.

And despite how late it is, despite how tired he was before she arrived, one thought keeps repeating in his head now with growing irritation.

She's not going to sleep tonight. Not if she goes back to her room alone.

The realization settles heavily in his chest.

Before he can think too hard about it — before he can talk himself out of saying something stupid — Katsuki speaks.

"...You can stay here."

Izumi blinks.

"What?"

Katsuki immediately looks irritated with himself for saying it out loud at all. His gaze snaps away from her again as he scratches roughly at the back of his neck.

"I said you can stay here," he repeats gruffly. "For the night."

The room suddenly feels very small.

Izumi stares at him, clearly caught off guard.

"Kacchan..."

"You said you can't sleep, right?" he interrupts quickly, almost defensive now. "Fine. Then stay here until you do."

His voice remains rough, but Izumi can hear the awkward sincerity underneath it. Katsuki shifts slightly against the wall, refusing to look directly at her as the tips of his ears begin turning faintly pink.

"You're less annoying when you're unconscious anyway."

The insult is weak. Transparent. And somehow that only makes Izumi's chest feel tighter.

"You don't have to do that," she says softly.

"I know."

The immediate response makes her heart stutter slightly.

Katsuki finally glances back at her then, crimson eyes sharp even through the lingering exhaustion.

"I'm offering."

There's something strangely vulnerable buried beneath the bluntness of the statement. Like he isn't entirely used to offering comfort this openly. Like he expects her to reject it.

Izumi's throat feels tight suddenly.

Because the truth is... she doesn't want to leave.

Not yet.

Not when this is the first time in weeks her thoughts have quieted even slightly.

Not when sitting here beside him somehow makes the crushing panic in her chest feel manageable for once.

Her fingers tighten slightly against the blanket beneath her.

"...Okay," she says quietly.

Something in Katsuki's posture visibly relaxes at the answer, subtle enough that most people wouldn't notice it.

But Izumi does.

Always.

"Don't make it weird," he mutters immediately afterward, like he has to ruin the softness before it becomes too real.

A tired smile pulls faintly at Izumi's mouth.

"I wasn't planning to."

"Tch."

Katsuki pushes himself up from the bed with a quiet groan before grabbing the extra blanket folded near the foot of the mattress.

"You take the bed."

Izumi catches the blanket clumsily. "What? No, I can sleep on the floor."

"The hell you are."

"Kacchan—"

"I said take the bed." His eyes narrow slightly. "I'm not arguing with you about it."

Izumi opens her mouth to protest again before stopping herself.

Because she knows that tone.

Once Katsuki decides something, there's no changing his mind.

"...Fine," she sighs softly.

"Good."

He says it quickly, almost too quickly, before moving toward the lamp beside the bed. The room dims instantly once he switches it off, leaving only the faint silver glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains.

The atmosphere changes completely in the darkness.

Quieter.

Softer.

Izumi carefully slides further beneath the blanket, heart beating embarrassingly fast as she becomes hyperaware of Katsuki settling beside her, close enough that she can hear the slow rhythm of his breathing.

Neither of them speaks for a while.

Then, quietly—

"Kacchan?"

"What."

"...Thank you."

There's a pause.

And in the darkness, Izumi hears him exhale softly through his nose.

"Go to sleep, Izumi."

For a while, the room stays quiet.

The kind of silence that isn't uncomfortable, but fragile.

Izumi lies curled beneath the blanket facing the wall, eyes half-lidded as moonlight spills softly across the room in pale silver streaks. Behind her, she can hear Katsuki moving around quietly, probably trying to get comfortable.

It should feel awkward.

Maybe it should even feel inappropriate.

But instead, the steady sound of his breathing is the first thing all night that's managed to calm the restless noise in her head.

Still...

Sleep doesn't come.

Izumi stares blankly at the wall for several long minutes, fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the blanket. Her chest still feels tight with anxiety, her thoughts still circling endlessly no matter how exhausted she is.

And the worst part is that she knows exactly why.

Because despite being here, despite feeling safer than she has in weeks, a part of her still feels alone.

The realization makes something ache quietly inside her.

Before she can lose her nerve, Izumi speaks softly into the darkness.

"Kacchan?"

A pause.

"What."

His voice sounds rougher now, heavier with tiredness.

Izumi hesitates immediately afterward, suddenly very aware of how ridiculous this is going to sound.

"You should... sleep properly too."

"...I am sleeping properly."

"No you aren't."

"Tch."

She slowly turns over beneath the blanket until she's facing him.

Even in the darkness, she can make out the outline of him sitting against the wall beside the bed, arms crossed loosely over his chest. He looks over at her as she shifts, crimson eyes faintly visible beneath the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains.

Her stomach twists nervously.

"You're gonna wake up with a sore back if you stay sitting like that."

"I'll survive."

Izumi bites lightly at the inside of her cheek before forcing herself to continue.

"You can just..." Her voice grows quieter. "Sleep here instead."

Silence.

Complete silence.

Katsuki stares at her like his brain has momentarily stopped functioning.

"...What?"

Izumi immediately feels heat rush to her face.

"I just mean— the bed's big enough, and you're tired too, and I thought maybe—" She cuts herself off awkwardly. "Forget it. Sorry."

The embarrassment is instant and overwhelming. She starts turning back around before Katsuki suddenly speaks.

"You're serious?"

His voice sounds strangely tense now.

Izumi glances back at him hesitantly. "Well... yeah."

Another silence stretches between them.

Katsuki's heartbeat is suddenly so loud he's half convinced she can hear it. Sleep beside her? In the same bed? Every rational thought in his brain is telling him this is a terrible idea.

Mostly because he's already far too aware of her.

Aware of how soft she looked wrapped in his blankets.

Aware of the quiet sound of her voice saying his name.

Aware of how badly he wants to say yes despite knowing he absolutely should not.

But then he looks at her properly.

Really looks at her.

At the exhaustion still lingering in her expression despite how hard she's trying to hide it. At the vulnerability in her eyes right now — not nervousness, not embarrassment, but trust.

She trusts him. Completely.

The realization hits him harder than it should.

Katsuki exhales slowly through his nose before muttering, "You're unbelievable."

Izumi's brows knit together slightly. "Is that a no?"

"...Move over."

Her breath catches faintly.

Katsuki immediately looks away afterward, clearly regretting agreeing already as he shoves a hand through his messy blond hair. "Don't make a big deal outta it."

"I'm not making a big deal out of it," Izumi replies softly, though there's unmistakable warmth in her voice now.

"Tch."

The mattress shifts as Katsuki finally lies down beside her, stiff with tension like he suddenly has no idea what to do with his own body anymore. He keeps a careful distance between them at first, arms folded beneath his head as he stares very hard at the ceiling.

Izumi tries not to notice how close he is now.

Which is impossible.

She can feel the warmth radiating from him beneath the blankets.

Can hear the slow rhythm of his breathing in the quiet dark.

Her heart beats painfully against her ribs.

Neither of them speaks.

Neither of them moves.

And yet the space between them somehow feels charged with everything they aren't saying.

After a long silence, Katsuki mutters quietly into the darkness—

"You better actually go to sleep now."

Izumi smiles faintly to herself.

For the first time in what feels like forever, she thinks maybe she finally can.

——

Morning comes slowly.

Soft sunlight spills through the narrow gap in the curtains, painting pale gold across the walls of Katsuki's room. Somewhere outside, distant voices drift through the dorm hallway along with the muffled sounds of people beginning to wake up for the day.

But inside the room, everything is still.

Warm.

Quiet.

Izumi stirs first.

At first, she doesn't fully register why she feels warmer than usual, or why something heavy is draped securely around her waist. Her sleepy mind only vaguely acknowledges the steady rise and fall beneath her cheek before instinctively shifting closer toward the warmth surrounding her.

A low noise rumbles above her.

Izumi freezes.

Slowly — very, very slowly — awareness begins creeping back in.

The warmth beneath her isn't a pillow.

It's solid.

Broad.

Breathing.

Her eyes snap open.

For a full second, her brain completely stops functioning.

She's practically curled against Katsuki's chest.

One of his arms is wrapped tightly around her waist beneath the blanket, holding her securely against him like sometime during the night he'd pulled her close without thinking. Izumi's head is resting against his chest, one of her legs half tangled with his, and—

Oh my god.

Heat floods violently into her face.

Izumi's eyes dart upward in sheer panic only to realize Katsuki is still asleep.

Or at least... she thinks he is.

His face is relaxed in a way she's rarely ever seen before, the usual tension missing completely from his expression. Without the constant scowl or sharp glare, he looks softer somehow. Younger.

Dangerously pretty.

The thought alone nearly kills her on the spot.

Izumi tries to carefully move away without waking him, but the second she shifts even slightly, Katsuki's grip around her waist instinctively tightens.

A quiet grumble leaves him as he buries his face slightly into the top of her hair. And Izumi's soul immediately leaves her body.

Her heartbeat pounds so hard she's certain he has to feel it through his chest. For several long, horrifying seconds, she stays completely still.

Then—

"...Why're you breathing like that?"

Izumi nearly screams.

Katsuki's voice is rough with sleep, low and confused directly above her head. Slowly, painfully slowly, she tilts her head upward.

Crimson eyes stare back at her from inches away. Still half-lidded with exhaustion. Still very much awake.

Neither of them moves.

Neither of them breathes.

Katsuki's brain takes approximately three seconds to process the situation.

Izumi in his arms.

Izumi pressed against his chest.

Izumi's face this close to his first thing in the morning—

His entire face goes scarlet instantly.

"The hell?!" He jerks backward so suddenly he nearly falls off the bed completely, ripping the blanket halfway with him in the process. "WHY ARE YOU—"

"You were holding me!" Izumi whisper-yells immediately, somehow equally mortified.

"I was asleep!"

"So was I!"

They both stare at each other in absolute horror.

Silence crashes over the room afterward.

Izumi pulls the blanket up toward her face in a desperate attempt to hide the fact she's probably glowing red enough to combust. Across from her, Katsuki looks like his brain is seconds away from short-circuiting completely.

Neither of them knows where to look.

Or what to say.

Or how the hell this even happened.

Finally, Katsuki drags a hand violently down his face.

"...We are never speaking about this again."

Izumi nods immediately. "Agreed."

A beat passes.

Then, traitorously, Katsuki's eyes flick briefly toward her again. Toward her messy curls from sleep. The lingering warmth still trapped beneath the blankets. The faint imprint his arm had left around her waist.

Something tight twists painfully in his chest.

Because the worst part — the absolute worst part — is that somewhere deep down...

He hadn't hated it. Not even a little.

And judging by the way Izumi keeps nervously glancing back at him when she thinks he isn't noticing...

Neither had she.

The silence that follows is unbearable.

Izumi keeps the blanket pulled halfway over her face, refusing to look directly at him, while Katsuki sits stiffly against the headboard like physical movement itself has become dangerous.

The morning sunlight only makes everything worse. Makes the lingering warmth in the bed more obvious. Makes the memory of waking up tangled together impossible to ignore.

Katsuki clears his throat roughly, still staring at the opposite wall. "You drool in your sleep."

Izumi's head snaps toward him immediately. "I do not!"

"Tch. Sure."

"You're lying!"

The offended look on her face is so immediate that Katsuki almost smirks despite himself. Almost.

Instead, he crosses his arms tightly over his chest, trying very hard to ignore the fact his heartbeat still hasn't calmed down properly.

Izumi narrows her eyes at him before something in her expression slowly softens. Because for the first time in a while... Katsuki looks relaxed.

Not entirely. He'd probably combust before ever fully relaxing around another human being. But there's no tension in his shoulders like there usually is after waking up. No guarded sharpness in his eyes.

Just sleepy embarrassment and lingering warmth. And somehow, seeing him like this makes something ache quietly inside her chest.

"...You slept okay?" she asks softly.

The question catches him off guard. Katsuki glances at her properly for the first time since waking up.

Izumi's curls are a mess from sleep, her cheeks still faintly pink beneath the morning light, but the exhaustion from last night has eased slightly from her expression. Her eyes don't look as heavy anymore.

And that alone makes the awkwardness worth it.

"...Yeah," he mutters after a second. "You?"

Izumi hesitates.

Then she smiles. Small. Sleepy. Real.

"Yeah," she says quietly. "I did."

Something in Katsuki's chest tightens painfully at the sight of it. He looks away immediately before she notices.

Outside the room, the dormitory is beginning to wake fully now. Footsteps echo faintly through the hallway, along with distant voices and the sound of someone arguing loudly downstairs — probably Kaminari bothering Iida before breakfast.

Normal.

Safe.

Alive.

For the first time in days, Izumi doesn't feel crushed beneath the weight of everything waiting for her outside this room.

And maybe that's what scares her most.

Because somehow, somewhere between late-night confessions and half-asleep cuddling neither of them would ever willingly admit to, Katsuki had become the only place she truly felt safe anymore.

The realization settles warmly and painfully in her chest all at once.

Beside her, Katsuki exhales slowly before roughly pushing himself off the bed.

"C'mon," he mutters, running a hand through his already messy blond hair. "If we stay in here any longer, extras are gonna start asking questions."

Izumi laughs softly under her breath as she sits up properly, hugging the blanket loosely around herself.

"They're definitely going to ask questions anyway."

"Tch. Let them try."

There's something strangely fond hidden beneath the annoyance in his voice.

Katsuki moves toward the door before pausing briefly when he realizes Izumi hasn't followed yet. He glances back at her over his shoulder, crimson eyes softer than they usually are this early in the morning.

"You coming or what?"

Izumi looks at him for a moment.

Really looks at him.

At the boy who had once filled her with sadness and confusion.

At the boy who now stayed awake with her through panic attacks and offered her his bed without hesitation.

At the person who held her through the night without even realizing it.

And despite everything waiting for them outside these walls — the fear, the uncertainty, the war still looming ahead — Izumi feels something inside her settle quietly into place.

Maybe they still didn't know exactly what they were becoming to each other.

Maybe neither of them was ready to put words to it yet.

But for the first time in a very long time, the future didn't feel quite so frightening anymore.

Izumi smiles softly as she finally stands from the bed.

"Yeah," she says.

And this time, when Katsuki looks at her, he smiles too.

Small.

Brief.

But real.

Then together, they leave the room.