Chapter Text
30 days to Christmas
He can't even remember the last time he saw him that wasn't on a billboard.
Gone was the nerd he had known all those years ago.
Once Izuku had left for America, Katsuki knew it would be a damn while before he saw him again. He knew, but that didn't stop him from hoping—would Izuku reach out to him?
What had happened to them? How inseparable they had been, albeit it was often fate that strung them both along on the same rope? Whether it was Izuku getting dragged with Katsuki, the magnetic pull that brought them all the way to U.A. Or when Katsuki finally looked behind him, only to find Izuku wasn't there.
Because, suddenly, things were changing, they fought a war side-by-side, and they were about to graduate—Izuku was ahead of Katsuki for the first time in his life. And he should have known it was going to happen. Maybe he did, but he was too stubborn to let himself realise.
And he was grasping for that rope, desperate for Izuku to look back at him, or rather, come back to him.
Would he feel the tug?
Katsuki scoffed. The lack of connection told him all he needed to know.
He slumped further into the couch, flicking through the TV channels mindlessly.
He was pathetic. When did he let himself become this pathetic?
Fine. Good for Deku. It had been two shitty years since he'd seen the nerd in person, and around eight months since they'd given up in keeping touch.
He knew that Izuku had been doing just fine talking to Icyhot—the bastard had the audacity to ask him if he'd spoken to Deku a couple weeks prior (it had resulted in Todoroki narrowly dodging an explosion to the face).
And he didn’t understand how Izuku would let almost two decades of friendship, or lack of, at some points—maybe familiarity was a better word?—go to waste in the span of, what, a year?
They had begun with calls. Video calls. How happy they were, when Izuku had finally reached America, and the first thing he did was call Katsuki. The broad grin on his face, the excitement and wonder that Katsuki was so familiar with. He faintly recalled complaining how shitty Izuku's camera was—it didn't even capture his freckles. They merely blotched together into one even tone on his face.
Offhandedly, Katsuki wondered when the next time he'd be able to see Izuku's freckles would be.
The billboards and magazines always managed to get away with editing a few, if not all, out.
It pissed him the fuck off.
But then the video calls stopped, because Katsuki couldn't take seeing Izuku's face if it wasn't the real thing. Obviously he didn't tell Izuku that. Instead, he told him to start videoing him again once he got a “better fucking camera”. Guess he never did, huh.
And then they would simply call and text, conversing casually while exchanging important events and agendas on each other's lives.
But soon even the calls stopped, and the texting grew less frequent and more like a passing thought, like Izuku had suddenly remembered of his obligation to inform Katsuki about his life from time to time.
Like a chore.
So, obviously, Katsuki had realised, and stopped giving a shit. Why the hell should he embarrass himself—waste his time on someone who clearly viewed him as burden?
He was above that.
Deep down, the very small rational side of Katsuki knew Izuku didn't deserve that—he was only getting busier, and obviously continuing a conversation that seemed to span a week due to their differing availabilities was only extra worries.
And once Izuku seemed to notice Katsuki's drawback, he clearly did try. But Katsuki was stubborn. And, once again, only a very small part of him was rational. And maybe (obviously) that only added to the trouble.
So there they were. With the last text being from March, sent by Izuku, and a thumbs-up reaction attached to it, by Katsuki.
He could only bring himself to like Izuku's Picstagram stories, because what else could he do without feeling desperate?
Maybe he secretly fantasised about Izuku opening his phone to see bakugoukatsuki liked your story and thinking, “gee, it's been a while since I've talked to Kacchan! Why don't I call him!”
Kacchan.
Katsuki switched the TV off and stood up abruptly, pushing the name out of his mind before he could fully dwell on it.
He glanced at the window, curtains dimming the orange glow of the setting sun.
No patrol, no plans, dry phone.
He scowled, moving to roll the blind down over the view.
Might as well go to sleep, he thought, moving through the darkness that now blanketed his apartment, all the way to his bedroom.
6 o clock wasn't too early, was it?