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despite the massive emotional development he’s experienced since he was an angsty, immature 14-year-old, katsuki knows he can still be a bit of an unreasonable, avoidant asshole.
when he’s had a shit day in physical therapy, and it feels like his right arm will never respond to him the way it used to.
when he wakes up with a high-pitched ringing in his ears that steadily grows sharper over the course of the day, and the pain and irritation has him struggling to read the lips of his teachers, let alone hear their lectures.
when its raining, storming, just generally shitty overcast weather, and the multitude of scars across his body ache and stiffen his joints. and though he’s yet to admit it to his ua-mandated shrink, when this combination of pain in his still-healing wounds and the pounding rain seems to pull him right back to the battleground he died on, and he finds himself lost and re-living a too-recent memory.
on these days, he feels like he reverts back to the selfish little shit he used to be, lashing out at the people closest to him, ignoring the people that support him, determined to undo whatever progress he’s made, whatever forgiveness he’s earned.
on these days, ‘deku’ is what leaves his mouth, sharp and scornful, as if he never reached ‘izuku’ in the first place.
on these days, he pretends to ignore the shocked, hurt expression on denki’s face when he explodes and screams at him for his usual teasing or casual closeness.
on these days, he skips his morning run with eijirou. he ignores any texts that come through, locks his door, and pretends not to hear his neighbour knocking on his door, asking if he’s awake.
on these days, he waits until eijirou leaves. guilt, shame and no small amount of anger boil around in his guts, but above all he feels a near-paralysing fear that maybe this will be enough to push eijirou away for good.
between this cocktail of emotion, the headache that seems to be wrapping its way around his skull to accompany the tinnitus, and shivery adrenaline that sticks to him every time he wakes up from a twisted nightmare-memory, katsuki finds himself stumbling to ensuite to empty his stomach into the toilet bowl.
the nausea doesn’t fade until he hears eijirou return from his run. he doesn’t knock this time, but after katsuki shakily brushes his teeth — left-handed, since his right doesn’t seem keen on cooperating — he returns to his bedside in time to watch his phone light up with a few more worried texts.
for a moment, he thinks he might vomit again. he turns his phone face down without reading any of the notifications.
by the time he’s finished getting ready for class, he thinks he’ll barely make it on time for homeroom. it took him too long to button his shirt, shaky right-hand fingers fumbling enough to make it a several-minute-long ordeal. he’s certain eijirou must have left already, though he doesn’t pick up his phone to check if any more messages have come through. he leaves it on his bedside table when he leaves the room.
he’s looking down as he closes his door behind him, so he registers the idiot’s crimson riot-patterned socks before anything else. they are very old. eijirou’s entire big toe is poking out of a hole on one foot.
uninterested in dealing with whatever sickeningly kind expression eijirou is no doubt wearing on his face, katsuki turns his gaze towards the elevator as he walks past, mumbling a short, “we’re gonna be late.”
some sick part of him is waiting for eijirou to falter. for him to question katsuki’s absence this morning, or fumble his usual enthusiastic ‘good morning’. or maybe attempt to bulldoze right over katsuki’s apparent bad mood, and swing an arm around his shoulders and start yapping away about whatever just to fill the silence between them.
but where katsuki feels like he’s reverted, regressed, it’s obvious that eijirou has grown, flourished. and he knows katsuki. he knows these bad days.
the heavy hand that lands on katsuki's shoulder should feel like a comfort; like a familiarity. it feels like a reprimand. it feels like barbed wire is wrapping around katsuki's throat, anxiety squeezing his chest, as he waits for eijirou to speak.
but nothing comes. the redhead squeezes his shoulder once, firm, before letting go to open the door to the staircase. he holds it for katsuki, and the blond shoulders past him, choking down on the renewed rush of guilt up his throat.
the entire walk across campus continues in the same eerie silence. katsuki thinks he's shook eijirou off when the redhead breaks off from him in the kitchen, but he barely has time to feel any particular way about it (relief? annoyance? guilt?) before eijirou catches up to him again, protein bar in hand. he holds it out in offer, but simply shrugs and tucks it in his open pocket at katsuki's resolute cold shoulder.
they walk side-by-side all the way to the classroom in tense silence. or, katsuki's tense, shoulders hitched up nearly to his ears, on edge as he waits for kirishima to speak up, demand something from him that he's not sure he can give. eijirou, comparatively, seems completely relaxed. his arms swing by his sides, and he waves lazily at every person he recognises on their way. katsuki can't help but wonder why he doesn't go walk with one of them, any of those irrelevant extras more receptive, more appreciative of eijirou's relentless, ever-present shine. undimmable, even in the face of katsuki's own ugly moods.
but eijirou is unwavering. his shoulder only stops brushing against katsuki's when they go to their respective seats for homeroom.
———————————
the school day continues much like this. every break between classes, eijirou remains seated until some unwitting classmate attempts to strike up a conversation with katsuki. then, eijirou will slide up between them, cutting off whatever snappy response katsuki was in the middle of giving, and sit right on his desk, back to its owner. he'll butt into and take over the conversation, effectively removing katsuki from its trappings.
it would almost feel like eijirou is ignoring katsuki, now, if it weren't for the redhead's legs swinging back to catch katsuki's ankle between his feet, and staying there for the rest of their short class break. his grip is solid, too, unrelenting when katsuki attempts to yank his foot free once, twice, before giving up.
at lunch, katsuki breaks away before denki or hanta can catch up to him, speed-walking to the roof. he expects kirishima to run after him, but he finds himself alone, staring out at the dismal sky. he whacks his fist against his chest in attempt to dislodge the misplaced disappointment there. this is what he wanted.
to be left alone.
he rubs over the scar on his chest again. it still hurts.
when the clouds split and begin to dump their contents on him, he returns to the classroom. there's still 15 minutes of break left, and he entertains the idea of taking a cat nap before the hoard of idiots he calls friends return.
when he shoves the door open, though, he stops dead in his tracks. though the classroom is deserted, there's a tray of cafeteria food, still steaming, on his desk.
it's mapo tofu. his favourite.
———————————
when the final bell rings, katsuki is once again, first out the door. ringing laughter, pounding footsteps, the hubbub of dozens of overlapping voices, all fill the halls as classes let out for the day. as the noise rises, so does the ringing in katsuki’s ears. he quickens his pace to escape it.
dodging bodies, his vision seems to blur. his right hand keeps twitching. his chest aches. rain pounds against the UA’s enormous windows. if anyone tried to catch up to him, or call his name, it’s far beyond him to have heard it, right now. still, he stops dead in his tracks the second he steps outside. the heavy rain soaks him to the bone, immediately.
UA’s shiny glass buildings and winding paths are no longer surrounding him. it’s all dust, rubble, and heaping piles of shigaraki’s quirk. rain plasters his hair to his neck, his hero suit to his skin, but he can’t focus on it past the blood in his throat. he’s choking on it, gurgling. it splashes onto the ground before him.
a rough hand wraps around his bicep, from behind, and he jerks away to avoid the crumbling death of shigaraki’s quirk. his shitty right hand is slow to respond to his brain, and the villain catches it before he can loose an explosion. sparks fizzle out around hardened fingertips.
head jerking up, katsuki meets eijirou’s wide red eyes. his mouth is moving, lips bitten red and shiny —has he been worrying them with his teeth, katsuki wonders— but the sound of his voice is drowned out. by the rain, by the ring in his ears, by the pounding of his heart and the quick, hard panting of his breath. he’s relaxed his quirk, but eijirou’s grip on katsuki’s hand has tightened. his eyes are big and shining with concern, or fucking pity, katsuki’s traitorous brain whispers. his tiny brows are tightly furrowed.
he thinks back to the mapo tofu at lunch that he could barely stomach half of before he ended up tossing it. he thinks about sidelong looks he’d received all through hero training after he’d partnered with tokoyami. he thinks about the chunky red boots he’d seen rushing into his peripheral vision after he yelled, involuntarily, during training, because his shitty fucking arm had kept failing him and he’d fallen to the ground.
eijirou’s still talking, but katsuki hasn’t heard a fucking word. a pearl of blood had welled up on eijirou’s lip after persistent gnawing from sharp teeth. something hot and sharp spikes through his gut, and he yanks himself back, out of eijirou’s grip.
“fuck OFF, shitty hair,” he snaps, stumbling back. “i don’t need your fucking pity, leave me the fuck alone.” he shoves at eijirou’s chest, setting off the world’s pissiest little explosion, and then turns on his heel and sets off for the dorms.
he doesn’t know if eijirou follows him. he doesn’t check.
———————————
later, he’s still grinding his teeth over it. his phone had buzzed a few times over dinner (that katsuki usually helps cook, but a protein bar’d have to do for tonight), and he’d looked at it just long enough to see the beginning of a message from denki: kacchan, i don’t know what’s going on with you, but ei’s got that sad puppy dog look, man, you gotta-
he’d thrown his phone across the room after that.
now, a couple hours past dinner, katsuki lies in bed and tries to force himself asleep through sheer will alone. he’d taken some painkillers for the migraine, but his head still hurts like hell. part of him just wants this shitty day to be over.
the other part of him is still thinking about the look in eijirou’s eyes when katsuki had screamed at him this afternoon. the other part of him wonders —hopes, dreads— if eijirou will still be his friend, tomorrow. the other part of him wishes his own stupid ego hadn’t gotten the better of him, and then eijirou would be with him right now, probably massaging scar cream into katsuki’s arm.
his chest squeezes tight at the thought, and he pounds his fist against the numb, ugly scar there until he can breathe again. it’s selfish. he’s selfish. he doesn’t deserve to have someone like eijirou, never has, and nothing he’s said or done today has proven otherwise.
but he wants eijirou.
wants him more than he wants his ears to stop fucking ringing, his head to stop pounding, his right arm to fucking respond to him the way it used to. wants him more than he wants this shitty day to be over.
he doesn’t deserve him. katsuki knows this. but what kind of weak-ass extra is he if he lets one bad day stop him from always trying?
isn’t that what he’s been doing this past year and a half now? trying to be better than the angsty little shit he was on his first day at UA?
he hisses when he tries to push himself up and his arm buckles beneath his weight, but he still gets his feet under him. the room sways as he stands—or maybe that's him, dizzy from hunger and pain.
he's gotta, fuckin', apologise, at least, let eijirou know that he's done nothing wrong, that katsuki was the one being an idiot. eijirou probably already knows that, he's not dumb. but katsuki remembers yelling i don’t need your fucking pity in eijirou's undeserving, kind face, and shudders, nausea redoubling. with his left hand landing on the door knob, he pauses for a moment, wondering where eijirou even is in the building right now. before he can wonder too long, though, the door handle twists under his grip, and the door is slowly pulled open. he pulls his hand back to avoid losing his balance.
standing before him, with damp hair dripping down arounnd his neck and shoulders, dressed in his pajamas (shirtless with basketball shorts), is eijirou. he flinches and takes a half-step back, balking at the unexpected sight of katsuki right in front of him. his eyes look very, very, tired.
they stand there, staring at each other, for what feels like hours. slowly, eventually, the redhead's eyes drop from katsuki's and travel slowly down, until they reach his right arm. katsuki watches his little eyebrows furrow. looking down to see what he's frowning at, katsuki notices that his right hand is still shaking, faintly. he twitches violently when a sharp ache shoots up his wrist to his neck and shoulder. grimacing, he meets eijirou's gaze once more. the redhead has one hand shoved in the pocket of his basketball shorts, and when he removes it he's holding a tube of scar scream. he's smiling, a little sheepish, but his eyes are determined.
abruptly, a lump begins to form in katsuki's throat. stepping vaguely to the side to let eijirou enter the room, he attempts to swallow it down. it doesn't work.
instead, to his absolute horror and disgust, katsuki's eyes begin to well up with tears. he screws his eyes shut and tries to turn his back on him, but eijirou's already seen. he's on him in a second, scar cream dropped to the floor, forgotten, hands yanking katsuki around and fluttering around his shoulders frantically.
"shit, man, what's- katsuki, are y- fuck,” he whispers the last word, stuttering as his hands finally land solidly on katsuki’s shoulders and he pulls the other boy into his chest. katsuki thrashes in his hold—eijirou is so warm, but katsuki doesn’t want him to see this reaction—and crushes him against his broad chest. it only seems to make the sturdy hero squeeze tighter. katsuki opens his mouth to snap at him, but between the burning lump in his throat and the sudden twinge in his chest, a strangled sob is what escapes him instead.
eijirou freezes at the noise, and katsuki flails back out of his grip. for what feels like the millionth time today, he turns his back on him.
but for what’s only the second time, today, eijirou doesn’t let him. he grabs katsuki by the shoulder and tries to pull him back around, hardening his entire hand when katsuki resists.
“fuckin- katsuki, stop,” he grunts, wrangling the blond like a misbehaving toddler. he loses the grip on katsuki’s shoulder, but surges forward and throws an arm across his chest, wrenching him back. “stop. s-stop ignoring me, dude. kats-katsuki!"
his tone is firm, serious, but his voice cracks around the syllables of his name. katsuki’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach. like a puppet with its strings cut, he slumps back against eijirou’s chest, wholly defeated evidence of eijirou’s tears; the watery edge to his voice, and the quiet sniffle against his shoulder. “you don’t get to push me away like this anymore, man,” he sighs, digging his face hard into the crook of katsuki’s neck. “i’m not gonna let you make yourself miserable just because you think you’re an asshole who deserves it.”
katsuki’s cheeks feel wet, but the way eijirou is holding him makes it impossible to move his arms enough to wipe away the tears. he opens his mouth to argue, “ei-” but he boy behind him cuts him off.
"you were an asshole, today,” he continues, and katsuki shivers involuntarily at the feeling of ei’s wry smile against his skin, “but i know you, katsuki. you’re not very good at hiding it when you’re in pain. not to me, at least."
katsuki grumbles, “‘s’not an excuse,” he stands up straight, turning in the circle of eijirou’s arms. his skin around his best friend’s eyes is red and puffy from even just that brief bout of tears, but he’s smiling with his arms wrapped tight around katsuki’s waist. god, katsuki’s heart clenches at the sight, it’s too ridiculously fucking cute how plainly eijirou shows his emotions on his face. it’s almost enough to distract him from his apology, but, “you didn’t deserve my shitty atti-OOF,"
the air punches out of katsuki’s chest. his swimming vision slowly refocuses on the ceiling as he recovers from being tackled to the bed, before it’s blocked out by a wild mane of red. eijirou grins down at him, cheeky. “stop giving me that shitty attitude, then. problem solved, man!”
katsuki frowns up at him, irritated, “maybe if you stopped interrupting me,” he starts, but eijirou’s stopped paying attention, leaning precariously over the edge of the mattress. katsuki’s hands jump to his hips for support before his brain can form a thought on the matter.
when he straightens back up, grinning, it’s with the tube of scar cream held aloft in one fist. he brandishes it in katsuki’s face, victorious. he swats it away, but eijirou’s smile only widens at his stormy expression.
“stop pouting at me, man,” he chuckles, resettling into his position, straddled over katsuki’s lap.
“fuck you, i don’t POUT.”
“shhh,” eijirou whispers distractedly, pulling katsuki’s right arm into position so that he can squeeze a glob of the cream directly onto the skin of his wrist.
katsuki grumbles, wiggling his hips as if to try and unseat the boy above him. but eijirou only laughs again, smiling softly down at their tangled hands as he massages the cream into katsuki’s skin. the blond stares at him, shameless, as he works.
the faint moonlight shining through the glass balcony doors is the only source of light in the room, but it’s just bright enough for katsuki to admire the way eijirou’s long lashes fan against his cheeks. his hair looks so fluffy when it air dries like this, and if eijirou’s ministrations weren’t slowly turning him into goo he’d be sorely tempted to reach up and run his hand through it.
he settles instead with tracing his eyes over the long lines of his shoulders, watching the way the muscles of his thick arms shift in the moonlight as he works strong fingers into every knot in katsuki’s sore limb. his ruby red irises shine when he raises his eyes to meet katsuki’s drooping, half-closed ones. the way his lips twist into a smirk makes katsuki’s stomach flutter, even though he knows it’s a sign that eijirou’s about to tease him for something.
“i know i’m pretty, man, but you gotta stop staring,” he starts, tracing the scarred lines of his arm with gentle fingertips, “go to sleep, katsuki.”
katsuki pouts. no, wait— he frowns, thank you very much.
“don’t wanna…” he mumbles, even as his eyes slip closed. eijirou’s answering laugh is like music.
“you took your migraine meds, right?” he asks, now just playing with katsuki’s limp fingers. he sleepily grunts an affirmative. “then you should rest, dude. you can stare at me as much as you want tomorrow.”
the idea makes katsuki smile. “y’promise?”
that melodic laugh, again. the weight on his hips disappears as eijirou moves, and katsuki would protest but for the soothing hand carding through his hair. he nuzzles into the touch instead.
“yeah, katsuki. i promise.”
as his mind wanders, headache finally receding and blissful sleep approaching, katsuki feels a warm weight settle on his left side. there’s a press of something warm and soft against his cheek, and then fluffy hair tickling his neck as eijirou cuddles up to him.
the ringing in his ears is now so faint that it takes nothing to ignore, but his scars still ache. the worst one, the one that almost took all of this from him, still throbs in the middle of his chest. maybe that pain will never go away, fully. but as he finally drifts into unconsciousness, he feels eijirou’s hand settle over the scars—or rather, over his heart. it’s enough.
outside, the rain fades to a slow drizzle.