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Katsuki is the last to be discharged.
It’s a normal day when he returns to the dorms. Too normal—life, it seems, resumes, no matter how many world-ending events come to pass. Or at least, UA does.
Everyone is already back. The last time they were all together in the dorms, they were vibrating with nervous energy and trying to ignore the crowds screaming outside. Trying to figure out what to do with Izuku’s dead eyes and failed vigilante spree.
And now, here he is. A quarter metal, arm in a cast, standing in front of a building without even a scratch on it. Between Cementoss and Power Loader, putting the campus back together was a done deal. Katsuki isn’t sure whether he or the building is more out of place. Which one shouldn’t be standing.
“Kacchan! You’re back!”
He almost jumps, but catches himself. Figures he wouldn’t even get a second of peace and quiet before he’s accosted. Katsuki shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to see Izuku waving madly and beaming. They saw each other yesterday, so Katsuki’s not sure if there’s a need for such a fuss, but whatever. He’s not gonna pretend he’s not happy to be welcomed back. Izuku was walking with Asui and Todoroki, and immediately abandons them to jog up to Katsuki.
Neither looks particularly surprised by this development, and Asui waves, eyes crinkling with her smile. Katsuki lifts a hand in response, not quite waving, as Izuku catches up to him.
“How are you? How’s your arm? Aizawa sensei said you’d be back this week, but I didn’t know it would be today, I thought Friday, but Kacchan is amazing, I should have known you’d be discharged as soon as possible—” Katsuki kind of tunes him out after that. Deku’s wearing his school uniform, buttoned up and rumpled and as nerdy as possible, and his hands are twisted around his backpack straps as he bounces on the balls of his feet, quivering with excitement. He seems, as an understatement, happy Katsuki is back.
And Katsuki, with dawning horror, realizes there’s tension seeping out of his body as Izuku chatters on about his prognosis for Katsuki’s recovery. In fact, they all look pleased to see him. Probably the rest of the class will be, too. To deal with whatever emotion starts rising in his chest, Katsuki grabs the top of Izuku’s backpack, and shoves.
“Ah!” Izuku goes stumbling forward, arms pinwheeling to regain his balance. He looks back over his shoulder with the expression of a kicked puppy. Katsuki is unmoved. He could’ve braced himself with a force that would’ve dislocated Katsuki’s wrist, if he wanted to.
“Let’s go, nerd,” Katsuki grumbles, “You’re giving me your shitty notes for what I missed.”
“Oh my god, Kacchan, we have sooo much work. Present Mic gave us this essay—you won’t believe—actually, you will, but you’ll hate it—"
Izuku is right. Katsuki does hate it. The powers that be (the UA board) have determined that the best course of action is to resume classes and exams and training as usual, perhaps out of a misguided belief that their heavily traumatized student body could be distracted out of having panic attacks by writing essays.
Misguided or not, he gets notes from Deku and cross-references them with Ponytail’s. If there’s one thing he’s not gonna do, it’s get left behind.
Even worse, he soon learns he has bigger fish to fry.
“This is fuckin’ bullshit.”
“Language, Bakugo,” drawls Aizawa tiredly, acting out a script they both know doesn’t mean shit. He’s trying to slink out of homeroom as fast as he possibly can when Katsuki corners him. “It’s not my decision. Take it up with Hawks.”
So that’s how Katsuki finds himself fuming on speakerphone with the newly appointed president of the Public Safety Commission. He’s pacing outside their dorms and very much pretending that Deku is not listening in to his entire conversation. The bastard is sitting on the steps, pointedly not looking at Katsuki but also not making that much of an effort to pretend he isn’t listening—he’s just… staring at a fixed point on the horizon.
“Sup kid,” comes Hawks’ amused tone, “I’m told you have a bone to pick with me.”
Katsuki swallows precisely one million curses that rise to his tongue and grips the phone tighter. He can be civil.
“I want to train.”
“Hmm,” says Hawks, like he’s considering it. Katsuki can just imagine him, big-ass office in a swivel chair, legs on the table. “What a compelling argument. If only your opinion meant something to me…”
Alright, if that’s what they were doing—
“Listen here, bird-brain—”
Hawks laughs, genuinely sounding like he’s enjoying himself. God, he’s such an asshole.
“I’m going to stop you right there, Bakugou.” Hawks clears his throat, and puts on his adult voice. Katsuki looks skyward and clenches his fists. He’s going to lose it if he has to sit on the sidelines and watch as the extras get stronger, as Deku gets stronger. “Let me lay it out for you. You need a fuckton of rehab and PT before you get anywhere close to lifting a finger. Your body’s been through the ringer, kid. Your cardiologist’s professional recommendation is that you sit out training for six months.”
Izuku winces. Katsuki glares at him and makes a slashing motion across his neck.
“But I can cut you a deal.”
So, Katsuki gets serious about fixing his fucked-up heart. Not like he wasn’t already, but. Hawks brings six months down to two months on the condition that Katsuki not miss a single session of rehab, and Katsuki can see the chessboard for what it is. Heroes aren’t popular right now—UA and Hawks are scrambling to keep public opinion from simmering to dangerous degrees. Some of that is recovery and rebuilding. Some of that is keeping the boy who ended All for One out of the hospital.
Two months is… fine. It’s manageable. It gives him a couple weeks to get his body back up to speed before internship season, and then he can go back to kicking ass.
But here’s the issue: PT sucks. His pacemaker beeps if he so much as raises his voice. A couple days ago, he shattered a coffee mug when he groggily lifted it with the wrong hand. It slipped clean through his fingers that just don’t bend the way fingers should bend. He was left staring blankly at his fingers, curled lamely around air.
Katsuki isn’t a person who’s ever had to become familiar with small humiliations like this. He had a handle on his quirk when he was a kid, he was smart without trying. But even he could recognize the hot wash of embarrassment crawling up his throat. The kitchen had gone completely silent for one, awful, moment. He felt every eye in the room lock on to the shattered ceramic on the ground, before Izuku wordlessly pressed a fresh mug into his good hand and Kirishima threw an arm around his shoulder and ushered him out the door and to class. The tension cracked, and normal morning chatter resumed.
It sucks. It’s one stretch forward and ten steps of falling on your ass back. He’s in there stretching his arm and walking briskly on a treadmill like some sort of octogenarian in front of a bunch of extras with clipboards, and he hates it.
He’s gonna keep going, because his momma didn’t raise a quitter, but all he’s saying is that you really can’t blame him when he starts letting Izuku tag along.
The fucker doesn’t even say anything about it. One day, he’s just waiting at the gate when Katsuki leaves for his session, and that’s that. Katsuki doesn’t comment, and the nerd takes that as heartfelt and grateful approval (it kinda is) and shows up four times a week, every week. He has no fuckin’ idea how Deku is making the time for it. None of them are sleeping, school is kicking his ass, and his body feels like a wrung-out dishtowel when it so much as rains, and that’s without adding training to the mix.
But he doesn’t ask, and Izuku never complains.
His doctor does, though. No guests allowed, or something. It’s the poor receptionist’s job to enforce the rule, and if Katsuki was a better person, he’d actually feel bad for her. Izuku’s a criminal people-pleaser, sure, but he’s also a bit of a psycho, and his sweet face only makes people forget what it’s like to be on his bad side. Even though it was live-streamed and everything.
Katsuki watches impassively as Izuku blinks, slowly, at the blue-haired chick at the front desk. She’s just finished repeating the doctor’s spiel about guests and distractions yadda yadda.
“I understand,” says Izuku politely.
Oh, Katsuki is dying to know where he’s going with this. He can tell from the set of his jaw that he’s not backing down. It kinda reminds him of when their grade school homeroom teacher tried to separate their desks and Deku totally lost it. Back then, the whole thing made Katsuki flush violently and sock Deku in the stomach, so he’s doing pretty hot right now, all things considered. “Would security stop me if I walked in?”
No way. The glee worms its way out of his stomach and Katsuki has to physically bite his tongue to keep his expression flat.
The receptionist had been multitasking when they came in, all the way through her spiel, but now she looks up from her monitor at the two of them. He can see her brain snagging in real time.
“Security?” she asks, like Izuku is acting dim-witted on purpose.
Izuku laughs and brings his hand up to run through his green curls, a habit that used to be nervous. “Yeah,” he agrees, “You said I wasn’t allowed. So, I guess I’m just wondering who would stop me?”
Her jaw actually drops a little. She can’t be much older than either of them—a couple years, max—and she sure as shit isn’t paid enough to deal with Japan’s new sweetheart asking if security could take him.
“Deku-san—” she starts, valiantly pushing her red glasses up the bridge of her nose and frowning sternly.
“We’re gonna go now! And, uh, if you want to send security after me, you can!” Izuku is already stepping away from the desk and starts to push Katsuki towards the elevator. Katsuki sidesteps and raises his eyebrows at him. “But please don’t—I don’t think it would be a good idea!”
He has the gall to bow to the receptionist and thank her before he speedwalks after Katsuki to the elevator. Katsuki gives him three seconds to recover from the adrenaline of whatever the fuck that was before he starts.
“Wow,” Katsuki monotones, “I can’t wait to tell Sensei you’re threatening civilians.”
Izuku’s horrified expression is so comical Katsuki cackles. He’s pink in the face and opens his mouth and squeaks. “I didn’t threaten her!” he whines. “Don’t be mean! I just—uhh—didn’t want her to stop me.”
Surprise, she doesn’t send security after them. And Katsuki doesn’t say anything to Aizawa-sensei. Why would he? If the nerd wants to waste hours of his day, he’s welcome to. Izuku’s surprisingly bearable when he’s there, anyway, and Katsuki has no reason not to let him keep coming. All he does is sit in Katsuki’s peripheral vision and scrawl notes in his nerd books. He probably has a table of the incremental progress Katsuki is making with grip strength, color-coded and dated and all. He’s gonna have to steal it later.
*
The weeks go on in a way that’s a little offensive, honestly. Katsuki goes to class, he tries to sleep, he gets perfect grades on all his assignments because he has nothing better to do than study and try to deal. He watches Deku and IcyHot and Shitty Hair get stronger while he’s on the sidelines, and with that too, he tries to deal.
He used to be sure of his role as the main character of every story, especially Izuku’s. He made it easy, too, with his looks of adoration and easy affection. But now, benched, Katsuki watches his childhood friend, savior of the planet, body-slam Iida into the dirt, and the sight sparks something that is decidedly more than professional curiosity.
Not like it matters, anymore. He shot that pretense to hell in the hospital crying about the rest of our lives. Jesus Christ. He wishes he could just blame the pain meds and be done with it, but the truth is that he’s known the names of the greedy little feelings percolating in his chest for a while now. Whatever. He’ll stand by what he said, tell Izuku he’s beside him again as many times as he needs to hear it, but all that other shit? It can rot in the dark cavity of his chest, right next to his destroyed heart.
Deku helps Iida up and turns to Katsuki’s direction, eyes crinkled in a smile like he knows he’s being watched. Katsuki, suppressing his blush, scoffs and looks away.
Kirishima shoots him a wry look from the other end of the bench. “You gotta man up, dude. I’m dying over here.”
“You’re gonna be dyin’ for real in a minute if you don’t shut your trap.”
Kirishima mimes zipping his lips and throwing away the key, getting up for his turn against Izuku. Winner fights winner in their quirk-prohibited sparring practice and Katsuki’s actually not sure who’s going to come out on top, between the two of them. Kirishima claps Deku on the back hard enough to make him cough, and winks at Katsuki. Eugh.
He is, at least, sleeping better than most. Class 2A has developed a system that Katsuki would call sweet if he was less of an emotionally constipated asshole. Anyone who can’t sleep ambles into the common room, and they keep each other company.
The war changed some things— it made kids into soldiers strong enough to take down seasoned pros and gave them all the issues to go with that.
Kaminari starts smoking weed, as though he has the spare braincells to kill, and sometimes Sero or Ashido partake. Katsuki tried it once, but he could feel every particle of his skin, and his skin doesn’t feel so good these days.
Aizawa doesn’t say anything, ever, when they keep turning up looking haggard and sleepless. He lets them skip mandated therapy sessions and doesn’t comment on missed homework assignments.
The common room, though, lacks one key member of the class.
Deku— well, first off, Deku is weird. Katsuki’s not trying to push, because he’d rather eat his hand than ask Izuku to do anything that he didn’t want to. He’s given enough. But his dark circles never go away, and he’s never in the common room at night.
He’s weird, he’s quiet, and he’s really clingy. Katsuki can deal with clingy, lord knows a clingy Deku isn’t exactly new to him, and it saves him the energy of seeking him out, anyway. But there’s a sort of desperate quality to it that Katsuki can’t stand, like he’s scared Katsuki’s going to disappear or worse, push him away.
Back when he was about to fight the villain that even All Might barely could, he got up for Izuku. Whatever manic battle-induced high kept him standing, it was Izuku’s defeated, and yet, determined, expression that gave him what he needed for a second wind. Another thing he can stand by: he’ll step in when the nerd can’t handle his own.
That’s what makes him do it, that night in the kitchen. Izuku won’t come to him, and he can’t ask him to, so he just watches.
Izuku’s perched on the counter, feet dangling and listening attentively to Uraraka tell a story. She’s gesturing, excited, and usually Deku’d be matching her energy, grasping her hands and quivering, but he only nods once in a while.
He keeps nervously glancing in Katsuki’s direction in a way that’s become familiar. Izuku probably thinks he’s being subtle, but his whole vibe is about as subtle as a fire alarm. Shinsou is with the rest of Izuku’s nerds, and from the wary look he shoots Katsuki, Katsuki’s not the only one who’s noticing.
He pushes off from the wall and walks out of the kitchen, ignoring Ashido’s demanding hello?? His entire chest deflates as the cool night air hits him, and he starts to walk without a direction in mind. He doesn’t need to think that far ahead.
He hasn’t taken ten steps when he hears rapid footsteps behind him.
“Kacchan! Where are you going?”
Katsuki turns, hands deep in his pockets, to look at Izuku. He’s wearing a green hoodie with shorts and Fat Gum branded slides so worn down that they should be in the trash. His face is stupidly earnest, like he’s worried about Katsuki’s safety on a school night on the most guarded campus in the world.
Katsuki kinda wants to beat him up again, just to shake some sense into him. But he won’t, because he’s trying to be a better person these days. And. He’s not allowed to exert himself.
He doesn’t answer, waiting till Izuku’s speed walked up to him. He’s twisting his hands anxiously and shifting from leg to leg and Katsuki can’t stand this uncertain energy, not when it’s because of him. He grabs the drawstrings on Izuku’s hood and yanks, so only his nose is peeking out.
“Mmph—”
“Much better.”
Izuku wrestles the hood back and glares. They’re still not scary, but Katsuki can admit that they have more heat in them than they used to. Maybe that’s progress.
“You left!”
“I know, dumbass, I was there when I did it.”
Izuku flounders, mouth opening and closing, like he’s losing an argument and doesn’t know what to do. Katsuki decides to throw him a bone.
He sighs. “Why are you here, Izuku?”
“I wanted to see if you were okay.”
Well, unfortunately for everyone, now he’s pissed.
“You’re checking if I’m okay?” he spits, fisting his grip tighter. Deku looks completely lost but plants his feet a shoulder-width apart, like it’s muscle memory and he’s ready for Katsuki to push him into the dirt. Dramatic or not, it kind of breaks his heart. But he deserves it, and worse. “Worry about yourself, dipshit. When was the last fuckin’ time you slept through the night? Huh??”
Izuku still resembles a dying fish and Katsuki sees their nosy-ass classmates gravitating to the windows to watch. Uraraka is hovering by the door like she’s not sure she needs to intervene and put them in time out. Katsuki drops his hoodie and steps back, putting his hands in his pockets again so he can clench them where no one can see.
Deku smooths the front of his hoodie with one hand and fiddles with the string in the other, but the gestures are absent-minded instead of anxious. His attention used to be something that pissed Katsuki off to know end, and now he’d give anything for him to stop looking so far away all the time.
Suddenly, Izuku ducks his head and sighs. When he looks back up, he looks much more like a kid than he has in months, and Katsuki fights the urge to sag in relief. He feels like he’s handling a spooked dog. But it turns out he doesn’t have to worry, because Izuku moves towards the bench by the path and drops into it.
He hangs his head between his knees and Katsuki cautiously takes a seat next to him. The peanut gallery disperses, probably on the less-than-gentle coaxing of someone with half a brain, like Jirou. Great, they’re back to trusting him.
“It’s hard to sleep.”
Katsuki scoffs at the obviousness at the statement but settles a hand between the muscled planes of Izuku’s shoulder blades. I’m here.
“All your idiots are in the common room every night.” You’re not alone.
Izuku says something straight into his knees and Katsuki has to kick him in the shin.
Quit the mumbling.”
“Kacchan,” he whines, managing to still say his name in the way he always does. Like it belongs in his mouth. “I can’t—It’s hard to—Ugh. I get anxious. Around a lot of people. The kitchen right now, too.”
Oh. Well, that doesn’t make any sense at all, does it?
“You looked fine in there a second ago.”
At this, Katsuki sees the back of Deku’s neck turn pink. Interesting. He mumbles something else and Katsuki groans. “Deku, I swear to God I’m going to kick you across campus right now—”
“I said,” he says, lifting up his head, finally, and looking at Katsuki. He’s flushing all over. “It’s easier when you’re there.”
It’s a clear night, and Katsuki can see every star when he looks up. He remembers when he used to sit on the dorm roof and look out, wondering where the hell Deku was and what mess he’d gotten himself into. The stars used to seem so distant then. Now, they’re so bright that Katsuki feels like he could reach out and pull them down to Earth with him.
When he looks back at this moment, he’ll wish he had something comforting, or at least, clever, to say. But right now, he’s really trying to function around the feeling like Izuku has punched him straight in the pacemaker. If it beeps, he’s actually going to have to kill both of them. Ugh, he always makes everything so weird.
He squints a little at the boy across from him—his childhood best friend, his rival, and now… something he can’t (won’t) name—and thinks he does get it. Whatever they are, they’ve seen each other at their worst. And maybe it’s not that weird for Deku to want to be around the guy who’s made a point of watching his back.
“You have my number,” he says, after a pause long enough to make Deku fidget. “You can use it.”
“Uh, oookay?” says Deku, awkwardly, clearly completely thrown by this pivot. “You have my number too?”
“Why the fuck would I have saved your fuckin’ number, asshole? What do I have to text your ass about?”
Deku closes his eyes and almost smiles. “So mean, Kacchan.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes. “C’mon,” he says, standing and stretching his arms over his head until his shoulder makes a satisfying pop. He hauls Deku up by the back of his hood and pushes gently so he starts walking. “You’re going to bed or I’m knocking you out myself.”
“I think I could take you.”
Never mind that Izuku could at least give Katsuki a good run for his money— “In your fucking dreams, asshole. Oh wait, you don’t have any of those.”
He obediently goes to his room that night, although Katsuki knows he probably doesn’t sleep. Days pass, without a single text. It’d drive him crazier if it wasn’t so goddamn predictable. He’s probably managed to convince himself he imagined the whole interaction, if he even got Katsuki’s implication in the first place.
Katsuki doesn’t know if he should feel relieved or offended— and God knows he doesn’t need another thing about Izuku to start overthinking. But before he devolves into a full-blown gay teenage crisis, the universe intervenes.
*
It’s a Thursday. His alarm rings and the birds cry somewhere. Katsuki opens his eyes, and for a brief, wild, moment, that probably very few people can relate to, he marvels at the simple fact that he’s alive. Then he stretches in bed, grimacing at his itchy, dry scar tissue, showers, moisturizes so much, and goes to class.
He strolls in flanked by Kirishima and Kaminari, the latter of whom is trying to convince him to watch some horrible romcom on Saturday. Katsuki’s not going to begin with, but he’s also not impressed by how transparent of a ploy this is to be able to ask Jirou to the movies casually.
“I’d rather die,” he snipes, “And it fuckin’ sucked enough the first time.”
Plus, he’s pretty sure Ponytail’s got that on lock, not that anyone’s ever accused Kaminari of being perceptive.
“Man,” Kaminari complains, and Katsuki’s been around him long enough to know the tone he uses when he’s about to run his mouth. “You’d be way nicer if you just grew some—”
Oh, look— his hands are sparking. How nice.
Kirishima claps a hand over Kaminari’s mouth and plants himself between the two of them. “That’s enough outta you, Sparky.”
Speaking of sparks— “Bakugou, no quirk use outside approved—”
“Can it, Glasses. And fuckin’ move.”
Sidestepping Iida’s waving arms, Katsuki weaves his way to his desk. Deku and his idiot friends are already here and he ignores them to dump his bag on his chair and sit on the desk. Every eye in the room snaps away from him, originally interested in the possibility that he might kill Kaminari and obviously disappointed nothing entertaining is going to happen.
But Deku, who had been talking to Uraraka, is still looking at him, frozen in time and frowning. She’s obviously noticed, faltering slightly and looking at Katsuki like he’s kicked a puppy.
Jesus Christ, it’s too early for all this. He didn’t even do anything to him.
She reaches out to squeeze Deku’s shoulder, and he jolts. Because she isn’t an asshole like Katsuki, she doesn’t comment on it at all, only smiling and telling him she’ll talk to him after class. He laughs nervously in response, trying to regain some semblance of a normal human interaction.
Katsuki scoffs. Deku looks down at his desk as she leaves for her own seat.
“Kacchan,” says Deku softly, rounding out the syllables in an unbearable way.
“Izuku,” replies Katsuki, thinking he’s doing really well on acting normal when everyone insists on testing him.
“Do you, uh, remember it?”
Izuku is the picture of anxiety: avoiding eye contact, twisting his pen between scarred fingers, tapping his foot. Katsuki’s patience runs thin. He doesn’t want to deal with Izuku’s weird-ass riddles today.
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Remember fuckin’ what, Izuku? You pissing me off? Cuz that’s happening right now.”
He huffs a laugh, as if Katsuki’s somehow made him feel better. He still won’t look up. “No, um—you know.” He gestures outward with his hand, pointing towards the rest of the class.
Izuku is making just about zero sense, but Katsuki has spent enough time with every version of him to manage to slowly puzzle out the bullshit he’s spewing. As it processes, he goes from irritated and impatient to blank with—blank with something.
Dying. This little asshole is asking him if he remembers dying.
Katsuki hops off the desk and pulls out his chair, letting it screech across the floor, mostly to give himself something to do and buy himself time to think.
He doesn’t really want to answer, but one look at the jagged look on Izuku’s face has the words coming out, anyway.
“Yeah,” he confirms, shortly, “I do.”
Izuku looks like he has no idea what to do with the information he just received and also asked for.
“Oh,” he says, bobbing his head in a quick nod, “Okay. Um. And—after?”
“Yes.”
“Okay—What did you, uh, think about?”
Katsuki actually, genuinely, cannot do this with him right now.
“Tch. None of your fuckin’ business,” he says, sitting down and facing the front of the room. He can feel Deku drilling a hole in the back of his head and prays Aizawa walks in soon to put him out of his fuckin’ misery. Every day is something new with this guy. Does he remember dying. Okay. He’s unlikely to fucking forget.
Aizawa walks in soon enough that Izuku doesn’t have time to build up the courage to ask him another insane question, and when class ends, Katsuki storms out of the room without a glance at anyone else and goes straight to his room.
He pulls his books out of his bag and sits at his desk, opening up his math homework. Ectoplasm, unlike Aizawa, was not cutting them slack with homework. He manages half of it before he gives up, putting his head down on his desk and groaning.
Katsuki clenches his fist and then releases it slowly, stretching out the joints and trying to stop his hand from shaking. He doesn’t even know why he’s so pissed. Deku asked him a question—not even the craziest thing he’s ever said to him—and he answered. It’s fine.
So why can’t he focus?
It lasts into the night. He intermittently works on his homework, paces his room, and watches the old All Might: Thunder and Lightning II movie. He tries to sleep once he sees his clock hit 9 pm, but tosses and turns, feeling unnervingly both groggy and incredibly alert.
It’s a little after midnight when he decides he’s going to need to risk human interaction to eat something before trying to sleep again.
He comes into the common room, where bunch of his classmates are gathered in varying states of insomnia. Kirishima nods at him as he walks past him, but no one else bothers to acknowledge his presence, having figured out by now that that was the safest course of action. He’s browsing the fridges meager offerings when he hears the scream.
It’s muffled, but still unmistakable, and his grogginess disappears instantly, synapses firing. Katsuki rushes into the common room to see that everyone else has similarly shifted into work mode.
Uraraka and Asui had been huddled in the corner, whispering, and now they’re both standing, vigilant. IcyHot is standing too, expression impassive, but Katsuki’s fought with him enough to see the tension in his spine. Kirishima and Ashido come up to him, expressions grim, and Katsuki is about to ask what the hell when Shoji, ears out and angled, speaks.
“It’s Midoriya. He’s… he must be having a nightmare. He’s…” His eyebrow is furrowed, trying to discern what he’s hearing, and his tone is gentle. “He’s crying.”
Katsuki takes a step forward at the same time as Uraraka. They stare at each other. There’s buzzing in his ears, and he feels Kirishima put a hand on his shoulder. He shrugs it off. “Bakubro—”
Katsuki looks at Uraraka. She looks— determined. Her expression is open and honest, no bullshit. Her friend needs someone, and she stepped forward.
Katsuki thinks of the kindness with which she looked at Izuku this morning, how she turned a nickname made to hurt into a name fit for a hero just for her friend.
Katsuki lets Kirishima pull him back. Her expression softens, and she nods at him.
She makes it to the stairs when they all hear it again. Now that they’re silent and listening for it, they all hear Deku clearly when he screams a second time. It’s an anguished, twisted thing, and Katsuki is pretty sure the entire dorm is awake, now.
He sounds like he’s begging.
“No! Please—Kacchan! No! Don’t!”
Despite the sureness with which Katsuki’s body had moved earlier, he feels his mouth go dry at his name. He falters, and feels the unfamiliar twist of anxiety in his stomach. But he looks up, and Uraraka is looking at him with eyes so fierce that he’s almost impressed. Kirishima drops his hand from Katsuki’s shoulder and uses his knuckles to nudge him forward.
He feels, one by one, the weight of everyone’s expectant gazes on him.
Katsuki’s not stupid enough to think the support is for him. It’s for Izuku. Deku, who shines so brightly that everyone in the class wants him to smile, no matter what. And if Katsuki is the one who’s going to make it happen, they’ll stand behind him, too.
“Bakugo,” says Todoroki quietly. “Go.”
In this one rare and never to be repeated instance, Katsuki listens to him. He’s upstairs and in front of Izuku’s door before he’s fully processed what he’s supposed to do next.
Chest heaving, hand hovering over the doorknob, he allows himself one second to be a hesitant loser, and then pushes the door open.
The noises had gotten quieter as he came up the stairs, here, he can hear him again. Shoji was right—he’s crying and speaking unintelligibly. The light streaming in from between the curtains frames Deku on the bed, curled inwards with fisted hands. The blanket is all twisted around his ankles, half off the bed, and his face is wet, one angry red line under his right eye.
Katsuki pads into the room and closes the door softly, trying to ignore the one hundred All Might faces grinning down at him from every wall. He puts a knee on the bed and grips Deku’s shoulder.
“Izuku,” he says, firmly and lowly, “C’mon, wake up.”
He does—with a gasp, jolting upright and nearly slamming his forehead into Katsuki’s. Katsuki starts to say woah but is cut off by Deku’s iron grip on his wrists. His eyes are wide open and terrified, and his body spasms with green lightning. Once. Twice.
“Ka—Kacchan?” he asks, disoriented.
Katsuki moves slowly into his line of vision, settling a little more on the bed and lowering both their arms. Izuku lets him, still looking confused and scared. It’s difficult to hold the knowledge that he’s the one causing that expression.
“Yeah, ‘zuku, it’s me.”
“You—he—”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re dead,” insists Izuku nonsensically, still holding his wrists. Katsuki is pretty sure that’s gonna bruise, but they’re sitting knee to knee, both in pajamas, Izuku sleep rumpled and afraid, so maybe that’s a problem for tomorrow.
“You were dreaming,” says Katsuki, finding it easy to keep his voice gentle under the cover of the night. He looks at Izuku’s illuminated face for signs that his brain is catching up to his waking reality, but all he sees is him searching his face back—the same way he’s always looked at him, a riddle worth unravelling.
He releases his grip on Katsuki’s wrists, millimeter by millimeter, and lets out a shuddering breath. He shifts back on the bed until his back is against the wall and lets his head drop against the wall. Katsuki joins him, bad arm to bad arm, and realizes the thing disappearing from his chest is adrenaline. He’s been in fight or flight all day.
“Is it because of what I said? In class?”
“What?” says Izuku, tensing. Then he understands and laughs humorlessly. He rubs his face, hits the scratch, and winces. “No. Sorry. This happens… a lot. His face. Whenever I try to sleep.” His voice turns apologetic. “Sometimes not as loud, though.”
Huh. Guess that explains the dark circles and sleep avoidance.
“It’s not always you,” he adds hastily, mistaking his silence, “Sometimes it’s my mom. Or All Might. Aizawa sensei. But usually—”
“Me.”
“Yeah.”
Katsuki doesn’t trust himself to reply to that, so he says: “What happened to your face?”
“Scratched it,” Izuku mumbles, dropping his head onto Katsuki’s shoulder so casually that Katsuki wonders if he’s gone crazy. Never one to let Izuku one-up him, Katsuki tilts his head so its resting on a fluffy bed of green curls that smell like— wait.
“Is that my shampoo.”
Izuku giggles a little manically. “Yes. I mean no, not actually. I just use the same one.”
“You use the same— We have different—actually, never mind. The fuck do you mean you scratched it? How does that even happen?”
Deku huffs a laugh and squints up at him, moon bright and silver. When Katsuki looks questioningly at him, he says, “Sorry. This is nice.”
Which is, okay—another thing to feel crazy about. Katsuki pinches his side, hard, and glowers.
Izuku yelps.
“In my sleep, I think. I dunno. Happens sometimes.”
“You should stop. You’re ugly enough as it is.”
“So mean, Kacchan,” says Izuku, sounding completely unbothered. In fact, from the smile in his voice, Katsuki begins to wonder if he actually kinda likes it.
That’s one (one, two, three) steps too far for him right now. Which maladjusted social behaviours of his Izuku likes is frankly none of his business and, more important, there are half a dozen idiots in the common room who will for sure one-hundred percent notice if he does not leave Izuku’s room soon.
So, he’s gonna do that.
But first, he’s gonna make sure Izuku is asleep. When Izuku mumbles something else into his shoulder, he makes the executive decision for both them and maneuvers them into a more comfortable horizontal position. After a few minutes, his breathing evens out and Katsuki figures its safe enough to leave. He rolls a little, hoping to stand with minimal fuss, but Izuku’s hand shoots out and grabs his wrist.
“Stay,” says Izuku, “please.”
He keeps his eyes closed, like he’s sure Katsuki is going to say no and he can’t bear to watch it happen. Katsuki, too, is sure he’s going to say no. He used to be good at saying no to Izuku.
“Okay,” he grunts, putting his head back down.
There’s a pause, in which Izuku loosens his grip on Katsuki’s wrist but doesn’t let go, and in which Katsuki’s brain runs in anxious circles as fast as the ceiling fan. He’s thought that his desire to keep Izuku close was a product of their rivalry, of not wanting to miss the moment when he got stronger, so he could keep up. But in the dark of the dorm room, Katsuki counts the eyelashes so close to his face, and realizes that it might just be them. How they are.
“I like when you call me Izuku.”
Katsuki closes his eyes. Jesus Christ. He was doing it anyway, but he can give him another thing.
“Okay.”
“Will you tell me about it?”
Katsuki grabs the blanket with his free hand and drops it over Izuku’s head. “The fuck do you think this is? A genie in a bottle? You don’t get three wishes. Go to sleep, dipshit.”
“Mmmm ‘kay, goodnight Kacchan”
“Good fuckin’ night Izuku.”
*
It’s week seven of eight—he is so close—when Izuku sidles up to his desk, palms outward in defense. He’s had a good morning; no aches, there was enough hot water for his shower, there was still coffee in the pot when he went downstairs. Katsuki’s feeling generous, even if Izuku’s nervous vibrations are bringing up the temperature of the entire classroom.
“Don’t be mad.”
Not an auspicious start.
Katsuki swings back in his chair, balancing on two legs and raises his eyebrows. As his head lifts, he sees multiple heads turn away, going back to their own conversations. Nosy bastards.
Izuku winces. “Just—hear me out before you kill me.”
“Spit it out, jackass. It’s like you’re trying to piss me off.”
Emboldened, Izuku dumps his backpack on Katsuki’s desk and starts digging through it. They haven’t discussed the night Katsuki spent calming him down, except for a second the next morning when Izuku tried to apologize and Katsuki told him to shut the fuck up, but he’s started showing up to Katsuki’s door, blanket in hand, when he has a nightmare.
Now neither of them are in the common room, which he hopes no one is clocking (fat chance). They haven’t discussed that either. Kirishima tried to bring it up and he lost his eyebrows in the process, so now he pretends he can’t hear Izuku’s knocking next door.
He’s also started doing bullshit like this, so something has obviously shifted, even if its just the bolts knocked loose in both their heads. Izuku finds what’s he’s looking for and triumphantly pulls out and starts opening up several scrolls of paper.
“Ooookay, soooooo,” starts Izuku, obviously trying to build up the courage to keep going. He smooths out what Katsuki can now tell are blueprints on the desk. It’s a sketch of a… bracer? Katsuki can tell Izuku has drawn it himself, he’d know his tiny scrawl anywhere, but there are other notes all over the page that he doesn’t recognize.
“I was just thinking—I mean—since you’re back in training next week. You only need your palms for your quirk, but part of the reason Kacchan is so amazing is his speed and agility and all of that motion comes from your arms mid-air and well, um, it seems like your arm still hurts a lot? Sorry! And so I was thinking that something like the splint All Might gave you but also my compression sleeves for support items? I went to Hatsume with the design and she helped me choose materials and we tested it on Shoto to make sure it could deal with the heat from your explosions so anyway basically all we need now is your measurements and then itllbereadypleasedontbemad.”
Katsuki uses an ungodly amount of energy to keep his expression flat. Hatsume, the chick with the crazy eyes in the support course? He looks down at the handwriting he didn’t recognize on the blueprints again. Seems like she suggested a titanium mesh, which… sort of does make sense.
His brain cells are working overtime to keep his brain from flatlining. He looks past Izuku’s head and sees Kirishima looking a little nervously between them, and then Todoroki, who flashes him two thumbs ups, the bastard. Not helping. It pisses him off that he was involved. There are too many things to consider, but—
“I don’t need your help,” he says quietly.
Katsuki is certain that no one else can hear their conversation anymore.
Izuku deflates. “I know,” he says, leaning on the table. Their faces are so close, Katsuki can see every freckle on Izuku’s face. His eyes are shining with sincerity. “It’ll make you stronger,” he adds, because he knows exactly where Katsuki’s sore spots are.
“I’m already the best,” Katsuki sneers, but it’s halfhearted.
Aizawa shuffles into the class in his stupid yellow sleeping bag, droning everyone in your seats and Izuku nearly jumps out of his skin, grabbing his backpack and reaching for the blueprints. Katsuki flattens one hand over the paper, and Izuku freezes. They stare at each other, and Katsuki doesn’t move a muscle. Izuku manages, just in time, not to smile. He withdraws his hand and goes to his seat.
But he’s never been one to hide his feelings, and Katsuki can feel the satisfaction radiating off him all day.
Although, once he books it to the support workshop fast enough to avoid anyone tagging along, Katsuki soon finds out that Izuku has nothing on Hatsume. She’s practically bouncing off the walls in anticipation, and he has to stand there, sullen, as she pokes and prods for what feels like is hours, but is certainly only twenty minutes. Once she’s done, she herds him out of her workspace with a you’ll love my baby! and slams the door in his face.
*
He does love the bab— bracer.
Training feels weird for all of five minutes before muscle memory kicks in, and unfortunately for everyone else, it really puts him in the mood to kick ass. The bracer keeps his tendons from feeling weird and blunts most of the recoil he’d usually feel, not to mention—it packs a fuckin’ punch.
Kirishima wails and groans about the hits he keeps taking but he’s grinning through every punch, not-so-secretly delighted to have his sparring partner back. Izuku watches him intently the whole first day he’s back, presumably tracking the bracer’s functionality. It costs him badly, too—Todoroki freezes his ass in place the second he gets distracted and it keeps happening. Idiot.
Aizawa watches him like a hawk the entire time for signs of overexertion and seems to find none, because he gets a thumbs up emoji in his texts from bird-brain-in-charge minutes after the session. Katsuki does not reply. If he had, he might’ve been told about the little tournament he was planning, but he hears it with the rest of the class from Aizawa instead.
“I wanted to pause internships this year,” he says, and waits a few seconds for the uproar to subside. Katsuki, who has working ears, hears the past tense and waits, unlike the rest of the idiots who are yelling Sensei!!! with rising desperation. “But I was overruled.”
He fixes his tired glare on all of them.
“Heroes aren’t popular right now. I don’t think there’s anything to be gained from having you all on the streets right now, but the Public Safety Commission feels some of you are too visible to keep away. As a middle ground, we’ll be holding a training exercise the week before internship offers are sent out. Any trouble and I’m making sure you get no offers.”
The subtext, that Aizawa makes explicit to him on his way out of class is this: his pacemaker better stay silent.
That pisses him off, but not as much as the details of the training exercise, which is presumably the reason Izuku bolts out of class before Katsuki can make eye contact with him. Like their first-year final exams, they’re being divided into pairs and put in combat trials in UA’s arenas.
But they’re not going up against the teachers this time. They’re going to be trying to evade or incapacitate their two classmates with the best training scores—fucking Deku and IcyHot.
He didn’t even have a chance to compete, with his second-year training score sitting at a big, fat, zero.
Katsuki stares at the crumpled paper now smoothed out on his desk. It’s the dumbest fuckin’ thing he’s ever heard.
Deku
Ingenium + Sugarman
Creati + Invisible Girl
Dynamight + Red Riot
Froppy + Chargebolt
Tailman + Tentacole
Shouto
NightHide + Uravity
Tsukuyomi + Grape Juice
Pinky + Anima
Earphone Jack + Cellophane
He’s not so mad that he can’t acknowledge he lucked out. Some of the pairings are… fine. But Tokoyami doesn’t deserve the instant loss he’s going to be served between Dark Shadow’s fire weakness and Mineta’s overall uselessness. IcyHot doesn’t need mobility to wreck them.
His phone beeps.
{Unknown Number}:
haha poor Tokoyami-kun…
This kid’s brain. To run out of class and then not be able to stop himself from texting. For this to be the first ever text he decides to send. To know exactly what Katsuki would be thinking. He adds the contact.
Kacchan:
who is this
Nerd:
so mean (｡･ˇ_ˇ･｡)
Kacchan:
jfc
don’t send me that shit
Nerd:
sorry I couldn’t tell u
sensei made us promise
Kacchan:
I don’t care
but yeah birdy boy is fucked
Nerd:
I wonder how they chose the pairings
u and kirishima-kun are so lucky!! sparring partners (」°ロ°)」
Kacchan:
you text like an idiot
Nerd:
I’m nervous
Kacchan:
because I’m going to crush you?
Nerd:
haha
I want our friends to succeed!!!
and I want to do my best
Kacchan:
your head has gotten too fucking big
everyone is stronger now
Nerd:
you’re right
Kacchan:
deku
Nerd:
kacchan?
Kacchan:
how is it
Nerd:
ah
it’s fine kacchan
Kacchan:
you’re training a lot
Nerd:
I don’t use it that much
only if I need to
[typing…]
well
[typing…]
I asked sensei if it was ok that I was still in the course
Kacchan:
what the fuck Izuku
Nerd:
haha
that’s kind of what he said too
but it’s a course for heroes
Kacchan:
you’re a hero
Nerd:
kacchan
Kacchan:
no
stfu
and don’t ever say this shit again
Nerd:
okay kacchan
um
also
[typing…]
Kacchan:
?
Nerd:
haha nvm
Kacchan:
spit it out
Nerd:
it’s nothing!!!!!!
Kacchan:
I’ll kill u
Nerd:
ooook
do u like the bracer btw
Kacchan:
you’ll find out when I use it to launch you across ground beta
Nerd:
u can tryyyyyyy
idk if u heard but I’m #1 in the class
Kacchan:
gn
Nerd:
nooooo kacchan
don’t be like that
kacchan????
☹
goodnight!!!!!!!
*
Katsuki stretches outside the monitor room instead of watching the other match ups. They’re up third and ain’t no way watching Deku go easy on Glasses or Ponytail is going to help him. Plus, he’s always needed a breather before big events. Not that this is big, just feels like it. Because he was benched for so long.
He stretches his sore shoulder and thinks that’s probably as good as it’s going to get. He walks back inside, and Kirishima finds him immediately.
“You ready, dude?”
“Fuck off, it’s just Deku.”
Kirishima’s disbelieving face communicates he has something to say about that, but never gets the chance because Ashido can smell blood in the water like a fucking shark.
“Ooooh just Deku, huh,” she says, grinning, “You know what they’re calling him, right, Bakugo? The Symbol of Hope.”
“Spending so much time on the internet is probably why you’re failing half your fuckin’ classes, Racoon Face.”
“Aw, you’re just mad because you’re stressed.” Katsuki’s eye twitches. “Don’t worry,” she says, grinning wickedly, “I don’t think he still has all his quirks.”
Like it’s a joke. He suppresses the white-hot rage that rises by scoffing. “He’s just going easy on you morons,” he says coolly.
“Mmmm ‘kay.”
Katsuki’s eyes involuntarily flicker to the monitor above her head as he scowls. Deku is stretching his arms above his head in front of the exit; dummy they’re supposed to retrieve safely behind him. He’s just finished kicking Kaminari’s ass, and the idiot doesn’t even look like he’s sweating. The affection that blooms in his chest is so startling that Katsuki has to physically turn away from the monitor so he doesn’t do something stupid. Like smile.
“Kirishima, Bakugo, you’re up in five minutes,” says Aizawa, leaning against the wall as if he isn’t paid to be here. “You know the rules. Retrieve the hostage and get capture tape around the villain or get through the exit. Hero team has to avoid property damage, one support item each unless you have prior approval, and don’t kill each other. Got it?”
They nod, and Aizawa fixes them with a stern glare before making a shooing motion with one hand.
From the entrance, Katsuki can just barely make out Deku if he squints—a straight shot down the street from them, maybe seven seconds if he gets a good start. He’s not warm enough for cluster.
“You handle the dummy, I’ll handle Deku.”
Kirishima looks at him warily, like this is exactly what he was expecting but had prayed for better.
“Bro—”
The buzzer sounds. Katsuki launches, flying straight down the main street. The buildings stretch as Katsuki picks up speed, hands angled behind him. Deku probably heard him immediately, and as Katsuki gets closer, he sees him drop into his fighting stance—feet apart, knees bent, arms up, and eyes on Katsuki.
Kirishima can complain all he wants but there wasn’t any other strategy here. Katsuki and Deku are both heavy hitters. Kirishima can take the hits—his hardening is straight-up freaky these days—but it isn’t gonna do shit for them when Deku throws him across the entire arena, and he’s nowhere near fast enough to make it back before it’s game over.
Their hits pack too much power for either of them to go all out, so it’s gonna come down to a mid-air battle, and Katsuki has all the agility their team needs. Deku might be proud of the little moves he’s gotten so good at, but everyone seems to forget who invented them.
He’s close enough to see the expression on Deku’s face. There’s a smudge of dirt on his jaw and his mouth is pressed into a flat line, but Katsuki knows that glint in his eye. The bastard is excited. Katsuki bares his teeth and roars, swinging his right arm back for the opening blast.
Deku disappears. Katsuki’s neck prickles, and he twists mid-air to kick behind him, his foot catching on Deku’s forearm. Fuckin’ Fa Jin. Deku pushes off his foot and Katsuki senses the telltale crackle in the air as Deku tenses his leg and brings it through the air as if he’s looking to create a permanent crater in the side of Katsuki’s head.
Katsuki cuts the explosions emanating from his palms, dropping a foot as Deku’s iron boots sail safely over his head. He glares.
“My fuckin’ skull, really?”
Deku shrugs, unrepentant. “You said to go all out.”
“Dick,” Katsuki mutters. He sees Kirishima running down the street and Deku must see him too, because the next thing Katsuki feels is every millimeter of blood in his body rushing to his head as he’s yanked upward by an ankle. He has a second to wonder how he missed Deku deploying Blackwhip before he needs to put all his energy into not throwing up as he’s punted directly into the sky.
He hears Ashido’s get him Midoriya! crackle out from the speaker so he spares a second to send a middle finger in the direction of the camera before he rights himself and pushes back down to where Deku is about to intercept Kirishima. He hears Aizawa sigh.
Kirishima, now all sharp angles, holds his own against what’s probably OFA 70%— okay, color him impressed—and even gets a few good hits in. Katsuki hurtles towards them and Kirishima glances up to make eye contact before roundhouse kicking Deku in the stomach and sending him flying back, from where Katsuki grabs his cape with his bracer arm, spinning once for maximum momentum, and releases.
He sees a glimpse of Deku’s surprised expression as he’s sent spinning down the street and through into the concrete. There’s a low whistle from the peanut gallery.
Katsuki smirks and flexes his bracer arm. “Yeah,” he says, as Deku climbs out of a smoking pile of rubble, “I like it. Thanks.”
Deku huffs a laugh and shakes out his hair of dust. “You are such an asshole,” he says, sounding fond, and purple smoke pours out of him.
Katsuki almost rolls his eyes. So predictable. As if that’s gonna do shit. It might’ve worked on an amateur but Katsuki knows where he was a second ago, and he knows where he’s headed, even if he can’t see him moving.
Katsuki steps back and lifts his arm as Deku’s fist appears where his head torso was and lets off an AP Shot directly in his face. Deku rears back, coughing, but gets in a kick that catches Katsuki directly in the stomach. Ass meets asphalt. Lord, those damn shoes. He is so winded.
The smoke dissipates and Katsuki staggers to his feet. He spits out a little blood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and thinks that he’s feelin’ pretty warm now.
Looking back on it, this is probably when everything started to go to shit, ‘cuz Deku frowns slightly at the blood on the street. But Katsuki doesn’t notice any of that, blood singing from a real fight, and zips forward with cluster.
The only upside of being out of training for so long is that he can still surprise Deku. He hasn’t had the time to study the new moves Katsuki had to bust out against Shigaraki and AFO, or he might’ve known to dodge faster. Katsuki grabs him by the torso and pushes them both into the air, spinning wildly, faster and faster as they get higher.
His plan is to use the grenadier where it won’t damage more buildings because he’s not really looking for an instant fail and Aizawa’s probably already pissed about the crater Deku’s body made in the wall. All he needs is one good hit—Kirishima is already next to the exit with the dummy, and Katsuki needs Deku down for about 2.5 seconds for them to both make it out.
But Deku twists out of his grasp—why did he have to get so strong—and Katsuki is the one sent flying into the pavement instead. He manages to slow his descent some before his back hits the asphalt, but fuck, he’ll be feeling that for days. Deku is back on the ground, planted between him and Kirishima, no doubt feelin’ pretty good about the situation.
Katsuki’s pacemaker gives a warning chirp. His watch flashes orange. Ugh. He has a minute or two to wrap this up before it starts freaking out for real and then it doesn’t matter what happens because Aizawa will kill him himself.
There’s nothing to be done about it. He’s either gonna pull out the big guns or lose, and that old hag didn’t raise any losers.
Katsuki grins.
He’s been sweating for long enough that he can just go at it, doesn’t even need that much space to maneuver. Deku can brace himself with OFA all he wants, but there’s no way Katsuki won’t get the leeway he needs to fly through the exit, Kirishima and dummy secured.
He takes to the air and begins to twist. God, he missed this. He was born for this. He picks up speed, prepared entirely to send Deku into the stratosphere, and locks on to his target. He’ll wonder and wonder if it was just the joy of flying into a Howitzer that made him miss it.
He only has a few moments to impact when he realizes—when he sees that something is wrong.
Deku is staring at him, arms limp by his side, completely powered down. Katsuki’s always been a guy who can think on his feet, but he doesn’t have the time to come up with something clever right now. It’s half a second from impact when Katsuki cuts the explosions and roars DEKU. Deku startles, bringing his arms up.
It’s not enough. They collide.
Katsuki brings himself to a stop on the ground and watches slack-jawed as Deku goes tearing through the air after Katsuki hits him in the chest with the force of a skyscraper.
Kirishima is the only reason Katsuki doesn’t end up responsible for Deku breaking every single bone in his body. He leaps, throwing himself into Deku’s path and wraps both arms around him, hardening his back to break the force of their collision with the cement.
They come to a stop and Kirishima shrugs off pieces of debris like its lint as Deku hacks up a lung, struggling to breathe.
By the time they’ve pulled themselves up, Katsuki is snarling in Deku’s face.
“What the FUCK was that?!”
He looks dazed, the rusty ass gears in his head turning to catch up with reality. Katsuki hears Aizawa—they’re so dead—and the class rushing down. Kirishima looks fine, no damage sustained, but Deku is moving gingerly. Katsuki’s throat is tight with rage and some shit he doesn’t have the time for.
“Kacchan, I—”
Katsuki waits as he pulls himself together. Kirishima looks stressed as hell but has the presence of mind to pick up the dummy and back up two steps to technically exit Ground Beta, a win for their team. Awesome. Like it matters.
“Are you okay?” Deku’s hand reaches out and Katsuki rears back, almost stumbling. Kacchan, are you okay? What is wrong with him? Deku lets his hand drop. “Your heart—I mean, the pacemaker. Are you—”
Katsuki has no idea how Deku could have even noticed that from where he was standing.
“That’s why you stopped,” says Katsuki. His voice sounds hollow to his own ears. “You still think I’m weak.”
“What—No, I was just—” Deku fists his hands in frustration. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, Katsuki sees the fear reflected there. “I thought I hurt you.”
Katsuki has always had a short fuse. He’s gotten better over the years, but he can sense every shred of self-control and patience fraying in the face of Izuku’s tremulous voice and worried eyes. He suddenly remembers the predatory way Shigaraki had looked at him, musing how Deku would react to his death. His hero suit feels too hot.
“You think you’re better than me?”
Deku laughs humorlessly. “Oh my god. You’re—you’re so stupid. I’ve never thought I’m better than you. I can’t believe we’re still doing this.” Deku squeezes his eyes shut and a few tears leak out of the corners. “I can’t do this with you.”
“Fuck you, yes you can.”
“Fuck YOU,” he screams, calm façade cracking, “I can’t be the reason! I won’t be the reason you get hurt! Not again!”
He grabs the front of Deku’s costume and shakes it, getting nose to nose.
“Me?” he spits, like the words are unbearable in his mouth. “Are you fucking crazy? You can’t hurt me so you’ll take a Howitzer to the face?! I could have fucking KILLED YOU!”
Deku flinches from the force of Katsuki’s words but makes no move to free himself, jaw still set.
“I’m fine,” he says, stubborn.
“Guys—”
“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine,” mocks Katsuki, gripping his costume tighter, “That’s all that ever comes out of your fucking mouth. I can’t trust a thing you fuckin’ say.”
There’s a flash of hurt on Deku’s face but Katsuki doesn’t give a shit. He’s wants to keep tearing Deku a new one until he doesn’t feel so raw inside, except that he’s being hauled off Deku with Aizawa’s capture weapon.
“You,” says Aizawa, eyes flashing, before he fixes his gaze on Deku, “and you. Take a lap.”
“Now,” he adds, at their mulish expressions.
Katsuki shrugs off the scarf and stalks away, past their nervous classmates. He assumes Izuku is going the opposite way.
There’s moment of heavy silence as they both leave then Aizawa lets out a tired sigh.
“Kirishima,” he calls, and Kirishima grimaces, approaching. “Good job and quick thinking.”
Ignoring Kirishima’s stunned face, he addresses the rest of the class, “We’ll break for two hours and then start the exercises again. Meet back in the monitor room at noon in your pairs.”
People start shuffling off in pairs and trios, muttering between themselves, until the only people lingering are Todoroki and Kirishima.
“I’ll get mine and you get yours?” Kirishima asks, trying to make a joke of it.
“Don’t let Bakugo hear you call Midoriya mine,” mutters Todoroki, already moving in the direction they saw Deku leaving.
“What?”
“Nothing, I’ll get him.”
*
Katsuki tries to be quiet approaching the roof but Izuku hears him anyway, straightening as his feet touch down. He used to be able to sneak up on him when they were kids, but maybe Izuku gained super hearing along with everything else, because it never works anymore.
Izuku doesn’t look up. He’s sitting with his legs over the edge of the roof, looking out at the cityscape as Katsuki walks up to stand behind him. He knew he’d be here even before IcyHot had texted to let him know.
Kirishima had found him scowling on the other side of campus and sat with him until Katsuki spoke first. He let him bitch about Deku’s idiocy for a while before interrupting.
“You know,” he said, “I think I’ve always been a little jealous of you and Midoriya. No—dude, let me finish.” He put his hand up to stop Katsuki. “I think we all are. I know you two haven’t had it easy, but you’re always pushing each other, you know? You’ve kinda always been together, even when you hated it,” he adds, smiling wryly.
Katsuki’s not even sure he ever hated it. Looking at Izuku’s profile, he wonders if rage has just always been the easiest disguise for him.
Well, now he’s had a second to cool off. Or an hour. Whatever.
“Shouto told me I should’ve trusted you,” says Izuku, not looking at him. Katsuki can tell he’s been crying from the rasp in his voice and it sends a spark of guilt through him. For all their talk of not hurting each other, Katsuki is the one who keeps making him cry.
“You do trust me,” Katsuki mutters, sitting down next to him, “You’re just crazy.”
Izuku snorts and doesn’t disagree. He doesn’t seem as nervous as Katsuki would expect, but maybe that’s just the exhaustion.
“I don’t want to fight with you right now.”
“I’m not here to fight, Izuku.”
At this, Izuku finally looks at him. The tip of his nose is red from crying, but his eyes are dry now, studying Katsuki.
“Why are you here then?”
Katsuki sighs, squinting up at the sky, remembering. “I’m not good with this feelings shit,” Izuku looks like he’s about to say I know; so Katsuki barrels on. “In the coffin in the sky… when we were fighting. Shigaraki said he wanted to kill me to see how you’d react.”
Izuku sucks in a breath, eyes widening. Katsuki can’t tell if it’s because of what he said or just because Izuku never expected him to bring it up, and so he grits his teeth and keeps going. He wants to twist his hands together, dig his nails into his skin, tap his leg, but he resists the urge, because he’s not a fuckin’ loser. Surely he’s done things more painful than this.
“You said you didn’t want me to get hurt because of me, but. He used me to fucking hurt you. Because I was too damn weak to stop him.” The words are to find and even harder to get out of his chest, like a unspooling a memory too tightly wound. “He said I was the person closest to you.”
Katsuki sees him dig his fingers into his thigh to ground himself.
“Are you?” asks Izuku, in a small voice, surprising Katsuki.
“That’s what you’re fuckin’ getting from this?!”
Izuku actually laughs. It’s a little thin, but there’s relief in it. “No, uh, I mean yes, but no.” He is so ridiculous. “Kind of.”
Katsuki glares at him and tries not to start cursing him out.
Izuku looks back at him with so much open affection that Katsuki has to tear his eyes away before he can reply. “You can’t pull your punches with me, Izuku. It drives me crazy.” He holds out his bad arm, palm upward and studies it. “I wanna be the best. And you’re the strongest person I know.”
Katsuki hazards a glance at Izuku. His eyes have softened. Chapped lips and red nose, he might be the most beautiful thing Katsuki’s ever seen.
“I was going to apologize,” he says, “After. I know I shouldn’t have done that. I just freaked out and wasn’t thinking. But then you made me so mad.”
Katsuki doesn’t reply, studying the skyline before them. So much of the damage from the war is gone now, with all the international aid and volunteers working overtime. The skyline almost looks the same as it used to, except that it’s a little too sleek in parts. No scars from years spent standing.
“I used to come up here,” he says lowly, surprising himself. “When you were gone. That’s how I knew you’d be here. I’d sit and fuckin’ fume about how you went off alone.”
“It was horrible.” Izuku’s never admitted this before and maybe it’s a testament to the weight off his shoulders that he can now. “I was so scared all the time. But I thought I had to do it.”
Katsuki remembers the dull look in his eyes when he fell in the rain. How surprised he had looked, to see them all fighting to bring him back.
“Be a hero duo with me,” Katsuki blurts, and then winces, unable to believe that’s how he asked.
Izuku whips his head around with such speed that he loses his balance, pinwheeling out one hand to reach for railing that isn’t there. Katsuki grabs the back of his costume and tugs, so he doesn’t literally fall off the roof. God. “Yeah,” grunts Katsuki, “You’re gonna die otherwise.”
Izuku’s eyes are as big as saucers and sparkling like the fuckin’ moon. “Really??”
Katsuki groans. “I take it back.”
“No!! No. Yes. I’d love to. I was going to ask you! When our internship offers came. I thought we could both go to Mirko or Best Jeanist or Fat Gum and then I thought I’d be really good at it and then I’d ask you but I was worried you wouldn’t say yes and um, I felt really selfish but yes! I want to!”
He narrows his eyes to a point.
“Why the fuck would it be selfish?”
Now all the nervous energy that was missing earlier makes an appearance. Izuku twists his hands together and jiggles his leg, eyes darting away from Katsuki’s face and back again. He looks like the middle schooler Katsuki once knew, gearing up to say something incomprehensibly stupid.
“I didn’t want to stop you from working with someone who you could actually be a hero with. I’m not… I don’t have that much time. You could be practicing to be a pro with someone like Kirishima or Shoto.”
“Shut up,” says Katsuki automatically.
“Yeah,” says Izuku, letting out a breath, “You’re the strongest person I know, too. And my best friend.”
“Oh my god, shut up.”
Izuku giggles and looks about a second away from actually kicking his feet. What a complete loser. Katsuki wishes he could understand why he was so obsessed with him. Not like it’s ever been a choice.
“C’mon,” Katsuki says, pushing himself to his feet and holding out a hand to Izuku. Izuku takes it. “Aizawa-sensei wants to kick our asses in his office.”
“Oh god,” moans Izuku, “I’ll tell him it was my fault.”
Katsuki snorts and swings his arm towards Izuku, who ducks as though Katsuki’s going to deck him. He settles his good arm over Izuku’s shoulders and raises his eyebrows at him, and Izuku flushes with embarrassment, ducking his head.
“It is so weird that you don’t beat me up anymore.”
“I’m going to beat you up right fuckin’ now if you don’t stop saying stupid shit.”
Izuku gets that look in his eye that never fails to put Katsuki on edge, the brave little glint that he’s only seen directed at him recently. “Aw, but best friends don’t beat each other up.”
“I never said you were my best anything, asshole.”
Aizawa gives them three days of detention and an epic guilt trip that Izuku definitely takes to heart more than Katsuki. He didn’t do anything wrong, for once. But Aizawa doesn’t interfere with the internships like he threatened, apparently believing Katsuki when he tells him that they’ve worked it out. The man’s getting soft in his old age.
*
Later, when the training exercise is all wrapped up and half the dorm is passed out from exhaustion, Katsuki is stretching in his room. He’s on the ground trying to crack his back when he hears the knocking.
“I’m not in the mood, Shitty Hair.”
“Kacchan?”
Katsuki exhales through his nose and glances at the time. It’s way too early for Izuku to have already tried to sleep and had a nightmare, so it stands to reason that he wants to talk about something. He’s really hit his limit for talking today but he also really doesn’t want anyone to see Izuku standing outside his door.
“Can I come in?”
“Fine.”
Izuku opens the door carefully and steps inside, like he’s venturing into the den of a hibernating bear, looking about as wary as Katsuki feels. Katsuki’s body limits Izuku’s movements, taking up most of the open floor space and blocking his desk chair, so he watches Izuku’s eyes dart around the room, trying to find the least obtrusive spot to sit down. He glances at the bed and must decide that would be a step too far, because he ends up sitting on the floor near Katsuki, legs drawn up and chin tucked on his knees.
Katsuki doesn’t say anything, continuing to stretch. He’s the one who came here.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” says Izuku, finally. “I realized I never actually said it.”
Aizawa hadn’t actually told Katsuki whether he failed the exercise or not. He didn’t achieve the objective, but there’s nothing Katsuki actually could’ve been expected to do about Izuku giving up halfway through. Aizawa probably knows that but wants them stressed since he’s pissed about having to break up their fight after and derailing the rest of the day.
“It’s fine,” grunts Katsuki, reaching for his calf with both hands to stretch his hamstrings. It has the side effect of forcing him to acknowledge his poor grip when his fingers slide off his foot.
Izuku doesn’t appear mollified. His face is scrunched up, something obviously eating at him.
“I know it was dangerous,” he says, chewing on his lip. “It’s just…”
Katsuki looks up and raises his eyebrows, not pausing his stretching, hoping to communicate that Izuku should move it along. Izuku rubs a palm into his eye.
“Every time I close my eyes I can see you lying there.” He takes a shuddering breath and shakes his head, as though trying to dislodge it. “It was the worst moment of my life. And it just wouldn’t end. I kept thinking that was it, you know? That we’d never even have a chance to be normal around each other.”
Now Katsuki does stop stretching, leaning back on his palms and looking at the boy in front of him. Izuku looks faintly relieved to have said what he needed to, his fingers looser around his legs.
“Do you know what I mean?”
“No,” says Katsuki, honestly. He has no idea how they’d ever manage to be normal around each other, about each other, and he’s kind of realizing that he doesn’t want to be.
Izuku huffs like Katsuki’s being dense on purpose, and suddenly Katsuki just can’t stand it anymore. He feels a phantom pain over his heart, where his starburst scar isn’t quite flat. He rubs at it with his thumb and Izuku tracks the motion. Then his eyes fall lower to where Shigaraki impaled Katsuki’s torso even before that, a terrible guilt in his eyes, as though he asked Katsuki to hurt himself. As though he’d have to.
“I thought about you,” admits Katsuki, even though he doesn’t want to. It’s his turn to be brave.
“What?” It comes out hushed, like Izuku knows they’re on the edge of something, but he doesn’t know what.
“When I died,” Katsuki grits out. “I thought of you. I don’t remember everything. I remember trying not to lose consciousness. That I didn’t want you to see me like that.”
Izuku hasn’t moved a muscle, like he’s worried any movement will make Katsuki clam up. He feels the urge to bristle even though Izuku may not be wrong.
“When I woke up, everything hurt so much. I had no fuckin’ clue where I was. Everything was like…” He makes a jerky gesture with his hand. “Jumbled. But I looked down and saw you and it all made sense again. I knew what I needed to do.”
“Save to win.”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks for telling me,” says Izuku, giving him a tremulous smile.
But Katsuki’s not done. “Edgeshot said he was on the brink. That right when I restarted my own heart, he was gonna have to choose between me or him. I thought about you,” he repeats, useless, “And I came back. I knew you needed me.”
Izuku’s staring at him, mouth open. Downstairs, his friends are playing video games, and somewhere else Jirou must be practicing, because he hears disembodied music drift in through his open window. He wishes he could hear what’s going on in Izuku’s head.
“Izuku,” says Katsuki, a little desperately. He feels cracked open, like he’s pulled out his ugly heart and handed it over on a platter. “Don’t you get it?”
“Kacchan, you—” Izuku makes to move closer, but then seems to second-guess, hesitating. Katsuki grabs him by the elbow and pulls him close, until their legs are tangled on the floor. “You—really, are you sure?”
“That’s a stupid question. Are you?”
Izuku laughs wetly, tears threatening to leak over. “Can you say it?”
Katsuki sighs. Always makin’ demands. He holds Izuku’s face in his hands, using his thumbs to rub at the tears that have escaped containment.
“Crybaby.” He sighs, but acquiesces. “I want this. Uh, I mean— you.”
Izuku kisses him and Katsuki’s brain honest-to-god short circuits. He’s so warm and soft, and makes a little noise as he kisses him, almost shyly, and then is pulling back. He doesn’t go far, face resting millimeters away. He’s flushed like he’s been in the sun all day.
“Was that oka—”
Was that okay. Was that okay. Katsuki hauls him in a second time, kissing for real now that his brain has gotten with the program. Izuku leans in happily, teeth clacking as he fails to contain his smile. He’s halfway in Katsuki’s lap, and then fully, as he winds his arms around his neck and tugs at the hair at the nape of his neck. They kiss furiously on the floor for a few minutes, an hour, a week, who knows.
There’s still a part of Katsuki that’s wondering if deserves this, but it’s overshadowed by the larger part of his brain, that’s processing Izuku’s weight shifting on his lap and the feel of his lower back flexing against his palm. Katsuki slows into a series of pecks, and then pulls back to breathe.
“You never actually said it, y’know,” says Katsuki, trying to control the breathlessness in his voice. He feels like he’s run five miles.
Izuku claps his hands on both sides Katsuki’s face and Katsuki finds, to his surprise, he does not hate it. “I wanna be with Kacchan too.”
“Okay,” says Katsuki and then, because he can’t help it, kisses him again.
Eventually, they disentangle and Katsuki says: “C’mon, move your ass. The extras are playing video games downstairs and I wanna destroy Sparky.”
“Oh, by the way! I forgot to tell you about the trick I learned in smash against Shouto, wait I wrote it down, one sec—”
Izuku spends the entire walk downstairs explaining in detail how he kicked IcyHot’s ass last night and it’s so normal except that they’re holding hands. Katsuki has to chew back his smile before he enters the common room, because no one needs to see that.
It’s Ashido, Kirishima and Kaminari on the couch, a space between them for Katsuki and Ashido crows MIDOOO when she sees Izuku. Then, she double-takes, and Katsuki pales.
“Don’t—”
“Oh my god,” she gasps, whacking Kirishima to pay attention. “Oh my god. Wait—are we? Is it happening? Has it happened?”
At her exclamation, the entire fuckin’ common room looks over. The idiots on the couch, Sero and Asui playing cards, Todoroki and Uraraka eating popcorn. Izuku is of no help at all— he just smiles, embarrassed, and tucks himself further into Katsuki’s side. Which is—well, it feels nice, but makes everything worse.
“Bro,” says Kirishima, sounding like he was going to tear up. Katsuki can’t even be mad because the look he gives Katsuki is so open that Katsuki wonders if Kirishima can read every embarrassing thought he’s ever had. “I’m happy for you guys.”
“No way Mr. Murder God over here shacked up before I did.”
“Make sure he’s nice to you, Midoriya.”
“Who said something first, kero.”
Uraraka doesn’t even say anything, the asshole, she just smiles mysteriously and holds her hand out for Todoroki to deposit a wad of cash. Katsuki’s hand starts sparking, but Izuku giggles again, and untangles their hands—hey—to wrap both arms around Katsuki’s waist and tuck his chin onto his shoulder instead.
“Can we play?”
“Of course, dude,” says Kirishima, tossing them two controllers. Katsuki takes his spot on the couch, and Izuku settles in between his legs on the floor, leaning his head on his calf between rounds.
In the corner, Sero is cheating at cards against Asui, who definitely knows what he’s up to. Todoroki nods at him, and Katsuki manages not to flip him off. After a couple games of smash, Katsuki and Izuku start playing on the same team and consistently demolish their friends so badly that Kirishima convinces Sero to play so it’s 4 vs 2. It doesn’t help.
Katsuki peeks a glance at Izuku, and he’s laughing at Kaminari’s joke, ruffling his hair with one hand. His Kamui Woods socks are a little too big and dumb-looking on his feet and his scarred fingers still shake when he’s not paying attention and yeah, maybe he’s still kinda clingy. If Katsuki’s lucky, he always will be.