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Kacchan’s face is pinched, cheek turned away. He stares at the floor between his shoes, shoulders drawn tight around his jaw.
Izuku sits beside him, spine straight and arm pulsing in its sling. Every nerve in him seems to vibrate like a series of plucked strings, noting the space between their bodies on the rattling train. Just twenty minutes ago they’d been yelling at each other in the courtyard.
I-I can’t tell you who gave me this power. But I swear it’s true, even if it sounds like something out of a comic book!
And for what? He’d failed to gain any ground with Kacchan and betrayed All Might’s trust in the process. Frustration weaves its way through every thought—with himself, mostly—but heavier than any other emotion is shame.
He wishes he could slink off with his tail between his legs, give both of them the dignity to at least feel like shit in privacy. But Kacchan and he ride the same train, trapped sharing the same narrow stretch of seating. Izuku’s too exhausted to stand with the crush of bodies during rush hour and Kacchan, uncharacteristically quiet, hasn’t stomped away from him. Instead, here they sit. Together.
No. No, he has to endure this. Even if it’s awkward, even if they’d fought earlier, even if he’d spilled his guts and gotten nothing in return.
No! I want to win because I want to surpass you, Kacchan! Because I think you’re amazing! How do you not get that?
His eyes still sting with each blink, irritated from the smoke. Each inhale evokes the phantom burn of Kacchan’s explosion, how it sucked all the moisture from the air and left him with dry heat. The blast to his spine still aches, the skin drawn tight.
Izuku had won, but he’d still lost. He and Kacchan had been taking part in separate struggles the whole time. Izuku had been trying to win the assigned fight, but Kacchan had been angling for an entirely different victory.
Kacchan is so, so much stronger than him. There’s no competition. It’s frustrating to see but completely expected. Izuku hasn’t had nearly enough time to catch up, let alone overtake him on this path they’ve both found themselves racing down. Kacchan continues to beat him. Solidly.
But when Izuku had managed to look up at him after he’d blasted through the ceiling for Uraraka, half-blind and vision fuzzy, all he saw on Kacchan’s face was…terror. He has no other word to describe the wide-eyed, stricken stare. Absolute fear.
Like his whole world was crumbling out from under him, and Izuku was at the epicenter.
“I…” His mouth moves without his consent, as always. What is there to say, though? He already told Kacchan as much as he could, far more than he should. Already laid bare his whole deal because as terrifying as it was to let someone know, the thought of Kacchan misunderstanding something so crucial terrified him more. He’d never lied to him. Not once.
I’m gonna make this power my own someday and then I’ll surpass you!
And still, Kacchan looked at him like…
Izuku feels very small.
Kacchan’s eyes don’t move from their vigil of the floor.
If only Izuku could say something. Anything. But his throat is stopped up, lips shifting uselessly over his teeth.
From here on, I…! From here on, I’m gonna beat you all! Do you fuckin’ hear me, Deku? Enjoy your win, ‘cause it’ll never happen again!
“Listen,” Kacchan says lowly. Izuku startles, looking up. Kacchan’s voice is rough and almost tired. “I don’t give a shit about whatever stupid-ass lies you wanna tell. I don’t care, Deku.”
All Izuku’s words die in the hollow of his throat.
“The truth is out now. You’ve got a quirk. That’s all that matters. I don’t give a shit about your epic loser backstory about mutant spiders biting your dick or whatever.” Kacchan’s fingers spasm, pressed over his knees. They both sway with the train. “That doesn’t change anything.”
“Really?” Izuku asks, hates the way his voice cracks.
“I’m gonna kill you,” Kacchan says solemnly. “I’m gonna kick your ass so hard that when you land in the dirt, you’re gonna stay there. For good.”
Izuku swallows thickly, feels the swollen bob of his irritated throat.
“It’s so different here,” Kacchan continues, voice softer. “Everyone’s so… It’s just another level.”
“Y-you’ll rise to it,” Izuku replies. Cradles the feeling in his chest, bright and warm and fragile as it is. “Kacchan is the best.”
The smile on Kacchan’s face as he slammed his open palm into Izuku’s blocking arm—hotter than anything Izuku had felt until that moment, the hottest thing in the world. The feral glee on Kacchan’s face slipping as Izuku’s other arm rose above both of them. The moment of realization.
The face of Kacchan losing.
“I just…” He swallows. Swallows again. A swallowing thing, his throat, his heart, hungry for something he’s never once been able to name. “I just feel so happy, Kacchan, that we’re here. We have the same dream, you know? I still have a long ways to go to catch up to you, especially with my…u-um, my situation, but—”
Kacchan sighs loudly, his shoulders heaving with the motion.
Izuku ekes out a shaky smile, the fingers of his good hand curling into the fabric of his pants. “Even if you…even if you think the worst of me, I… I-I want to see you shine even brighter than you ever have.”
“You’re such an asshole, holy shit.”
He blinks, lashes clumping. “What?”
Kacchan twists away from him. “Just shut the fuck up, Deku.”
Kacchan is silent, studying the floor between his sneakers. His shoulder bumps into Izuku in time with the rattling of the train, silent.
Izuku isn’t sure what to say. He finds himself strangely bereft of words. Like his entire vocabulary has been snuffed out, nothing more than candle smoke. He swallows thickly around the blockage in his throat. He keeps his posture upright, fingers aching as they curl into his knees.
“So it’s really gone,” Kacchan says.
He opens his mouth. Nothing escapes. He nods.
Kacchan doesn’t contribute anything more. His gaze grows heavier, pensive.
“It’s okay,” squirms past Izuku’s mouth. A mess of syllables, immaterial and unfelt. “I’m studying for a career outside of heroics anyways and…”
And.
Kacchan’s face only darkens further.
“I knew it wouldn’t last forever,” Izuku continues, softer. His skin is tacky with old sweat and rain, the race Kacchan had challenged him to on their way to the train station echoing in the hall of his skull. Catch up, Izuku! Come on, don’t be such a fuckin’ wimp and try to beat me! “So I’m just grateful for the experience I was able to have.”
“Just,” Kacchan echoes.
Izuku offers a tepid smile, molding easily to his face like old leather. The scar tissue under his eye feels tight.
“Just,” Kacchan says, sharper. “Just. As in, only? That’s the only thing you feel, right now? Grateful?”
His mouth opens and shuts.
Kacchan lifts his head, eyes glossy and furious. “Look me in the eye and tell me that’s all you feel.”
Izuku’s throat tightens. A simple spasm, nothing more than a body performing a bodily act. “I—” His gaze retreats to the space between them. “Th-that’s all. Really.”
“Sure,” Kacchan says flatly.
“It’s…more than I could have ever hoped for,” he whispers, fiddling with his crooked fingers, “speaking realistically.”
“Realistically.” Kacchan flings the word at him like spittle.
“Yes,” he insists.
“You just don’t get it.” Kacchan shifts, growing closer. “You just— You never got it, not once, and I don’t think you ever will.”
“Get what?”
“This matters,” he says. His palm presses into the center of Izuku’s chest, molding over his sternum through his shirt. The slow swipe of his thumb goes deeper than the skin, the bone. “You fucking loser, you matter.”
He blinks. “Yes? I know that.”
Kacchan’s face tells him he doesn’t believe him. There’s a pained gleam to his eyes, though, that stills Izuku’s tongue. “You’ll deny it,” Kacchan says, voice tight, “but this is a tragedy.”
“What? Kacchan, don’t be so drama—”
“It’s a damn tragedy,” he continues, louder, “that you’re walking away from the only thing you’ve ever wanted. If any of us deserves heroism, it’s you. Don’t you get that?”
Izuku stares at him. “Wha…?”
“This is the thing about you that just…” Kacchan lets out a frustrated sound that tugs at Izuku’s chest, like a fist yanking on a leash. “I never got it until I did. And now that I do, now that I see how backwards I had it, it’s like…where do we even go from here? You’re giving up. You’re fucking smiling about it. And I look at you and all I can think is: what hand did I have in this? What fucked up seed did I plant in your dumbass head that took root and turned into this?”
Izuku’s smile falls. “Kacchan, what are you talking about? Do you— I don’t blame you for any of this! It’s just something that’s happened, it’s not like any of us have control over it—”
“You let it go,” Kacchan cuts in. “I’m not just talking about that fucked up quirk, either. The way you’ve been talking for years now, it’s obvious you’re so fucking ready to give it all up. Your quirk, your dream, all of it. All Might, he held on to that shit—”
“Because he had to! And you saw what that did to him!” Izuku lowers his voice, glancing anxiously around the empty train car. Empty. Just them. It never feels like just them, though. “Kacchan, please. There’s no reason to fight over this.”
“There’s reason,” Kacchan says, as bullheaded and aggravating as ever. “There’s always reason for us to fight.”
Izuku sighs.
“Don’t let it leave you. Get mad, you piece of shit quitter.”
“I’m not fighting you on the train, Kacchan,” he says dully.
“I’d kick your ass in a second.”
He snorts wetly, shrugging. “Yeah. Yeah, you’d absolutely destroy me, Kacchan.”
Kacchan’s face falls. “Come on.” His voice sounds strained, thin.
Pathetic, Izuku doesn’t want to say. Because that isn’t Kacchan to him—Kacchan is strength. Kacchan is victory. Kacchan is…
So very close to him. Closer than anything. Thigh to thigh, hand sliding along the side of his throat. A palm he knows well, both in violence and tenderness, molding perfectly along the arch of his neck. Thumb stroking over a frantic pulse.
No. Kacchan isn’t the pathetic one. Ever. Especially not now.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Izuku admits.
Kacchan’s brow furrows, affronted. “I don’t want you to say anything.”
“You do,” he replies, shakier. “You— You do, Kacchan. It’s really obvious. But I don’t have the words. I don’t…”
Kacchan’s eyes flit around his face, looking for something they’ll never find.
Izuku tries to summon a smile. The skin of his face is too thin, though. “I’m… My life is on a very different path than yours, Kacchan.” His voice cracks. “It always has been.”
“The hell are you talking about?” Kacchan’s voice is low, his palm warm against Izuku’s throat. Alive. “We’ve always been on the same path. How can you have that so twisted?”
“Y-you don’t understand.” And how could he? Kacchan and he may have shared an origin story growing up, but they were born from separate cloths. Kacchan was born with so much and Izuku has never once resented him for it, has never once felt anything other than admiration.
Just that.
Just…
“Yeah, well. You don’t either,” Kacchan says.
Izuku swallows. Swallows and swallows.
They are alone together in this train car. But Izuku hasn’t felt alone with anyone since he was sixteen. Since the grit of ash and dust soaked past his hands, past his tongue.
The ghosts all left him, that day, for one to take their place.
“I went somewhere I wasn’t supposed to,” he admits, voice low and ashamed. “I… You were right. This power, it truly was a curse. One I wasn’t meant to wield.”
Kacchan’s lips thin. The wrong thing to say, certainly. That’s how it is, though, Izuku is finding. Honesty always elicits that sort of response.
His face drifts closer, bobbing with the shudder of the train. Izuku swallows. Swallows, swallows. He does not move. His lips tingle. He does not move.
Kacchan’s forehead bumps against his, the contact stuttering with the rattle of the train. Izuku’s eyes slip closed. Pressing against one another, skull to skull, hurts more than it feels good, but he can’t imagine pulling away first.
It’s not quiet on the train. It’s loud. Louder than the blood pounding in his ears, louder than the clenching of his throat. Over and over. Swallowing around nothing.
When Kacchan exhales, he inhales. Back and forth, each other’s air supply.
“Kacchan,” he whispers.
“When did it go?” Kacchan rasps. “When you caught up to me or when you kissed me?”
Izuku jerks back, startled. Kacchan holds fast, fingers still cupping the side of his throat.
“What? Can’t even talk about kissing your boyfriend? That’s off limits, too, huh?”
“N-no,” he stammers. The word sounded so unwieldy in Kacchan’s mouth. It ratchets up the heat of Izuku’s face. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. “It’s not, it’s just…”
“You wanted to win, didn’t you?”
The train rattles around them, gasping.
“More than anything,” he admits, eyes stinging.
Kacchan’s thumb presses harder over his thumping jugular.
“I just… J-just really wanted to beat Kacchan,” leaves him, creaking. Stuffy with old, shoved down tears. Years’ worth of salt. A kind of hunger that never deserved its own name. “I wanted a… I just wanted a win. I just…”
One win. One. Because when was the last time he’d had a win? When was the last time, really?
When it comes down to it, when his back is to the wall, when all sense leaves him, he’s left with the same bare desire as the man in front of him. And receiving it, earning it with everything he had, had left an elation so bright and encompassing that he turned, that he caught Kacchan’s waist, that he leaned into that jubilation and…
“Well, you won,” Kacchan says, voice rough and soft. “So soak it up, jackass. Remember how that feels, ’cause next time I won’t make it so easy on you.”
Come on, Izuku! You can run faster than that, I fuckin’ know you can!
The thud of his blood through his limbs, the most natural desire at the root of his body. The sight of Kacchan’s back ahead of him, growing closer, close enough to touch. Too close. Never close enough. How if he just wanted it badly enough, he could—
“Wh-what a stupid thing I did,” he chokes out. “Or— No. No, there was no point in holding on.” He swallows again. Swallows it down. “Th-there’s no point, Kacchan. I’m not…n-not in the running anymore. Okay?”
Kacchan pulls him closer again. Inhale and exhale. Resuscitation exercises. The way they used to in school, breathing into limp dolls as though they could confer life into the inanimate.
Something in his body threatens to move. Something in his body threatens to act before he can wrangle it into submission, the way it had kickstarted itself into motion as the rain began, fingers brushing against the back of Kacchan’s shirt as he flew past him. How a cry of victory wrenched itself from his hungry mouth. Motion without thought. Nothing more than a series of stupid acts.
“It wasn’t stupid,” Kacchan murmurs against his lips. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Izuku waits for the urge to kiss Kacchan again to pass.
“It wasn’t stupid,” Kacchan repeats, louder. “Fuck, Izuku, chase me and you know I’ll run. And you’ll always be able to catch me. Always.”
He swallows, throat spasming under the unyielding hold of Kacchan’s hand.
Izuku keeps waiting.