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Izumi sat curled up in one corner of the common room sofa, her knees tucked comfortably against her chest as she balanced an open notebook on top of them. A pen rested between her fingers as she absentmindedly traced over notes she'd written throughout the day, occasionally adding a thought in the margins whenever a new idea occurred to her.
The common room was pleasantly alive around her.
Not loud. Just lived in.
The soft hum of conversation drifted through the space alongside the glow of the television mounted on the wall. Kaminari and Kirishima were currently engaged in an intense battle against each other in some video game, both of them shouting accusations whenever one gained an advantage. Mina sat sprawled across another couch offering completely unhelpful commentary while Ochako laughed beside her, occasionally glancing up from the television whenever something dramatic happened onscreen.
It was comfortable. Familiar. The sort of evening Izumi had grown to appreciate. Especially lately. After everything they had all been through, peaceful moments felt precious.
Rare.
For once, her mind wasn't occupied by training schedules, hero rankings, upcoming exams, or the endless pressure that came with trying to become the best hero she could be.
For once, she could simply exist. Relax. Breathe.
A small smile settled on her face as she turned another page in her notebook. Things were peaceful.
Until they weren't.
The sound of approaching footsteps barely registered at first. Then a shadow fell across her notebook.
Izumi blinked, slowly looking up. And immediately froze.
"Kacchan?"
Standing directly in front of her was Katsuki, hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders rigid, expression caught somewhere between determined and deeply uncomfortable. Which was strange. Very strange. Because Katsuki Bakugo was rarely uncomfortable.
Angry? Constantly.
Annoyed? Always.
Embarrassed? Almost never.
Yet somehow, as Izumi looked at him now, she could have sworn something was off. He just stood there. Silent. Staring at her. Well, not exactly at her.More like around her. Over her shoulder. At the wall. Anywhere except directly at her face. Izumi lowered her notebook onto her lap, concern immediately replacing her relaxed expression.
"Kacchan?"
His jaw tightened. Then relaxed. Then tightened again. It genuinely looked as though he was trying to force words out through sheer determination alone. Which only made her more curious. Several seconds passed. Then finally—
"Movie."
Izumi blinked. "Huh?"
"Movie."
She stared. He stared back. Neither moved. Across the room, Kaminari paused his game.
"What?"
Katsuki immediately whipped around. "The hell are you lookin' at?!"
"Nothing!" Kaminari squeaked. The game resumed instantly. Silence settled over the room again. Izumi looked back at Katsuki, still confused.
"I heard you."
"Then what's the problem?"
"The problem," she said patiently, "is that you've only said one word."
Katsuki looked offended, as though she'd somehow made things difficult.
"Movie."
"Yes."
"Movie."
"Still only one word."
A vein twitched in his forehead. Izumi bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. Because now she was almost certain something strange was happening. Katsuki wasn't usually this awkward.
Blunt? Absolutely.
Awkward? Not unless something genuinely mattered to him. And for some reason, that realization made her heart beat a little faster.
"You might need to elaborate a bit, Kacchan."
He groaned. A long, suffering sound, as though she was asking him to solve advanced calculus. Then, finally, Katsuki looked directly at her. Only for a second. Just long enough for Izumi to catch something she wasn't entirely expecting.
Nervousness. It vanished almost immediately. But she saw it. And suddenly she became very aware of the faint pink colouring the tips of his ears.
Interesting. Very interesting.
Katsuki immediately looked away again.
"Tch." His shoulders stiffened. "Let's go watch one."
For a moment, Izumi simply stared. Because surely she had heard him wrong. Katsuki didn't watch movies. Well, technically he did. But usually only after being dragged into it by the rest of the class while complaining the entire time.
Yet here he was. Standing in front of her. Asking her. Specifically. Something warm fluttered unexpectedly in her chest.
"Kacchan..."
His entire body seemed to tense.
"What?" The response came far too quickly. Izumi's smile widened. Were his ears getting redder? No. Surely not.
"You want to watch a movie?"
"The hell does it sound like?"
She laughed. And immediately regretted it when Katsuki looked moments away from combusting.
"Sorry."
"You don't sound sorry."
"I'm not."
"Brat."
Despite the insult, Izumi noticed he hadn't walked away. Hadn't changed his mind. Instead, he remained standing there, waiting. For her answer. The realization made something inside her chest soften. Because Katsuki wasn't good at things like this. Never had been.
He wasn't good at asking people to spend time with him. Wasn't good at expressing feelings. Wasn't good at admitting when he wanted something. Which meant this had probably taken considerably more courage than he would ever admit.
The thought was unexpectedly endearing.
"Okay."
Katsuki blinked.
"Okay?"
"We can see a movie."
For a second, something almost suspiciously close to relief crossed his face. Then it disappeared beneath his usual scowl.
"'Bout time."
Izumi smiled to herself as she closed her notebook. Because despite his irritated tone, she was beginning to suspect that asking her had been the entire point.
And judging by the way Katsuki immediately reached down and grabbed her notebook before she could pick it up herself, as though eager to get moving before she changed her mind, she was pretty sure she was right.
Neither of them noticed the knowing looks being exchanged across the common room.
Or the way Kirishima suddenly grinned. Or the way Ochako covered her smile behind her hand. Because Katsuki was too busy trying not to think about how happy he felt that she'd said yes.
And Izumi was too busy wondering why spending an evening seeing a movie with Katsuki suddenly felt different than it used to.
Although things between them had progressed in a way that Izumi was delighted with, having grown closer as friends again, she couldn't ignore the fact that it was unusually strange for Katsuki to initiate any form of hanging out with her. It was typically herself who was the one always bothering him, as he would say. Wanting to be around him and following him around. And she had to admit, when Katsuki had asked to see a movie with her, it took everything in her power to not scream at the top of her lungs with joy.
Her heart fluttered in her chest, warm and comforting, the way it always did around Katsuki, and as she sat next to him in the movie theatre, that fluttering had turned into her heart almost pounding out of her chest.
The movie was an action one. Of course it was. The moment the opening trailers had begun, Izumi had already known exactly who had chosen it.
Katsuki.
Not because he was particularly interested in movies—he wasn't—but because he knew what she liked. The realization alone was enough to send another flutter through her chest.
Action films had always been her favourite. Ever since she was a little girl, she'd loved sitting in dark theatres and watching heroes save the day on enormous screens. She loved the dramatic fight sequences, the impossible stunts, the emotional speeches before the final battle. Even now, after becoming a hero-in-training herself, that excitement had never completely faded.
Maybe it was childish. Maybe it was silly. She didn't particularly care. Because for a few hours, movies allowed her to forget about everything else. The expectations. The pressure. The responsibility. For a little while, she could simply be Izumi.
A girl sitting in a theatre with a bucket of popcorn in her lap, eagerly waiting for the lights to dim. It was one of her favourite things. And Katsuki knew that.
The thought lingered in her mind.
Because the more she thought about it, the more unusual this entire evening felt.
Katsuki hadn't just invited her to watch a movie. He'd invited her to watch a movie he knew she'd enjoy. That distinction felt important somehow. Small, but important.
The opening scene exploded onto the screen, filling the theatre with bright flashes of light and booming sound effects. Normally, Izumi would have been completely absorbed already. Instead, she found herself painfully distracted.
Not by the movie. By the person sitting beside her. It was becoming increasingly frustrating. Because she genuinely wanted to pay attention, she really did. The movie looked good. The fight choreography was impressive. The hero's costume design was fantastic. Yet every few minutes her attention drifted sideways.
Toward Katsuki. Toward the familiar silhouette sitting in the seat beside hers. Toward the boy who seemed completely focused on the screen.
At least, she assumed he was. It was difficult to tell.
The theatre was dark enough that most of his features were hidden in shadow, illuminated only by occasional flashes of light from the movie.
Still. She noticed things.
The way his arms remained folded across his chest. The way his jaw occasionally tightened whenever something particularly unrealistic happened onscreen. The way he reached into the popcorn without taking his eyes off the movie. The tiny habits she'd memorised years ago without ever meaning to.
A small smile tugged at her lips. It was ridiculous, really. How well she knew him. How easily she could pick him out in a crowd. How quickly she noticed when he was upset. Or happy. Or tired. Or hiding something. The thought caused her stomach to twist.
Because lately, she'd been noticing other things too. Things she wasn't entirely sure what to do with.
Like the fact that Katsuki's compliments seemed to linger in her mind far longer than they should. Or how one rare smile from him could improve her entire week. Or how she'd spent nearly an hour choosing what to wear before leaving the dorms tonight, despite repeatedly telling herself it wasn't a date.
It definitely wasn't a date. Of course not. This was just them. Izumi and Kacchan, watching a movie, but the uncertainty alone made her want to bury her face in her hands. Instead, she stole another glance at him.
Immediately, as though sensing it, Katsuki turned his head.
Their eyes met. For a brief second. Nothing more. Yet the effect was immediate. Izumi's heart stumbled. Then promptly attempted to sprint out of her chest. Katsuki raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
His voice was low enough not to disturb the other people in the theatre. Izumi immediately looked forward.
"Nothing."
"Liar."
The response came instantly. Heat rushed to her face. Thankfully, the darkness concealed most of it.
"Am not."
"You keep staring."
"I do not."
"You do."
Izumi groaned quietly. Beside her, Katsuki sounded suspiciously amused, which made her face grow even warmer. Because lately, every interaction with him felt different. The jokes landed differently. The smiles lingered longer. The moments alone together felt more significant than they used to. And she couldn't decide if that terrified her or made her happy.
Maybe both.
Onscreen, the hero launched himself into another explosive battle. The audience reacted with excitement. Izumi barely noticed. Because despite the giant screen directly in front of her, despite the dramatic action sequence currently unfolding—
The most distracting thing in the theatre was still sitting in the seat beside her.
And judging by the way her pulse refused to settle, she was beginning to suspect that her feelings for Katsuki had become far more complicated than friendship a long time ago.
The frightening part? She wasn't entirely sure she wanted them to go back.
Izumi wasn't entirely sure when it had happened.
One moment, she had been focused on the movie. The next, she had become painfully aware that both she and Katsuki were sharing the same armrest between their seats.
Not touching. Just close. Close enough to make her completely forget what was happening on the giant screen in front of her.
Her eyes remained fixed on the movie. Or at least she hoped they did.
Because if Katsuki noticed the way her attention had completely abandoned the plot in favour of obsessing over the few inches separating their arms, she might actually combust on the spot.
The realization sent another nervous flutter through her chest. It was ridiculous. They weren't even touching. Yet somehow, the awareness of him had become impossible to ignore. She could feel the warmth radiating from his arm. Could feel his presence beside her with an intensity that made concentrating nearly impossible.
Onscreen, the hero launched into another dramatic fight sequence. Izumi had absolutely no idea what was happening. Because all she could think about was the fact that Katsuki's arm was right there.
And neither of them had moved.
Minutes passed. Neither acknowledged it. Neither retreated. The distance remained exactly the same. Small enough to notice. Large enough to pretend nothing was happening. Which somehow made everything worse.
Or better.
Izumi wasn't entirely sure anymore.
She swallowed. Carefully shifting her attention back toward the movie. The attempt lasted approximately thirty seconds. Then she became aware of it again.
The armrest. The space between them. The fact that Katsuki hadn't moved.
A strange thought entered her mind. He had definitely noticed. There was no way he hadn't. Katsuki noticed everything, especially when it came to his surroundings. Especially when it came to her. The thought caused her heartbeat to stumble.
Slowly, almost unconsciously, she adjusted her position in her seat.
The movement was small, barely noticeable. Yet it brought her arm a fraction closer.
Immediately, her entire body tensed. Waiting. Expecting Katsuki to pull away. To move. To reclaim his space.
He didn't.
Beside her, Katsuki remained focused on the movie. Or at least he appeared to be. His expression remained neutral. His posture relaxed. But Izumi knew him too well. She noticed the slight tension in his shoulders. The way his jaw occasionally tightened. The way he seemed almost unnaturally still. Like he was equally aware of the situation and trying very hard not to acknowledge it.
The thought sent warmth rushing through her chest.
Minutes slipped by. The movie continued. The distance between them gradually disappeared.
Not intentionally. At least, neither of them could honestly claim that it was intentional.
It happened through small movements.
A slight adjustment here. A shift there. One reaching for popcorn. The other settling more comfortably into their seat. Tiny changes. Individually meaningless. Together, they brought them closer and closer.
Until eventually—
Their fingers brushed.
The contact lasted less than a second. A simple accident. Nothing more. Yet Izumi felt as though lightning had shot through her entire body.
Her breath caught.
The movie vanished. The audience vanished. Everything vanished.
Leaving only that single point of contact.
Beside her, Katsuki went completely still. Neither of them looked at each other. Neither said a word. Slowly, almost cautiously, their hands settled again.
Close. Very close.
Neither retreating. Neither advancing.
Simply existing within that fragile space between friendship and something else.
The tension became almost unbearable. Izumi's pulse thundered in her ears. She wondered if Katsuki could hear it. She wondered if his heart was beating just as fast.
Then, at some point she couldn't quite identify, the distance disappeared entirely.
A finger shifted.
Another followed.
The movement was subtle enough that she couldn't have said who moved first.
Perhaps neither of them did. Perhaps both of them did.
All she knew was that one moment their hands had been resting beside each other. And the next, their fingers had become intertwined.
Izumi froze.
Her heart stopped.
Then immediately attempted to escape her chest.
Neither of them acknowledged it.
Not a glance. Not a word. Not even a reaction.
Katsuki continued staring at the movie. Izumi continued staring at the movie. As though this was completely normal. As though her hand wasn't currently resting in his. As though she hadn't imagined this exact scenario more times than she cared to admit.
The corners of her lips threatened to lift. She fought the smile with everything she had. And lost.
Beside her, Katsuki's thumb shifted slightly against her hand.
A tiny movement. Barely noticeable.
Yet it sent warmth spreading through her entire body.
Neither of them let go.
Not during the final battle. Not during the emotional ending. Not when the credits eventually began to roll across the screen.
Somewhere between the opening scene and the end of the movie, their hands had found each other.
And neither seemed particularly interested in giving them back.
Eventually, the credits came to an end.
The lights brightened throughout the theatre, slowly pulling everyone back to reality. Izumi wasn't ready for it. Reality meant standing up. Reality meant leaving.
Reality meant acknowledging the fact that at some point during the movie, her hand had ended up intertwined with Katsuki's.
Yet somehow, neither of them mentioned it. Neither looked at the other. Neither made any attempt to explain what had happened. They simply sat there for a few moments longer, watching the final names scroll across the screen.
As though everything was perfectly normal. As though her heart wasn't currently trying to launch itself out of her chest.
Beside her, Katsuki finally stood. The movement broke the spell. Slowly, their hands separated. The loss of contact was immediate. Noticeable. Far more noticeable than it should have been.
Izumi swallowed.
For some reason, the empty space beside her suddenly felt colder. Neither of them commented on that either. They gathered their things. Made their way out of the theatre. And somehow managed to avoid talking about the most significant thing that had happened all evening.
Outside, the night air greeted them immediately.
Cool. Fresh. Comfortable.
The city had grown quieter while they had been inside.
Streetlights illuminated the pavement in warm pools of gold, casting long shadows across the empty sidewalks. The distant sounds of traffic echoed somewhere beyond the surrounding buildings. For the most part, however, the streets were peaceful. Just the way Izumi liked them.
The two of them fell naturally into step beside each other.
Not too close. Not too far apart. Comfortable. Familiar. The kind of distance they'd maintained a thousand times before.
Yet tonight it felt different. Everything felt different.
Neither seemed particularly eager to break the silence.
Not because it was awkward. Because it wasn't. The quiet between them had always been easy. Comfortable. One of the many things Izumi loved about being around Katsuki. They didn't always need words. Sometimes simply existing beside one another was enough.
As they continued walking, their shoulders brushed.
A brief contact.
Gone almost immediately.
Izumi's heart skipped. Neither reacted.
A few moments later, it happened again. This time lasting slightly longer.
Neither moved away. Neither apologised. They simply continued walking. The silence remained intact. The city drifted past around them. And somehow, the space between them seemed to shrink.
Little by little. Until their arms occasionally bumped together. Their hands occasionally brushed. Every accidental touch sending another wave of warmth through Izumi's chest.
At first she told herself she was imagining it. Then she told herself it didn't mean anything. Then she stopped trying to explain it altogether. Because regardless of the reason, she liked it. Far too much, which made her smile to herself.
Beside her, Katsuki glanced sideways.
"What?"
The question caught her off guard.
"Huh?"
"You're smiling."
Heat immediately rushed to her face.
"I'm allowed to smile."
"Tch."
His eyes lingered on her for a second longer. Then returned to the road ahead. Yet Izumi noticed something unusual. He looked relaxed, more relaxed than she had seen him in a long time. The observation softened something inside her. Because this version of Katsuki still felt new. Not entirely new.
She'd always known it existed beneath the explosions and shouting. But lately, she was seeing it more often. The quieter version, the gentler version. The version that asked her to watch movies. The version that held her hand for nearly two hours and pretended not to notice.
A warmth settled in her chest. One that had nothing to do with embarrassment anymore.
As they approached the familiar streets surrounding U.A., their hands brushed again.
Once.
Twice.
Then lingered.
Izumi's breath caught. The contact remained. Neither pulling away. Neither looking down.
The moment stretched.
And then, slowly, naturally, their fingers found one another again.
Just as they had in the theatre.
No discussion. No hesitation. No explanation.
One moment they were walking side by side. The next, their hands were intertwined. As though they belonged there.
Izumi's heart nearly stopped. Then immediately started beating twice as fast. She waited for panic. Waited for awkwardness. Waited for one of them to pull away.
None of it came. Instead, Katsuki simply kept walking, his gaze fixed stubbornly ahead. His expression unreadable, as though holding her hand while walking through the city was the most ordinary thing in the world.
The sight made something inside her chest ache. In the best possible way. For a moment, Izumi wondered if she was dreaming. She genuinely did.
Because if someone had told her a year ago that she'd be walking hand-in-hand through the city with Katsuki Bakugo, she would've laughed in their face.
Yet here she was. And somehow, the strangest part wasn't the hand holding. It was how natural it felt. How right it felt. She glanced at him. At the familiar profile she'd known almost her entire life.
At the boy who had hurt her.
Protected her.
Inspired her.
Challenged her.
Stayed beside her.
And continued choosing her, again and again.
The corners of her lips lifted into a small smile. Because she wasn't sure where this was heading. Wasn't sure what any of it meant.
But as Katsuki's fingers tightened ever so slightly around hers, Izumi found that she didn't particularly care.
For now, walking home beside him was enough.
Before long, the familiar silhouette of U.A. came into view.
The sight should have felt ordinary. They'd walked back to the dorms together hundreds of times before. After training. After classes. After patrols. Sometimes with the rest of the class. Sometimes alone.
Yet tonight felt entirely different.
Perhaps it was because neither of them had let go. Or perhaps it was because neither of them seemed particularly interested in pretending that tonight had been normal.
The dormitory lights glowed warmly against the darkness, illuminating the pathways leading back toward the building.
Izumi felt an unexpected pang of disappointment. The walk had passed far too quickly. One minute they had been leaving the theatre. The next they were standing in front of the dorms. And somehow she wasn't ready for the evening to end.
Beside her, Katsuki slowed. Instinctively, she matched his pace. Neither spoke. The silence between them remained comfortable.
Gentle.
The kind of silence that only existed between people who knew each other well enough that words weren't always necessary.
As they reached the front steps, both of them finally stopped. The moment stretched. Their hands remained intertwined for another second. Then another. Neither moving. Neither acknowledging it. Until eventually, slowly, their fingers loosened.
The separation felt almost reluctant, like neither of them had wanted to be the first one to let go. The loss of contact was immediate. Noticeable. Far too noticeable. Izumi resisted the urge to reach for his hand again.
Barely. Instead, she looked up. And immediately found Katsuki already looking at her.
For a moment, neither of them spoke, the soft glow from the dormitory lights illuminated his face. His crimson eyes looked warmer than usual. Less guarded. The sight made her chest tighten.
Because lately she'd been seeing this version of him more and more. The version nobody else seemed to notice. The version he only showed when it was just the two of them. The thought alone was enough to make her heart flutter.
Again.
"Kacchan..." Her voice came out softer than intended. His gaze remained fixed on her.
"What?"
The simple response somehow made her smile. Izumi looked down briefly before meeting his eyes again.
"Thank you."
A small crease appeared between his eyebrows.
"For what?"
She laughed quietly. "For the movie."
The answer seemed to catch him off guard. His expression softened for a fraction of a second before he looked away.
"Tch." Classic. "You don't gotta thank me for that." The dismissive response only made her smile wider. Because beneath the gruffness, she knew exactly what he meant.
It wasn't a big deal. At least, that's what he wanted her to think. Even though they'd both spent the entire evening acting like it absolutely was.
Still avoiding her gaze, Katsuki shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Don't think about it."
The words were grumbled. Almost embarrassed. And somehow that made the warmth in her chest grow stronger. Too strong. Dangerously strong. Because lately every small gesture from him seemed to affect her more than it should.
Every smile. Every compliment. Every moment they spent together. Every look. Every touch. Especially tonight.
Izumi swallowed, trying very hard not to overthink things, and failing miserably. A comfortable silence settled between them again. Eventually, Katsuki glanced back at her.
"Breakfast."
The sudden statement made her blink.
"Huh?"
"Tomorrow."
His ears looked suspiciously red.
"We got class first thing."
Izumi's smile became impossible to contain. Was he seriously asking her to meet him before class? Again? The idea sent another burst of happiness through her chest.
"Right." She nodded immediately. "I'll be there."
A strange look crossed his face. Something that looked suspiciously pleased. Gone almost instantly.
"Good."
Neither moved. Neither seemed eager to leave. Eventually, however, reality won. Izumi took a small step backward toward the dorm entrance.
"Goodnight, Kacchan."
For a moment, Katsuki simply looked at her. Then his expression softened. Only slightly. But enough.
"Night, nerd."
The familiar nickname wrapped around her heart like a warm blanket.
And before she could do something embarrassing, like stare at him for another five minutes, she turned and hurried inside.
The moment she reached her room, she shut the door behind her. Then immediately pressed her back against it.
Silence. Complete silence.
For approximately three seconds. Then—
"Oh my god."
The words escaped in a whisper. Izumi buried her face in both hands. Her heart was still racing. Still. Hours after it had started.
She stumbled toward her bed before collapsing face-first into her pillow. A muffled groan escaped her. Because she was in trouble. So much trouble.
The kind of trouble that came from being in love with your best friend.
The kind of trouble she'd been trying not to think about for years.
Because the truth was, she'd known for a long time. Long before tonight. Long before the movie. Long before hand holding and awkward invitations.
Somewhere along the way, her feelings for Katsuki had stopped being friendship.
She couldn't even remember exactly when it had happened. Only that one day she had looked at him and realized nobody else made her feel the same way.
Nobody else made her laugh harder. Nobody else could calm her down so quickly. Nobody else's opinion mattered quite as much. Nobody else's smile affected her quite so disastrously.
It terrified her.
And so she'd hidden it away, protected it, kept it safely locked inside her chest where it couldn't ruin everything. Because Katsuki was too important to lose.
Yet tonight...
Tonight had changed something.
Izumi rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. The memory of the movie replayed itself immediately.
The shared armrest. Their fingers brushing. The way neither of them had pulled away. The way he'd held her hand all the way home. The breakfast invitation. The soft look he'd given her before saying goodnight.
Her stomach flipped.
Because for the first time, a dangerous thought entered her mind. One she'd never truly allowed herself to consider before.
What if she wasn't the only one?
The possibility was terrifying.
Wonderful. Impossible. And yet...
As Izumi replayed the evening for the hundredth time, she found herself smiling helplessly into the darkness.
Because she suddenly had a very dangerous suspicion.
One that refused to leave.
Maybe.
Just maybe.
Kacchan might be falling in love with her too.
---
Across the dorms, Katsuki sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees as he stared blankly at the floor.
His room was quiet. Far too quiet. Usually he appreciated that.
Tonight it was torture.
Because the silence left him alone with his thoughts. And his thoughts had apparently chosen violence.
A plan was forming. Or at least, he was trying to form one. The problem was that every plan he came up with was immediately terrible.
Katsuki dragged both hands down his face and groaned.
This was ridiculous. He'd already accepted it. Reluctantly. Painfully. Against his better judgement.
He was in love with Izumi.
Completely. Hopelessly. Irrevocably.
The realisation had taken longer than it should have. Months, probably. Maybe years if he was being honest.
But now that he'd finally admitted it to himself, there was no putting it back in the box.
No pretending anymore. No convincing himself that the jealousy was something else. No convincing himself that she was simply important to him.
She was important. Terrifyingly important. And that was the problem.
Katsuki leaned back against the wall behind his bed and stared up at the ceiling.
How the hell was he supposed to tell her? The obvious answer was to just say it.
Simple. Direct. Efficient. The way he approached everything else in life.
He imagined it. Walking up to her tomorrow morning. Looking her dead in the eye.
"I love you."
The mental image lasted approximately two seconds before he physically cringed.
Absolutely not. Terrible plan. Horrendous. He immediately discarded it. Not because he couldn't say it. Because he could, technically.
The problem was everything that came after.
What if she stared at him? What if she laughed?
No.
Izumi wouldn't laugh. The thought disappeared immediately. She would never do that. Which somehow made things worse.
Because Izumi would be kind.
Gentle. Careful.
And Katsuki wasn't entirely sure he could survive her gently rejecting him.
The thought made his stomach twist. He groaned again, louder this time.
Maybe he could write it down.
Immediately rejected.
That was somehow even worse.
He could already imagine Kaminari finding the letter somehow and reading it aloud in front of the entire class. Katsuki briefly considered launching himself through the nearest wall.
Then there was the movie idea.
Take her somewhere nice. Tell her afterward. Reasonable.
Except that he'd literally just done that.
And somehow ended up holding her hand for half the evening without saying a single useful thing.
His face immediately grew warm. The memory replayed itself. Their fingers brushing. The way she'd never pulled away. The way she'd held his hand all the way back to the dorms. The way she'd smiled at him when they said goodnight.
Katsuki buried his face in his hands. Because that was another problem. A massive problem.
The more he thought about tonight, the harder it became to believe that he was imagining things.
Not because Izumi had said anything. She hadn't.But there had been moments.Small ones.The kind that refused to leave his head. The way she'd looked at him during the movie. The way she'd immediately agreed to breakfast. The way she'd seemed just as reluctant to let go of his hand.
His pulse quickened.
Dangerous. Very dangerous.
Because hope was entering the equation. And hope was far scarier than rejection. Hope made him think stupid things. Hope made him wonder.
What if she feels the same?
The thought settled heavily in his chest. What if all those looks meant something? What if all those years of following him around meant something more? What if every time she'd chosen him first, it wasn't just friendship?
The possibilities were enough to make his head spin.
Katsuki dropped backward onto his mattress, one arm covering his eyes.
"Dammit."
The word echoed through the empty room. Because no matter how many plans he came up with, they all ended the same way. With him standing in front of Izumi. Trying to tell her the truth. Trying to find the courage to risk everything.
And maybe that was the answer. Maybe there wasn't a perfect plan. Maybe there wasn't a perfect moment. Maybe there wasn't some magical combination of words that would make this easier.
The whole thing made him uncomfortable.
Because Katsuki liked plans. Liked certainty. Liked knowing exactly what to do.
Love, unfortunately, seemed determined to ignore all of those preferences.
His thoughts drifted back to breakfast tomorrow morning. A small smile threatened to form. He immediately scowled at the ceiling.
Breakfast wasn't a confession. Definitely not.
That was way too soon.
Probably. Maybe.
His eyes narrowed.
No. Absolutely not.
He needed a better plan than blurting out a confession over eggs.
Still...
The thought lingered.
And as sleep finally began creeping up on him, Katsuki found himself staring into the darkness with a strange sense of determination.
One way or another, he was going to tell her.
Soon.
Because after tonight, pretending he didn't love her felt impossible.
And if there was even the smallest chance that Izumi might feel the same way...
Then maybe it was finally time to stop being afraid.
As sleep finally began to pull him under, Katsuki allowed himself one final thought.
Tomorrow.
Maybe not a confession. Maybe not the entire truth.
But a start.
Something. Anything.
For the first time in a very long while, the future didn't seem quite so uncertain. It wasn't filled with rankings or internships or endless training sessions. Instead, his thoughts drifted toward breakfasts shared before class, late-night conversations, movie theatres, and a girl with green eyes who had somehow become the centre of every future he could imagine.
And as the darkness slowly claimed him, Katsuki allowed himself to believe that perhaps everything was finally beginning to fall into place.
What he didn't know was that fate had already begun moving pieces far beyond his sight.
While he lay awake planning confessions and imagining possibilities, something far larger was stirring beneath the surface of the world around them.
The fragile peace they had fought so hard to build was already beginning to crack.
Lines were being drawn.
Forces were gathering.
And somewhere beyond the safety of U.A.'s walls, beyond movie theatres and quiet walks home beneath streetlights, a storm was taking shape.
Neither Katsuki nor Izumi could see it yet.
Neither of them knew that the future they were so carefully reaching toward was already slipping through their fingers.
Because the weeks ahead would not be filled with simple confessions.
They would be filled with impossible choices.
Loss.
Sacrifice.
And bloodshed on a scale neither of them could yet comprehend.
A war was coming.
Silent for now.
Patient.
Waiting.
And when it finally arrived, it would change everything.