Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Katsuki wished he could blame it all on Jeanist, but in hindsight, it really was his own fault.

If he hadn't volunteered for the extra patrols, if he hadn't insisted on staying late every night to finish reports the sidekicks kept putting off, if he'd actually gone home when Jeanist told him to instead of sleeping on the agency couch for the second night in a row, maybe then he would've been thinking clearly enough to see it coming.

But hindsight really is 20/20 and all that bullshit.

The pager goes off just after six in the morning.

Katsuki is halfway through his first cup of coffee when the emergency alert blares through the agency. Around him, the office erupts into motion. Sidekicks abandon paperwork, phones start ringing, television screens switch to live news coverage.

He rubs tiredly at his eyes and reaches for the nearest tablet.

UNKNOWN VILLAIN.

QUIRK: UNKNOWN.

AFFILIATION: UNKNOWN.

LOCATION: SHIZUKA WARD.

ALL AVAILABLE PRO HEROES RESPOND. PROCEED WITH EXTREME CAUTION UNTIL QUIRK IS IDENTIFIED.

Ugh, unknown quirks, his least favorite kind. It means he can’t just go in there all guns blazing. He has to assess and evaluate and all that boring shit.

He downs the rest of his coffee in one bitter swallow before grabbing his gauntlets.

"Bakugou." Jeanist's voice follows him toward the elevator. "Don't engage until you know what her quirk does."

Katsuki doesn't bother turning around. "I'm not an idiot."

"No," Jeanist replies calmly. "But you’re impatient. It does you no good to pull on threads before you've bothered to see how they're woven."

The elevator doors close before Katsuki can tell him to go to hell.

~

By the time he reaches the scene, he sees that the entire street has already been evacuated. Police tape blocks off three intersections, and emergency vehicles line the roads. Several pro heroes are scattered across the perimeter, keeping civilians back and maintaining an unusually wide circle around the woman standing calmly in the middle of the intersection.

That’s the part that gives him pause; nobody is moving or attacking. They’re all just standing there watching her.

Katsuki lands in the middle of the commotion. 

"What the fuck's going on?"

One of the local heroes turns toward him. "Dynamight."

"What're we waiting for?"

The hero glances uneasily toward the woman. "We don't know what her quirk is yet."

"No shit. We all saw the alert."

"We're trying to figure out the safest approach."

Katsuki looks past him. The villain doesn't appear threatening. She isn’t posturing or shouting or trying to escape. She's just standing there, hands folded loosely in front of her, her grey eyes fixed on nothing, like she's waiting for something.

"What the fuck is she doing?" Katsuki asks.

The hero hesitates. "She said she's waiting for someone."

He blinks. "What the hell does that mean?"

"That's all she'll say." He gestures helplessly toward her. "She walked into the middle of the street twenty minutes ago, told everyone to stay back because she wasn't here for them and then said she was waiting for someone special."

Katsuki stares at him, then back at the villain, then back again. “...And we've just been letting her?"

The hero frowns. "We don't know what activates her quirk."

"So?"

"So if it's contact based—"

"Then don't let her touch you."

"If it's verbal—"

"Then don't answer her."

"If it's perception—"

"Then she's already using it."

The hero opens his mouth, then closes it again. Yeah, Katsuki knows the fucking drill.

He lets out an irritated breath. "We're seriously standing around giving some random psycho enough time to wait for backup?"

"No—"

"Because that's what it looks like."

It’s silent for a moment. Nobody argues because they know he's right. Unknown quirks required caution, not fucking paralysis. They didn’t need to stand around twiddling their thumbs waiting for her to make the first move. God, did he have to do everything around here?

Katsuki starts walking towards her. 

"Dynamight—"

"I'll keep my distance."

"Wait until we come up with a strategy."

He already has a strategy—it’s called blast first, ask questions later.

"My strategy's better."

The woman looks up as he approaches. Her head turns slowly, then she smiles. The expression is strangely delighted, like she'd just spotted an old friend across the street. Like she'd finally found what she'd been looking for.

She points at him. "You."

Her voice echoes unnaturally through the empty intersection.

"There you are."

Katsuki stops walking. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"I've been waiting for you."

"The fuck are you talking about?" he spits out.

The smile widens. "I knew you'd come."

Something about the certainty in her voice makes his stomach tighten.

Behind him, one of the heroes quietly orders everyone else to maintain distance.

Katsuki doesn't take his eyes off her. "I don't know who the hell you think I am, but I guarantee I’m not the one you’re waiting for. I’m the one who’s gonna put your sorry ass behind bars.”

She laughs softly. "Oh, I know exactly who you are."

Unknown quirk. Don't engage, don't respond more than necessary, don't let her touch you. His training repeats itself automatically.

"What do you want?"

"You." She says it like she's simply commenting on the weather. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

Katsuki feels every instinct in his body start screaming. Something is wrong. Very fucking wrong. Sure, plenty of villains have directly targeted him since the war, claiming they want to fight the hero responsible for defeating All For One in combat, but this feels different. She doesn’t seem vengeful, or like she’s trying to test Katsuki’s power for herself. She seems sad—a little wistful maybe—and the smile she directs at Katsuki is full of pity.

It’s weird as fuck, but it doesn’t change what he has to do.

"You want a fight?" he asks, settling into a defensive stance. "I can do that."

She tilts her head, her smile going softer. "No."

"No? You’ve just gathered every pro hero and cop in a ten mile radius for what, a meet and greet?”

She shakes her head, her grey eyes crinkling as she laughs gently. "I don't want to fight you. I just needed to meet you. To see you with my own eyes."

Katsuki circles slowly, making sure to keep six meters of space between them. He watches her hands, her feet, every long, black hair on her head.

She doesn't mirror his stance, just turns in place to keep facing him. She still has that creepy ass smile on her face, and is making absolutely no attempt to attack, which creates a problem for him. Because heroes don't get to attack first. Not when the suspect isn't actively threatening anyone. Not when she hasn't moved or thrown a punch or committed a single overtly violent act since arriving. The law is clear.

Katsuki hates the law.

"Dynamight," someone calls cautiously behind him. "Please be careful."

He ignores them. Obviously he knows to fucking be careful.

He steps closer. There has to be a way—capture tape, restraints, a smoke screen, something.

He reaches slowly toward one gauntlet.

The woman watches the movement, then sighs. "I was hoping you'd make this easier."

Before Katsuki can respond, her body goes limp and she falls straight forward, like someone cut her strings. Her knees hit the pavement with a sickening crack.

"Catch her, Dynamight!"

His instincts take over. He's moving before the cop finishes the order, because whatever she is, whatever she's done, she's still a civilian until proven otherwise, and civilians don't deserve to smash their skulls open on concrete.

He catches her by the wrist just before her head connects with the ground. The second skin meets skin, her grey eyes snap open, twinkling triumphantly. 

"I found you."

Katsuki jerks backward, but it’s too late. She tightens her grip with surprising strength. It’s not enough to injure or trap him, but it’s just long enough for her quirk to take effect. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.” Her smile softens into something unbearably sad. "I'll give you everything you've ever wanted."

It’s the last thing he hears before the world lurches violently beneath his feet. The air disappears from his lungs, and sound seems to stretch impossibly thin until screams become echoes and light becomes liquid.

He sees images flash behind his eyelids—explosions, green eyes, someone tilting their head back in laughter, a little girl with black hair, golden sparks over dark water, and hands. Always hands reaching for him. 

Then, nothing.

~

Katsuki wakes up to a splitting headache.

It feels like someone has taken a jackhammer to the inside of his skull and forgotten to turn it off. Every pulse of blood behind his eyes sends another spike of pain through his head. He groans and turns away from the sliver of sunlight slipping through the gap in the curtains, dragging a hand up to cover his eyes.

It takes him a second to register the weight on his chest. Even longer to register the soft curls brushing against his jaw every time the person breathes.

His brow furrows. What the hell?

Katsuki cracks one eye open and looks down. There's a body curled against him, half sprawled over his chest and stomach, an arm thrown around his waist. Whoever it is has their face buried against his shoulder, hidden in the shadows of the room. All Katsuki can make out is a mess of dark hair and the steady rise and fall of their breathing.

He doesn't remember bringing anyone home. Actually, he doesn't remember getting home at all.

The last thing he remembers is the fight. The villain. The woman with the unsettling grey eyes and that smile that had made something cold crawl down his spine.

I'll give you everything you've ever wanted.

The memory flashes through his head, making the pounding behind his eyes worsen.

Stupid villain. The last thing he'd fucking wanted was a hangover and a stranger in his bed, yet here he was.

With a groan, Katsuki tries pushing the person off him. Their response is immediate. The arm around his waist tightens, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as they nuzzle closer, pressing their face deeper into the crook of his neck. Warm breath ghosts across his skin.

Katsuki glares down at the top of their head.

"Oi." His voice comes out rough and strained, his throat so dry that the word sounds unrecognizable.

The person doesn't move. Just his luck he'd picked the clingiest asshole in existence.

He lets his head fall back against the pillow with a frustrated sigh. He has no idea what time it is, but judging from the sunlight creeping across the floor, he's already cutting it close. Jeanist is probably going to be up his ass about punctuality again.

Stupid morning patrols. Stupid agency. Stupid Jeanist and his stupidly tight jeans.

Katsuki shuts his eyes. Fine. Five more minutes. Jeanist can survive without him for five fucking minutes.

The warmth draped across him is annoyingly comfortable. Whoever this person is, they run warm, their body radiating heat against his. Their scent settles around him too, familiar and clean and oddly comforting. It eases some of the tension from his shoulders despite himself.

Before he realizes it, he's drifting again.

The next time he wakes, it's to the feeling of lips brushing against his jaw. 

His brows knit together. Then it happens again. A slow press of lips against the corner of his mouth this time, followed by fingers threading gently through the hair at the nape of his neck.

Katsuki's entire face scrunches. His head still fucking hurts, and now this stranger is kissing him, all soft and tender and domestic. He was gonna fucking kill his drunk self.

Then a sleepy voice murmurs, “G’morning, Kacchan,” and everything seems to stop. The sunlight coming through the window, the ache in his skull, his fucking heart.

Katsuki forgets how to breathe, suddenly can’t catch his damn breath, because he knows that voice. Would know it half asleep, through static and smoke and the whole world burning around him. He'd know it on his goddamn deathbed, and if there was anything beyond that, he'd know it there too.

Izuku presses another absentminded kiss against his chest, like it's something he's done a thousand times before. His fingers continue playing with the hair at the nape of Katsuki's neck, gentle and familiar and completely unaware that Katsuki's entire reality has just shattered.

"You ready to get up?" Izuku murmurs, voice thick with sleep. "We have to be at the agency in an hour."

What the fuck. What the fuck.

Katsuki's lungs finally remember how to work. He inhales sharply, and the sound seems to catch Izuku's attention because he lifts his head.

Green eyes meet red. Soft and sleepy and bright even in the dim morning light. So painfully familiar that Katsuki feels something twist violently in his chest.

For years he's trained himself not to look, not to stare, not to think too hard about the curve of Izuku's smile or the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs or how easily he fills every room he walks into.

For years he's built walls around those thoughts and shoved them somewhere dark and unreachable. Now all of them come crashing down at once.

“Hey.” Izuku smiles at him, small and sleepy and so full of affection that Katsuki’s heart fucking aches.

Then Izuku leans forward, clearly intending to kiss him. Katsuki jerks upright before he can, and pain explodes behind his eyes.

"Fuck—"

The room tilts. He grabs his forehead with his free hand, squeezing his eyes shut as nausea rolls through him. The sudden movement nearly sends Izuku tumbling off the bed.

"Kacchan?" Concern immediately replaces the sleepy affection in Izuku's voice. The mattress shifts, and a second later warm fingers curl around Katsuki's wrist. "Kacchan, hey." Izuku's hand slides over his, gently trying to pull it away from where it's pressed against his forehead. "Are you okay?"

The concern in his voice is real. Immediate and instinctive, like this matters. Like Katsuki matters. Like this is normal. Like they're—

Katsuki's stomach drops.

Because whatever the hell happened after that fight, whatever that villain did to him, one thing is suddenly terrifyingly clear.

This isn't a one night stand. This isn't some drunken mistake.

This is Izuku. In his bed. In his apartment. Kissing him good morning like he's done it a thousand times before.

Katsuki forces himself to get his breathing under control. In through his nose. Out through his mouth.

Whatever this is—an alternate reality, a hallucination, some fucked up side effect of the villain's quirk—panicking isn't going to help. He's spent years training for situations exactly like this. Mind control quirks. Reality manipulation. Memory alteration. Every pro hero worth their license knew the basics. Stay calm, gather information, don't do anything that could damage the timeline if you've somehow ended up in another one.

Easy enough in theory. Significantly harder when Midoriya Izuku is sitting in your lap looking at you like you're the most important person in the world.

Katsuki lets Izuku pull his hand away from his forehead. The worry on his face deepens immediately, green eyes scanning over him as if searching for injuries he can't see. Before Katsuki can stop him, Izuku's hand comes up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing gently against his skin.

The touch is familiar. Not because Katsuki has experienced it before but because he's imagined it. Because he's spent years wondering what it would be like to be looked at like this, to be cared for like this, to have Izuku reach for him without hesitation.

"Hey," Izuku says softly. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. 'M fine."

The lie sounds pathetic even to his own ears. Izuku's expression doesn't change. If anything, he looks less convinced.

Fuck. Katsuki should be handling this better.

He's a hero, for fuck's sake. He's defeated villains twice his size. He's been blown through buildings. He fought on the frontlines of a war. He's stared down death more times than he can count. He's spent hours sitting through agency seminars about reality altering quirks and temporal displacement and all the horrible shit that could happen if somebody with the wrong ability got loose.

Nobody ever covered this. None of the stupid trainings went over waking up in bed beside the person you've spent years trying not to love. Nobody ever taught him how to wake up in a future where they apparently loved you back.

That's the part that keeps threatening to knock the air from his lungs. Not this strange reality or the realization that he doesn’t know how to get back home or the possibility that he can’t go back home.

It's Izuku. It's always fucking Izuku.

Izuku curled against him like he belongs there. Izuku kissing him awake. Izuku looking worried. Izuku touching him like he's allowed to.

Katsuki almost laughs. Of all the ridiculous scenarios he could've ended up trapped in, this one feels specifically designed to torture him.

Why couldn't he have woken up as a dog? A dog would've been easier. A rat. A pigeon. A fucking lamp. Anything would be better than this.

Izuku's brows pull together further.

"Kacchan—"

"Really, I'm fine," Katsuki interrupts. "Just had a weird dream."

The words come out too quickly, but they’re not entirely a lie. If the realities are similar enough, maybe this version of him gets nightmares too. Maybe that's normal. Maybe he hasn't completely fucked this up yet.

Izuku studies him for another long moment, then eventually sighs. Katsuki can tell he’s not convinced but that he’s willing to let it go anyway.

"Do you wanna come in later?" he asks. "I can handle morning patrols with the sidekicks. There's not much going on today besides paperwork."

"Deku, I said I'm fine. Leave it."

The second the words leave his mouth, he knows he's fucked up.

Izuku goes still. It’s not obvious, but Katsuki sees the tiny shift in his expression, the flicker of something across his face, confusion or surprise or hurt maybe.

Shit.

Katsuki's stomach drops. Wrong answer. Definitely the wrong answer. Was it the nickname? His tone? Both?

If they're together—actually together—he probably doesn't talk to him like that anymore. Or maybe he does. Hell, he doesn't know. He doesn't know anything. He doesn't know how they got here. He doesn't know how long they've been together. He doesn't know if they're dating or engaged or married or whatever the hell these versions of themselves do.

All he knows is that the look on Izuku's face means he just said something he shouldn't have.

Act normal. Act like his boyfriend. His partner. His lover?

Fuck, this is impossible.

Still, he reaches up and grabs Izuku's hand where it rests against his cheek. The gesture feels awkward, but his body seems to know exactly how to do it, like it's done it hundreds of times before. Maybe thousands.

He ignores the thought.

"I'm okay," he says, forcing some of the edge from his voice. "Really. Just had a nightmare. I'm fine now."

Izuku watches him carefully, like he's trying to solve a puzzle. He can see the cogs turning in his brain, and he needs them to fucking stop before Izuku figures out he’s a fucking fake. That his soft, domestic Katsuki has been replaced by a version of him that’s completely unprepared to handle this. 

"Let's just get ready,” Katsuki says.

For a moment, he thinks Izuku is going to push. Ask more questions, call him out on his bullshit. Instead, he nods slowly. 

"Okay." The word sounds uncertain. "I'm gonna go shower."

Katsuki almost sags with relief.

"Okay."

Izuku slides off the bed. The sudden absence of warmth is jarring. He doesn't try to kiss Katsuki again. Doesn't lean down or press his forehead against his or do any of the things Katsuki suspects would normally happen.

Part of him is grateful. The other part hates himself for it. Because even though it was fake, it was nice.

He thinks maybe that's the worst part. Not the fear or confusion of being somewhere he’s not supposed to.

It’s the fact that for a few brief moments he got a taste of something he'd spent years convincing himself he didn't need. A life where he let himself love Izuku. A life where he let himself be loved back. And if this is some temporary illusion, some twisted alternate reality he'll eventually wake up from, then he'll have to lose it all over again.

The bathroom door clicks shut and the shower starts running.

Katsuki stares after him for a long moment before finally dragging a hand down his face.

"Fuck."

His head still hurts but that doesn’t matter right now. The villain's quirk. That's the priority. Figure out where he is. Figure out why he's here. Figure out how to get back. Simple.

Except when he finally forces himself to really look around, his stomach sinks.

Because this isn't his room. Not even close. The bed is wrong. The furniture is wrong. The walls are wrong.

There are framed photographs he doesn't recognize, bookshelves he's never owned, plants that definitely don't belong to him. The entire space feels lived in, warm in a way his apartment has never been, filled with evidence of a life he doesn't remember building.

A life that somehow belongs to him anyway.

Katsuki stares. For the first time since waking up, he's forced to confront a possibility even more terrifying than waking up beside Izuku.

This isn't somewhere he's been before. This isn't some dream stitched together from things he wants. This is real. Or at least real enough.

And whatever happened after that fight, whatever that villain did to him, one thing is becoming painfully clear: he isn't in his life anymore. He's in somebody else's. And somehow, that somebody is him.

Somewhere out there, there's a version of Katsuki that has all the things he's never allowed himself to have. A version that apparently lives in a warm apartment with sunlight filtering through the curtains and Izuku showering down the hall. A version that figured out how to build a life beyond patrol schedules and rankings and endless workdays that blur together until he can't tell one week from the next.

Katsuki can't fucking handle it. Every second he spends here feels like standing too close to a fire. The longer he looks, the more it burns.

He needs to find the villain.

Needs to figure out what she did to him. Needs to get back. Because if he stays here any longer, he's afraid he's going to start wanting things. And Katsuki learned a long time ago that wanting things only gets you hurt.

With shaky fingers, he grabs his phone from the nightstand. He's surprised when it unlocks immediately with facial recognition. At least that's one problem solved. God knows what kind of passcode this version of himself would choose.

The home screen appears and Katsuki freezes. The wallpaper is a photo of Izuku. No, not just Izuku. Them.

Izuku is asleep against his chest, curled up beneath a blanket. The picture is taken from above, snapped one-handed. Green curls spill across Katsuki's shoulder. Dark lashes rest against freckled cheeks. His mouth is slightly open in sleep.

And at the very edge of the frame, barely visible, is Katsuki's own face. He's smiling. Not the sharp, arrogant grin he gives reporters or the cocky one he wears after winning fights. It’s a soft, private expression Katsuki didn't even know he was capable of making.

For a second, he just stares. Then he swallows hard and forces himself to look away. It's a wallpaper. That's it. Just a stupid fucking wallpaper. His stomach twists anyway.

He swipes down to check his notifications. If he's going to survive this, he needs information. Needs to understand who this version of himself is. Who he talks to. What he does. How he acts. He needs to become him long enough to figure out how to get home.

The notification bar is crowded with unread messages. Far more than Katsuki is used to. His own phone barely gets anything outside of work updates. This one looks like people actually want to talk to him. The thought makes discomfort settle in his chest.

He opens the conversation with Kirishima.

Eijirou: you and deku coming saturday?

Eijirou: mina says she’s never speaking to you again if you cancel

Eijirou: also denki broke the grill

Eijirou: don't ask

Eijirou: actually ask. it's funny as hell

Katsuki scrolls upward. Their messages date back months. He scrolls and scrolls and they never stop. There’s pictures from cookouts and group dinners and birthdays and training sessions. A photo of Kirishima proudly holding a fish and a reply from Katsuki:

Katsuki: Why the fuck are you smiling like that

Katsuki: It's a fish

Eijirou: BECAUSE I CAUGHT IT

Eijirou: MY FIRST FISH

Katsuki: Congrats. You grilling it for us?

He blinks. This Katsuki texts people for fun.

He exits and opens another conversation.

Dunce Face: HELP

Dunce Face: PLEASE

Dunce Face: SHES MAD

Dunce Face: TELL KYOUKA IM SORRY

Katsuki: What did you do

Dunce Face: that's not important…

Katsuki: What. Did. You. Do.

Dunce Face: accidentally adopted another cat…….

Katsuki: You already have three.

Dunce Face: IT LOOKED SAD. TSUKI NEEDS A BROTHER ANYWAY

Katsuki: You deserve whatever she does to you

Katsuki snorts before he can stop himself. The sound surprises him. He can't remember the last time he'd laughed at a text message.

Further up the conversation are years of similar exchanges. Kaminari sending memes and pictures and random updates about his life. And Katsuki replying like he cares, like he enjoys it, like they're the type of friends who send random texts back and forth.

The feeling in his chest gets heavier.

He opens Todoroki's next.

Shouto: Touya accidentally set dinner on fire.

Katsuki: Accidentally..

Shouto: That's what he said.

Katsuki: And you believed him?

Shouto: No.

A photo shows a kitchen covered in smoke, Dabi glaring at the pot on the stove and Hawks laughing next to him. Last he knew of Todoroki’s brother, he was still locked up in the rehab facility, his body being kept alive by a large tube and dozens of medical staff. Was he not a villain in this universe?

Katsuki stares at it then keeps scrolling.

There are dozens of messages. Updates about family, holiday plans, invitations to dinner, photos of his sister’s kids. The sort of mundane things Katsuki never imagined Todoroki texting anybody about.

The sort of things people only share when they're close.

He switches to Uraraka's thread.

Ochaco: izuku forgot his lunch again

Ochaco: pls yell at him

Katsuki: Idiot

Ochaco: i said yell, not fondly call him an idiot

Ochaco: god you’re useless

Katsuki: Fuck off

Katsuki: Tell him if he passes out because he's too stupid to eat, I'm not carrying him home

Ochaco: ur literally bringing him lunch right now

Ochaco: bring mochi too plzzzz

Katsuki: Shut up. I’m not your errand boy

Then a few minutes later: 

Katsuki: I left it on your desk

Ochaco: tyyy ilyy :3

Katsuki: yeah yeah

A photo sits underneath of Izuku at his desk, holding a bento and smiling. Katsuki immediately closes the image. His pulse has started doing strange things.

The next conversation is from who he assumes is Hawks. Katsuki stares at the contact name then opens it.

Bird brain: Heard about the press conference

Bird brain: Try not to punch anybody this time

Katsuki: No promises

Bird brain: Midoriya's coming, right?

Katsuki: Unfortunately

Bird brain: Good

Bird brain: You'll behave if he's there

Katsuki grimaces.

Further up are years of messages. Mentorship, career advice, agency discussions. The kind of conversations Katsuki always secretly wished he had with someone. The kind that suggest he doesn't force himself to carry everything alone anymore.

He exits, his thumb hovering over the conversation he’s been avoiding.

Izuku’s thread is pinned.

Katsuki opens it, and the chat lags as the message history loads. Thousands of messages. Years worth.

They talk constantly. Random observations and work updates. Photos and questions and thoughts. Izuku sending long paragraphs about a case at random hours of the day and Katsuki replying to the unintelligible messages because this version of him apparently appreciates Izuku’s rambling.

Izuku: remember to eat lunch

Katsuki: Remember to mind your own business

Izuku: so that's a no?

Katsuki: Already ate

Izuku: liar

Izuku: i’ll come back to the agency and we can eat together :P

Katsuki: Whatever

Katsuki: See you soon nerd <3

Further down:

Izuku: bad patrol?

Katsuki: It’s whatever

Izuku: wanna talk about it?

Katsuki: Not really

Then five minutes later.

Katsuki: Guy got hurt

Izuku: i'm sorry

Katsuki: Not your fault

Izuku: i know. still sorry

Izuku: mapo tofu for dinner tonight? I’ll make it extra spicy :D

Katsuki: Yes please

Katsuki: Love you nerd

Izuku: i love you too 

Izuku: so so soooo much

Katsuki stares at the screen, and his chest hurts.

He keeps scrolling. There’s a picture of Izuku asleep on the couch.

Katsuki: You're drooling

Izuku: delete that.

Katsuki: Never

Katsuki: Think i’ll print it out and stick it in the lobby actually

Izuku: -_-

He scrolls to an exchange that must have taken place when Katsuki was on an international mission.

Izuku: how are things going? you guys catch him yet?

Katsuki: Not yet but we’re close. I should be back by the end of the week

Izuku: okayy good luck!! keep me updated

Katsuki: I will. How are things at home?

Izuku: good! me and shouto tracked down that elemental villain. filling out the paperwork rn

Izuku: miss you :( 

Katsuki: I miss you more baby

Katsuki: Gonna catch this asshole then be back before you know it

The dates blur together. Years. Years of this. Years of affection hidden inside the most ordinary moments. Years of trust, of companionship, of time spent together that he knows he’ll never get with his own Izuku.

The further he scrolls, the harder it becomes to breathe. Because this version of him isn't just dating Izuku. He loves him. It's there in every message, and the intimacy of it is overwhelming. It feels like reading somebody's diary. Like peering through a window into a life he was never supposed to see. A life he wants so badly it makes him sick.

Eventually, he stops. He has to. His vision is starting to blur, and the ache in his chest has become unbearable.

Katsuki locks the phone and drops it onto the bed beside him. The room is suddenly too quiet. The shower still runs down the hall. Izuku is still here, just one room away, but he’s never felt further from him.

It’s so cruel, showing him a life he knows he could never have. Showing him exactly what it would look like if he'd made different choices. If he'd been a different person. If he'd somehow managed to become someone worthy of being loved by Izuku.

I'll give you everything you've ever wanted, the villain had said. Her voice echoes through his head, and he clenches his jaw. 

He wishes she had just killed him instead.

He hears the shower turn off, and a moment later, the bedroom door opens. Katsuki looks up before he can stop himself.

Izuku steps into the bedroom with a towel hanging low around his waist, and another draped over his shoulders. Water still glistens across his skin, droplets tracing lazy paths down his neck and chest before disappearing beneath the edge of the fabric. His hair is damp and darker than usual, curls flattened from the shower and hanging into his eyes.

Something about him is different but Katsuki can’t quite place it. The physical changes are obvious enough; he’s taller, his shoulders are broader too, filling out in a way they normally don't. The softness he'd carried through high school and even into their early pro years has faded, replaced by lean muscle. His face is sharper now, his jaw more defined. The stubborn traces of baby fat he'd somehow managed to hang onto for years have finally disappeared.

He still looks like Izuku. Still has the same eyes, the same freckles, the same stupid cowlick refusing to behave, but it's like looking at a photograph taken years in the future.

When Izuku catches him staring and quirks an eyebrow, Katsuki immediately looks away. Heat crawls up the back of his neck. It feels wrong to look. To think about how good Izuku looks. To stand here in this stranger's life pretending any of this belongs to him.

His Izuku barely talks to him outside of work. His Izuku still smiles at him, still trusts him, still shows up when it matters. But this? This intimacy and domesticity and version of Izuku that looks at him like he loves him? It isn't his. It never will be.

“`M gonna shower,” Katsuki mutters. He tries to step past him without looking at him again, but Izuku stops him with a hand around his wrist. The touch makes his pulse jump.

“You sure you don’t wanna take the morning off?” He looks up at him with eyes so wide and full of love that Katsuki feels his throat tighten.

“I’m sure.” The words come out quieter than intended. And before he can stop himself, before he can think better of it, he's lifting a hand toward Izuku's face, his palm settling against his jaw. The feeling of warm skin and soft stubble beneath his fingertips makes him want to scream.

Izuku leans into the touch, like it’s something that happens all the time. He considers pulling back, but supposes it’s better for keeping up the act. That’s the only reason he brushes his thumb across Izuku’s cheek, then leans down to press a soft kiss to his forehead.

Yup, definitely the only reason. 

As self indulgent as the action is, it seems to soften some of the concern in Izuku’s eyes. 

“Okay,” he murmurs, then turns his head to kiss Katsuki’s wrist. The simple intimacy of it nearly knocks the breath from his lungs.

For a second neither of them move. Katsuki can’t stop staring. Izuku looks fucking incredible. Not just because he’s objectively attractive (though he is) or taller or broader or stronger. It’s something he can’t quite place just from looking at him. It’s in the way he carries himself with a sense of peace and confidence that his Izuku is still struggling to find.

The version of Izuku standing in front of him feels settled in a way his version never has. The anxious energy that always seemed to buzz beneath his skin has quieted. The self doubt Katsuki knows so well is still there somewhere, probably, but it no longer seems to control him. He stands differently, carries himself differently.

Like he's grown into himself. Like he's finally become the person he spent years trying to be.

And suddenly it hits Katsuki. Maybe they are older here.

It would explain the physical changes in Izuku, and also the enormous bedroom they’re currently standing in. It’s far larger than any apartment a twenty two year old pro hero could afford. Floor to ceiling windows stretch across one wall, revealing a sweeping view of the city skyline. Sunlight pours across expensive hardwood floors. The furniture looks custom made. The bedroom alone is bigger than Katsuki's entire apartment back home.

He hasn’t seen the rest of the place, but if the view of the city from the window is anything to go by, he’s assuming they live in a penthouse, and that’s something he knows for a fact neither of them can afford at twenty two—no matter what reality they’re in.

Izuku gives him a questioning look. "You okay?"

Katsuki forces himself to nod. "Yeah. You get dressed, I’ll be quick.”

Izuku hesitates for a second, like he wants to push the issue, but eventually nods. "Okay."

Then, before Katsuki can stop him, he leans forward and brushes a soft kiss against his lips, and Katsuki is taken over by a desire so overwhelming it makes him feel sick. He wants so badly.

Not the distant, buried sort of wanting he's spent years ignoring. Not the kind he shoves down whenever Izuku laughs at one of his jokes or stands a little too close during patrol briefings.

This is uglier. Hungrier. He wants this to be real, wants it to be his. Wants the apartment and the mornings and the casual affection. Wants the easy certainty in Izuku's eyes and to stop feeling like every good thing in his life is something he has to earn.

He wants so badly it makes him feel sick.

The feeling follows him all the way into the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind him, and Katsuki exhales slowly and looks up. The man staring back at him isn't a stranger, but he isn't entirely familiar either. Katsuki steps closer to the mirror and his stomach drops.

Yeah. They're definitely older.

The differences aren't dramatic enough to make him unrecognizable. He still has the same sharp red eyes. The same blond hair sticking up in every direction no matter what he does to it. The same scowl etched permanently into his features.

It's still him, just older, more refined, like someone took the rough edges of twenty two year old Katsuki and sharpened them into something cleaner.

His face has changed the most.

The softness lingering around his jaw is gone completely, replaced by sharper angles and harder lines. His cheekbones are more pronounced. There are faint lines around his eyes that weren't there before, not enough to age him significantly but enough to show evidence of years smiling and squinting into explosions.

His hair is slightly shorter than he usually keeps it. His shoulders are wider. His neck is thicker. Every muscle across his frame looks denser than before, the result of nearly a decade spent fighting villains and training.

Katsuki grips the edge of the sink as his gaze drifts lower.

Scars. So many scars.

Most of them he recognizes immediately. The one stretching across the center of his chest from the war is still the most apparent. There’s still the faint mark near his shoulder from a mission during second year. He sees the small white line along his ribs he'd gotten fighting some low level villain years ago.

They’re proof that this is still him. That somewhere between whatever reality he came from and this one, Bakugou Katsuki remained Bakugou Katsuki.

But there are new ones too.

His eyes catch on a scar he doesn't recognize. It cuts diagonally across the left side of his chest, disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. Older than a fresh injury but newer than the others. He reaches up instinctively, fingers tracing the raised skin.

What the hell happened?

The scar doesn't tell him. None of them do. All they prove is that life kept happening after the point where his memories end. Years he can't account for. Years where apparently he grew older, built a life, fell in love—

His head throbs. Pain shoots behind his eyes hard enough to make him wince.

"Fuck."

He squeezes his eyes shut. Future. Alternate reality. Hallucination. Quirk effect. Every possibility crashes together until he can't separate one from another. Maybe this is the future. Maybe it isn't. Maybe it's some alternate timeline where everything went differently. Maybe he's unconscious in an alley somewhere while his brain invents this entire thing. Maybe none of it's real. Maybe all of it is.

The harder he tries to think about it, the worse the headache becomes.

Eventually he lets out a frustrated growl and drops his head forward. There's no point in thinking about this right now. Standing in front of a mirror isn't going to magically give him answers. Neither is spiraling himself into a fucking aneurysm.

One thing at a time. First order of business is finding that villain, finding out what she did to him, and then figuring out how to get the fuck back home.

The thought should bring relief, but instead, something unpleasant twists in his chest. Because home means a tiny apartment he barely sleeps in. Endless patrols, and cold takeout, and weeks passing without talking to his friends, and Izuku standing across from him in crowded briefing rooms, smiling at him like a colleague and nothing more.

Katsuki stares at his reflection, at the older version of himself staring back.

Something glints in the corner of his eye, and his gaze flicks down to a gold band sitting on the counter beside the sink.

His breath catches. Slowly, he reaches for it. The ring is heavy in his palm, still warm from being worn. Some instinctive part of him knows it’s Izuku’s.

His eyes drop to his left hand, and there, sitting on his ring finger, is an identical one.

For a long moment, Katsuki just stares at it, then he looks toward the bathroom door. Toward the bedroom where Izuku is getting dressed. Toward the life waiting just a couple feet away.

His stomach sinks.

"Fuck," he whispers.

Because whatever reality this is, it's suddenly very clear that he and Izuku aren't just together.

They're married.

~

By the time they make it to their agency—yes, their agency, because apparently that’s a thing now—Katsuki's headache is back in full force.

The flight there doesn’t help. The city rushes beneath them in a blur of glass and steel, familiar enough to recognize but different enough to feel wrong. 

Katsuki propels himself through the air on instinct, explosions firing from his palms with practiced precision. At least that much hasn't changed. His body knows what to do even if his brain is still struggling to catch up.

A few feet away, Izuku keeps pace effortlessly.

Katsuki had tried not to react when he'd stepped out of the bathroom earlier and found Izuku suited up in full support armor, because in his world, that armor doesn't exist yet.

It's still a collection of sketches and prototypes and late night conversations with support companies overseas. It's spreadsheets full of projected costs and emails he's drafted and redrafted a dozen times before sending. It's every sponsorship deal he's reluctantly agreed to, every commercial he's gritted his teeth through, every stupid brand partnership he's taken because the money was good and because every extra yen got him closer to the same goal.

Getting Izuku back in the air and keeping him there. Making sure he never had to give up being a hero.

Katsuki had never told anyone about it. Never admitted that half the reason he'd been working himself into the ground was because of Izuku. It was easier to let everyone think he was obsessed with rankings than explain that every paycheck eventually led back to a green haired idiot who never put himself first.

So seeing the armor now—complete and polished and integrated so seamlessly into Izuku's fighting style that it looked like it had always belonged there—does something strange to his chest.

He feels relieved. Relieved that somewhere, somehow, Izuku got to keep his dream. Relieved that this version of Katsuki wanted the same thing for Izuku. That he was able to make it happen, even if it was in a different reality.

He tries not to stare as they fly across the city, but it’s impossible not to notice the billboards. Everywhere he looks, someone he knows is staring back at him.

He spots Kirishima first. A massive digital advertisement wraps around the side of a building downtown. Kirishima is pointing toward a tub of protein powder with the same grin he's had since they were fifteen. The slogan reads, UNBREAKABLE NUTRITION.

A few blocks later he catches sight of Tokoyami. Apparently he's the face of some expensive cologne campaign now. The advertisement is entirely black except for Tokoyami standing dramatically beneath a full moon. Katsuki rolls his eyes at the dramatics but is secretly glad to see that some things haven’t changed.

Next to it, Todoroki is holding a ceramic bowl, staring solemnly into the distance like he's contemplating the meaning of life while advertising handcrafted pottery.

Katsuki nearly flies into a building.

What the fuck. When had Todoroki gotten into pottery, and more importantly, who the fuck was buying it?

Then he catches sight of himself. A giant digital screen flashes overhead. There he is shirtless, wearing a pair of jeans so low waisted they border on pornographic, giving the camera a look that can only be described as a smolder.

Katsuki physically recoils.

"Fucking, ew."

Beside him, Izuku snorts. "You said the same thing when they showed you the final campaign ad."

"Good. Means someone was in their right mind. Whose idea even was that?" He squints at the billboard, grumbling under his breath, “Bet that Jeanist fucker had something to do with it.”

“It was your idea, Kacchan,” Izuku laughs, shaking his head. “I tried to talk you out of it, remember? But you said, and I quote, ‘I worked hard for a body this sexy, I reserve the right to show it off.’”

He shudders. Apparently even alternate reality Katsuki is still whoring himself out for sponsorship money. Some things never change.

More than anyone else, though, more than the classmates whose faces appear every few blocks, more than his own increasingly humiliating advertisements, he sees Izuku everywhere. On billboards and storefront screens and news broadcasts playing through shop windows and magazine covers displayed behind glass.

No. 1 Pro Hero: Deku, they all say.

The title follows him through the city, and the strangest thing is that it doesn't hurt the way Katsuki would have expected it to. He expected some ugly piece of himself to twist at the sight of it, at the confirmation that Izuku was better than him the way he had always feared when they were younger.

Instead, all he feels is relief. Relief that Izuku made it. That the future he’d always imagined—the two of them together and competing and pushing each other forward—exists somewhere.

The agency comes into view a few minutes later.

Katsuki nearly misses a blast, because he knows that building. Everybody in Japan knows that building. The familiar shape of the structure is impossible to mistake, even after renovations. The building towers above the surrounding skyline, larger than anything Katsuki could've imagined owning, glass walls gleaming in the sunlight.

His stomach twists as he stares at what used to be All Might's agency. The symbol that once hung above the entrance is gone, replaced by a sleek redesign incorporating orange explosions and green lightning.

Their agency. His and Izuku's.

Katsuki stares as they land on a rooftop platform. For a moment, all he can think about is All Might. Is he still alive? Still teaching at U.A.? Did he retire completely? Did something happen?

The thought sends a spike of anxiety through him, and he immediately shoves it away. No. Not right now. He doesn't want to know. Not if the answer might be something terrible. He's already drowning in information he’s not supposed to have. He can't handle losing All Might too.

Instead, he follows Izuku through the front entrance.

The lobby is massive. Sunlight pours through towering windows. Agency employees move through the space with practiced efficiency, and large screens display active patrol routes, hero rankings, rescue statistics, and ongoing investigations. The walls are lined with photographs, awards, newspaper clippings, and dozens of photos of him and Izuku.

They’re evidence of years Katsuki never lived, of accomplishments he doesn't remember earning.

People greet him as he walks past. Some wave, others nod. Nobody looks surprised to see him. Nobody questions why he's there.

This life fits him so naturally that it almost feels unfair.

Beside him, Izuku notices the way he's looking around. Katsuki catches him watching from the corner of his eye, his expression curious and still slightly concerned. 

He’s grateful that Izuku doesn’t say anything, because he doesn't know how to explain the feeling currently lodged in his chest. How every hallway feels familiar and foreign at the same time. How every smiling face feels like proof that he's somehow become someone different. Someone better. Someone that receptionists and sidekicks and old ladies on the street smile and wave to. Someone that deserves this.

The thought follows him all the way through the briefing and out onto patrol, and for the first time since waking up, something finally clicks into place.

A call comes through: a villain attack, minor property damage escalating into a hostage situation. The details don’t matter. What matters is the moment Katsuki launches himself forward and lets his instinct take over. Finally, finally, his body stops feeling like borrowed skin.

Because fighting? Kicking villain ass and winning? That, he knows how to do.

For the first time all day, the noise in his head quiets. There are no alternate realities. No impossible marriages. No missing years. No questions he can't answer.

Just a target, a mission, and a civilian who needs help.

Katsuki moves before they’ve finished the briefing, explosions cracking through the air as he shoots across the city. Somewhere behind him he hears Izuku laugh—that familiar, fond sound that makes something warm twist in his chest—and then he's following, green lightning streaking across the skyline.

For a little while, Katsuki lets himself forget that none of this belongs to him. For a little while, he remembers exactly who he is.

~

They eat lunch on a rooftop overlooking the city.

Their sidekicks had stopped at a takeout place near the agency before patrol resumed, which means Katsuki is alone with Izuku again. He can't decide if that's a good thing or not.

On one hand, he wants to soak up every second of this while he can, because sooner or later he'll figure out how to get back, and when he does, all of this will disappear. On the other hand, every minute spent together is another opportunity for him to fuck something up and for Izuku to realize he's not the Katsuki he belongs with.

He tries not to think about it too much, instead letting himself enjoy the warmth of Izuku leaning into him as they watch the afternoon sun hang high above the city, warming the concrete beneath them. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wail before fading back into the hum of the city.

Izuku is saying something about one of their interns, but Katsuki is only half listening. He’s much more entranced by the way the sunlight catches in his curls, turning his hair a bright emerald green. He only tunes back in when he notices Izuku looking at him expectantly, presumably waiting for a reply.

“Huh?” he asks dumbly.

Izuku rolls his eyes, a soft smile stretching across his face. He presses closer into Katsuki’s side. “Are you listening to anything I’m saying?”

Katsuki pretends to think for a second, squinting up at the sun. “Honestly? No.”

Izuku laughs softly and shoves Katsuki’s shoulder. 

“You’re so annoying,” he says, but grins up at Katsuki, anyway. 

The corners of his eyes are crinkled, and his cheeks are flushed from the heat, making his freckles stand out more prominently against his sun kissed skin. The wind has pushed his hair into complete disarray after a morning spent flying across the city, and it’s now sticking up in every direction. 

Katsuki thinks he’s never seen anything so beautiful.

He bites back a smile of his own, and reaches up to cup Izuku’s jaw before he can chicken out, swiping a thumb over the curve of his lips (because he’s allowed to do that here!). Izuku’s smile softens, his eyes scanning over Katsuki’s face for a second, before he leans over and presses a soft kiss to his lips.

It’s just a gentle brush of their mouths, but it still makes Katsuki’s chest ache.

"Did Eijirou send you the details for Saturday?" Izuku asks after a moment. "He said he'd text you."

Saturday. Katsuki racks his brain. Right. He remembers a text from Kirishima about coming over on Saturday.

“Yeah,” he says, brushing a crumb off the front of his compression shirt. “He texted me.”

“What’d you say?”

“Dunno, haven’t responded yet.”

“Oh.” Izuku frowns around another bite of rice. “Do you want me to confirm with him?”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Why the fuck do we need to confirm? If we show up, we show up. If not, the idiot’ll be fine.”

The second the words leave his mouth, he knows something is wrong. Izuku’s expression changes, his brows pulling together like Katsuki has said something completely out of character.

“Kacchan,” he says slowly, “it’s Ayaka’s birthday. We need to confirm so they know how much stuff to get.”

He doesn’t know who the fuck Ayaka is, and frankly, he doesn’t care. He has more important shit to worry about than a damn birthday party. Why the fuck are they even still throwing birthday parties at thirty?

“Okay, whatever,” he mutters. “I’ll text him later.”

“Do it now.” Izuku nudges his knee. “You’re gonna forget later.”

Something in him snaps. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s spent all day pretending to be someone he doesn’t understand, but the constant feeling that he's one wrong word away from having this entire reality collapse around him is really starting to piss him off.

“How about you mind your fucking business,” he says before he can stop himself, sharp and mean in a way he knows this Katsuki doesn’t speak to Izuku. 

He knows it’s wrong and he’s fucking all this up, but it’s driving him crazy that Izuku is talking to him like he’s a fucking idiot. Not his fault he can’t be perfect, mature, emotionally intelligent thirty year old Katsuki.

Silence falls between them. Izuku’s jaw tightens, his shoulders drawing back. For a brief second, anger flashes across his features, but beneath it is hurt. Katsuki would recognize that expression anywhere. He's caused it hundreds of times before. Back when they were kids, back when cruelty had been easier than admitting he cared. The sight of it makes guilt crawl up his throat.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Izuku asks quietly. He sounds confused, like he genuinely doesn't understand where this is coming from, like this isn't how their conversations usually go.

Katsuki looks away.

The city stretches endlessly below them, sunlight glinting off glass and steel. Normally he likes heights. They make him feel untouchable. Right now, though, he just feels trapped, because all he can think about is how much he hates himself. 

Sorry I took him from you. Sorry I can't be him. I'm trying to go back. I'm trying to bring him back to you.

As badly as some selfish, horrible part of him wants this life, wants these mornings and rooftop lunches and absentminded kisses, he knows none of it belongs to him. It belongs to another version of himself. A better version, apparently. One who figured out how to build something worth having. One who figured out how to keep Izuku.

But he can’t say any of that, so he just pathetically mumbles, “Nothing.”

“Kacchan—”

“Just leave it, Deku,” he says sharply. He tries to ignore the way Izuku flinches at it. “Nothing's wrong. I’m fucking fine, so stop treating me like a child.”

Izuku opens his mouth, but Katsuki never finds out what he was going to say. He’s on his feet in an instant. An explosion erupts from his palms and sends him hurtling off the rooftop before Izuku can stop him.

He doesn’t look back.

The wind tears past his face, and he welcomes it. It gives him something else to focus on besides the look on Izuku's face. Something besides the horrible realization that, despite spending years convincing himself distance was kinder, it still hurts to watch Izuku flinch because of him.

The moment he gets back to the agency, he locks himself inside his office and starts digging.

If the woman who did this exists in this reality—and she has to exist, because how else would he have ended up here?—then there should be records. There are always records.

Hero databases, criminal databases, archived incident reports, quirk registries, witness statements, agency reports—Katsuki searches everything. The problem is that he doesn't have much to go on. All he has is a woman with grey eyes, a smile that made his skin crawl, and a quirk that somehow sent him here.

Hours pass. The city outside his office windows gradually shifts from afternoon gold to the deep blues of evening. Staff members start trickling out of the building. A few sidekicks and interns stop by his office to drop off paperwork and incident reports for the day.

Katsuki barely notices. His eyes burn from staring at his computer screen. Folders and names and faces blur together, and he still has nothing. Every search ends the same way. No matching villain. No matching quirk. No matching incident. The woman might as well have never existed.

At one point he finds himself staring blankly at the search bar, fingers hovering uselessly above the keyboard as frustration curls hot and ugly in his stomach.

Panic begins to creep in around the edges. What if she isn't here? What if she doesn’t exist in this reality? What if there isn't a way back?

The thought lands like a punch to the ribs, and he immediately shoves it away. No. There has to be. There has to.

Because the alternative is impossible. The alternative is staying. The alternative is waking up tomorrow and pretending to be someone else's husband. Pretending to be someone else's version of Katsuki. Pretending that every smile and every touch and every look from Izuku belongs to him.

By the time he finally leaves the agency, the sky is dark. His shoulders ache and his head feels like it's been split open.

As he rides the elevator up to the penthouse, one thought keeps circling endlessly through his head.

Izuku is going to be angry. Maybe not screaming angry, but definitely upset. And honestly, Katsuki deserves it. He had snapped at him and stormed off and avoided him for the rest of the day. Any reasonable person would be angry.

The elevator doors slide open, and the smell of food hits him. Katsuki steps into the kitchen and sees Izuku standing at the stove, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he stirs something in a pan. His hair is messier than it had been that morning, curls escaping in every direction. 

At the sound of Katsuki’s footsteps, he looks up. Their eyes meet, and Katsuki braces himself for an argument. 

Instead, Izuku’s expression softens.

“Hey.” And then, as if nothing happened, as if they're still them, as if Katsuki didn't spend lunch tearing holes into something good, Izuku opens his arms.

Katsuki freezes. “What are you doing?”

Izuku blinks, then huffs out a laugh. “I’ve had a long day and I want to hug my husband. Is there a problem?”

His husband. The words hit him like a punch to the chest. 

He continues staring dumbly, but Izuku just smiles, beckoning him over. “C’mere.”

Katsuki hesitates, then slowly crosses the room. The second he gets close enough, Izuku wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him in. He’s warm and solid and so real, Katsuki feels the tension bleed out of his shoulders. After a long moment, Katsuki awkwardly rests his arms around Izuku’s shoulders, and the embrace tightens.

"You aren't mad?" Katsuki quietly asks into his hair.

Izuku pulls back enough to look at him. He raises a brow. "Should I be?"

"I was an asshole."

"Yeah." Izuku nods, and Katsuki winces.

Izuku sighs, running a hand over Katsuki’s back. "I'm obviously not pleased." Which okay, fair. "But no. I'm not mad at you.”

Something in Katsuki's chest aches. This isn't how he's used to people reacting. People get angry and frustrated and leave. They see the ugliest parts of him and decide there’s nothing worth salvaging. 

But Izuku stays. He stays and he loves and he’s warm and so, so kind, and Katsuki doesn’t know what to do with it.

He’s never been good at apologies, doesn’t know how to lay himself bare and return that kindness and warmth and vulnerability, but he decides he can try today. For Izuku.

“I’m sorry.” He stares into soft eyes, and his chest hurts. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s been a weird day and I…” His jaw tightens. He tips his head back and squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

Warm hands reach up to cup either side of his face. Izuku tilts his head down, pressing his forehead against Katsuki’s. “I know.”

"I just..." Katsuki trails off.

The truth crowds against his throat. I don't belong here. I'm not him. I don't know how to do this. I don't know how he became someone worthy of your love.

Instead he looks away.

"I'm fine."

The words sound just as pathetic now as they did earlier. Izuku sighs, like he recognizes the wall being built between them.

"You know you can talk to me."

Katsuki stares at the floor.

"Yeah."

"You don't have to deal with everything alone, Kacchan. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out."

We. 

"I know."

And objectively, he does know. He believes Izuku means it, but he still hasn't learned how to hand pieces of himself to other people and trust them not to break. He wonders if this Katsuki has.

So he stands there in the middle of a beautiful apartment that belongs to a different version of himself, wrapped in the arms of a man who loves him more than anything, and still can't bring himself to tell the truth.

Izuku watches him for another moment, then tips his chin up with his fingers. “I love you,” he says. 

Katsuki doesn’t know how to respond to that one, so he just pulls Izuku back into his chest, squeezing him tightly and inhaling his scent. Izuku lets himself be held, lets Katsuki soak in his presence until the lump in his throat has subsided.

“Kacchan,” he says after a moment, muffled into his clothes. “I do love you, but I’m also starving.”

Katsuki huffs out a laugh into his hair. He pulls back to look at him, but doesn’t let go. “Me, too.”

Izuku smiles at him, reaching up to brush the hair off Katsuki’s forehead. “Go get changed so we can eat.”

Katsuki nods, but still doesn’t pull away. Izuku shakes his head, laughing, and detaches himself from Katsuki. “Go.” He pushes him towards the bedroom.

Katsuki changes out of his costume and takes a quick shower. By the time he’s dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, Izuku has dished up their dinner and brought it to the living room. They eat on the couch, curled together beneath a large blanket. The meal is warm and hearty, and by the time they’re finished, Katsuki feels the emotional exhaustion from the day catching up to him.

Izuku grabs the bowl from his hand when he notices his grip loosening on it and places it on the coffee table. He stretches his legs out, a silent invitation, and because Katsuki’s not a complete idiot, he takes it. He lays his head on Izuku’s lap, and instantly, fingers tangle into his hair.

Katsuki sighs as Izuku massages at his temples, letting the careful ministrations lull him towards sleep. For the first time since waking up here, Katsuki feels almost peaceful.

He didn't find the villain. He didn't find a way home. He didn't find any answers. But suddenly, that doesn't seem so bad. Honestly, he doesn't know why he was in such a rush to leave. He thinks he’d be okay staying here for a while.

Just long enough to breathe. Long enough to pretend. Long enough to experience what it’s like to be loved by Izuku.

But then, like everything in Katsuki’s life, it comes crashing down.

“So,” Izuku says casually as he twists a lock of blonde hair around his finger. “Are you gonna tell me who you really are?”

Katsuki's eyes snap open. Every muscle in his body goes rigid. The warmth seems to evaporate instantly.

“What?”

He sits up so fast he nearly tangles himself in the blanket. Across from him, Izuku barely reacts. He simply shifts back against the couch cushions, one arm draped over the backrest, looking entirely too calm for someone who just dropped a bomb into the middle of the room.

"You're not my Kacchan."

He doesn’t sound angry, just matter-of-fact. Katsuki stares at him, his pulse pounding in his ears.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Izuku's mouth twitches in fond amusement. "You know," he says. "For someone who spent all day pretending to be him, you've actually done a pretty good job."

Katsuki feels sick. He rips the blanket off of him, suddenly too hot. 

“I am. I am him.”

“Katsuki,” he says softly.

“Stop,” Katsuki practically shrieks, slapping a hand over his eyes. His head pounds harder than it has all day. “I’m Kacchan. Your Kacchan. Don’t call me that.”

Izuku sighs, moving closer to him, but Katsuki scrambles to the other end of the couch like a wounded animal.

“Stop it! I’m him. I’m yours. I’m yours.” Maybe if he repeats it enough times, it’ll be true.

It’s silent for a moment, then Katsuki feels gentle hands close around his own, pulling them away from his face. 

“Tell me who you are,” he urges softly. At least that hasn’t gone away. At least he’s not looking at Katsuki like a stranger, like someone he doesn’t recognize completely. He must know that some part of him is true, that he’s a version of Katsuki even if it’s not his own.

God. How long had Izuku known? Since this morning? Since the moment he'd opened his eyes? Was he such a fucking awful person he couldn’t pretend to be the man Izuku loved for even a single second?

For a while, neither of them speaks. Then Katsuki sighs, long and exhausted and defeated because what's the point? He's already been caught.

"I got hit by a villain's quirk yesterday."

Izuku nods for him to continue, so he does. He tells him everything. The fight. The villain. The promise she'd made. That he is Katsuki, but twenty two and so very lonely. That he doesn’t know why he’s here or how to get back. That he’s trying. By the time he's finished, his throat feels raw. Izuku listens without interrupting. Without questioning him. Without doubting him for a second.

When Katsuki finally falls silent, Izuku sits back against the couch, watching him with a strange expression on his face. Katsuki feels sick. What if he doesn’t believe him? What if he turns him into the cops and he has to wait in a cell until someone figures out how to get Izuku’s Katsuki back? He knew he should’ve kept his fucking mouth shut.

But Izuku just tilts his head and finally says, “You must’ve been really scared,” and the gentleness in his voice makes Katsuki want to cry.

He looks away, trying to ignore the stinging in his eyes.

"Scared isn't the word I'd use."

Even though he is. He’s fucking terrified. Inside, Katsuki suddenly feels very young. Very tired. Very far from home.

"It would've scared me."

"Yeah, well."

The corner of Izuku's mouth lifts, and he opens his arms again. “Come here, Kacchan.”

Katsuki’s body moves before he even registers it. He shoves his face into Izuku’s chest and can’t stop the tears from coming. He doesn’t sob, but it’s close enough. Izuku holds him through it, doesn’t shush him or tell him everything will be okay, just strokes his hand up and down Katsuki’s back until his tears have dried up.

When his crying quiets into the occasional sniffle, he looks up at Izuku.

"I thought I was doing a decent job." His voice is small, and he hates that he really does sound like a little kid. What made him think he could possibly pull this off?

The laugh that escapes Izuku is soft. "You were."

"Then how'd you know?"

He actually looks offended by the question. "I've been married to him for seven years." 

Katsuki’s jaw clenches around his jealousy. “Right.”

Izuku laughs, like he knows what Katsuki’s thinking. "You really did do well. Better than most people would've." His gaze softens. "But I know him." The simple certainty in his voice makes something ache. "I know how he talks. I know how he looks at me when he's upset. I know how he sounds when he's lying. And," Izuku continues, smiling faintly, "my husband would've remembered Ayaka's birthday."

"That's bullshit."

"It is not."

"Who the hell even is Ayaka?"

Izuku laughs again, even though nothing about this is funny. "She's Mina and Eijirou's daughter. And your goddaughter."

Katsuki blinks. "You're kidding."

"I'm not."

"What the fuck?"

A grin spreads across Izuku's face. “A lot of things change in the next couple years, but I think it’s for the better. And I think you’ll agree.”

Katsuki frowns. “You think this is the future?”

“Isn’t it?” Izuku raises a brow.

“Dunno, I thought it was just some weird alternate reality.”

Because he can’t imagine that this is his future. A hallucination, definitely. A freak alternate reality, maybe, but his future? Absolutely fucking not. No future exists for him where he gets this.

Izuku leans back and smiles at him knowingly, and immediately Katsuki is suspicious. He narrows his eyes. “What?”

“Nothing.” His grin spreads wider.

“Bullshit.”

Izuku laughs softly. “You said you’re twenty two?”

“Yeah.”

“And you just got attacked by a villain?”

“Yeah. So what?”

“I remember that.” Something wistful crosses his face, and Katsuki rolls his eyes at the expression. “You’ve got a lot coming your way.”

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Nothing."

"It clearly means something. Stop being so cryptic."

Izuku bites the inside of his cheek. The bastard actually looks like he's trying not to laugh.

"You’ll find out soon. I can’t spoil it.”

Katsuki scoffs. “If this really is the future, time hasn’t made you any less infuriating.”

Izuku does laugh now, tilting his head back against the cushion. His fingers scratch at the short hairs near the nape of Katsuki’s neck, and he looks down at him with a fond smile. “Just trust me."

“Okay,” he says, because Izuku is looking at him the same way he has been all day. With certainty, with impossible affection, with the kind of love Katsuki still can't quite comprehend. The realization that he’s not his Katsuki hasn’t changed it, and Katsuki thinks that Izuku might love this version of him, too. 

“What do we do now?” Katsuki asks quietly.

“Now,” Izuku pretends to think for a second. “We go to sleep.”

“But…” Katsuki furrows his brow. “You need your Katsuki back. And I need to get back to…” my Izuku, he wants to say, but doesn’t. Judging from the look on Izuku’s face, he knows anyway.

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow.” He brushes a thumb over Katsuki’s cheekbone. “You’ve had an exhausting day. Rest now and we’ll start digging tomorrow.”

“I have been digging,” Katsuki grumbles. “I couldn’t find shit on her. What if she doesn’t exist here? What if there’s no fixing this?”

“Kacchan.” Izuku smiles. “I’m not the number one hero for nothing. I won’t stop until I get my husband back, and we need to get you back so I can finally ask you out.”

“Hah?” Katsuki scowls. “You ask me out?”

“Oops.” Izuku rolls off the couch. “I’ve said too much.”

“Wha—get back here, asshole!” Katsuki tries grabbing for him, but Izuku is already miming zipping his mouth shut as he picks up their dishes off the coffee table. Katsuki sighs and flops back against the cushions. “God, I’m such a fucking pussy. Can’t believe Deku has to ask me out,” he mutters under his breath, but judging from Izuku’s laugh, he hears him anyway.

“Someone had to do the heavy lifting,” Izuku says as Katsuki follows him into the kitchen. “And no offense, Kacchan, but it wasn’t gonna be you.” He turns on the water, but Katsuki grabs the dishes from him with a glare and begins washing them.

“Oh, come on.” Izuku leans against the counter, watching him. “It was cute!”

“Cute,” Katsuki scoffs, and Izuku laughs. He points a soapy finger at Izuku. “Just you watch, I’m gonna go back and ask you out. I don’t care if the future is already written.”

Izuku’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. “I look forward to it.”

By the time they’re ready to go to sleep, Katsuki pauses at the foot of the bed. Izuku is already curled beneath the comforter, one arm tucked beneath his pillow as he watches Katsuki from across the mattress. The room is lit only by the bedside lamp, making him look soft and sleepy in the dim light.

Damn, future Katsuki really scored. Sexy husband who also happens to be the number one hero? His Izuku is gonna freak out when he hears about this.

He’s also the reason Katsuki hesitates to climb into bed with future Izuku. As stupid as it is, he feels guilty doing something so intimate with someone who isn’t Izuku, even though it is Izuku, just a little older.

The whole thing makes his head hurt.

“Do you want me to sleep on the couch?”

Izuku furrows a brow. “No, why?”

“Well…” Katsuki looks away, suddenly finding it difficult to hold his gaze. “It doesn’t make you uncomfortable? Knowing that I’m not your Katsuki?”

Izuku considers it for a moment, then shrugs. “You are my Katsuki, just a younger version of him. But no, it doesn’t make me uncomfortable.” His eyes narrow slightly. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“No,” Katsuki mutters.

“Good.” Izuku nods, seemingly satisfied, then continues, “we probably shouldn’t kiss, though. And obviously nothing more than that.”

Katsuki feels his face heat up at the insinuation, and across the bed, Izuku bursts out laughing.

“Oh my god, your face.”

"Shut up.” Katsuki grabs the nearest pillow and launches it at him. Izuku barely dodges through his laughter. “You're the one who kept kissing me, creep," he snaps. "I dodged the first one."

“That’s when I still thought you were my husband!” Izuku throws the pillow back at him. “I didn’t after I realized you weren’t.”

“Yeah, yeah, just admit you can’t keep your hands off me.” Katsuki smirks as he pulls back the covers and climbs into bed.

“God, I forgot how immature you used to be.” Izuku groans, shaking his head against the pillow.

Katsuki sticks his tongue out in response, further proving his point. Izuku flicks him on the forehead, and Katsuki flicks him back because obviously he can’t let that slide, but eventually, Katsuki turns off the lamp and they settle into silence. 

The city continues glowing beyond the windows, but the space between them fills with darkness and quiet.

Katsuki stares at the ceiling. Five minutes pass. Then ten. Then twenty. Sleep never comes. His mind won't stop. Every time he closes his eyes, he thinks about the villain and the penthouse and the rings on their fingers and this Izuku and his Izuku. It’s all such a mess and he can’t stop thinking about it.

Questions circle endlessly through his head, chasing each other in exhausted loops. How long is he stuck here? What happened to the villain? What if he never finds her? What if he can't get back? What happens to the real Katsuki? Does he blink out of existence? Does Izuku find someone else to marry and take over All Might’s agency with?

His chest tightens at the thought. No, that’s not an option.

Beside him, the mattress shifts.

"Kacchan."

“What?”

“I can hear you thinking.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes despite the darkness. “No you can’t.”

A moment passes, and Katsuki thinks Izuku has gone to sleep until he hears him shift. 

“I promise we’ll figure this out,” he says quietly. “You don’t need to worry.”

“I’m not worried.” The lie hangs between them. Neither of them acknowledge it.

Katsuki tries closing his eyes again. Tries slowing his breathing and forcing himself to relax. It doesn’t work. After several more minutes, he lets out a quiet sigh. Beside him, Izuku shifts again.

"Kacchan?"

Katsuki hesitates. He knows what he wants, but the words feel stupid on his tongue. For a second he considers keeping them to himself.

Then he rolls over. The room is dark enough that he can barely make out Izuku's silhouette beside him.

"Can I..."

The sentence dies halfway out of his mouth. His face burns, and he immediately regrets speaking.

But Izuku looks at him and seems to understand anyway. Katsuki sees a small smile pull at the corner of his mouth in the dark. Wordlessly, Izuku shifts closer, wrapping an arm around Katsuki's waist and gently pulling him forward until the space between them disappears. He guides Katsuki’s head to the crook of his neck, and presses a soft kiss to his forehead. 

"Go to sleep," Izuku murmurs into his hair.

Katsuki sinks into the warmth, the tension leaving his shoulders as his breathing evens out. The noise in his head is still there, but it’s drowned out by the steady rise and fall of Izuku's chest beneath him. 

A few minutes later, sleep finally finds him.