Work Text:
ONE SHOT
Katsuki recently sits at fifteenth in the hero rankings, a placement that has less to do with his ability and more to do with his attitude. Everyone knows it—civilians, agencies, even the damn commission that he’s one of the strongest, most powerful, and most reliable heroes out there, but apparently that isn’t enough anymore. These days, being a hero also means being a celebrity, someone who smiles for cameras, watches their mouth, and plays saint for the public. Katsuki has never been good at pretending and he never will be. If that’s what they want, they can kiss his ass and die.
What he has been good at for the past eight years, is saving people and pouring every bit of himself into something that actually matters. He’s fought nonstop, taken job after job, and quietly invested his money into a single goal: funding the suit that would let Izuku stand on the battlefield again. A suit that would make Izuku a hero once more. A suit that would let them fight side by side like they were always meant to.
Eight years pass faster than he expects, and then suddenly, the suit is finished. Izuku is back in the sky, moving with a confidence Katsuki knows by heart, and the new rankings drop not long after—Izuku at fourth, Katsuki at fifth. Katsuki finds himself hovering in the air after a patrol, staring at Izuku’s figure against the clouds, chest tight in a way he refuses to name. He tells himself he doesn’t want anything else. This should be enough.
Except it isn’t. There’s still one wish he’s never allowed himself to voice, one he knows will never come true.
His phone buzzes.
[From: Izuku 🐰]
> Kacchan!
> Congratulations on the new ranking!
> Kacchan deserves it, honestly even higher!
> But sorry not sorry, I’m gonna beat you to number one 😝
Katsuki scoffs, thumbs flying across the screen.
[To: Izuku 🐰]
< you wish
< no way in hell you can beat me to number one
< you just got lucky this year
< next year my rank will be way higher
> I’d like to see you try, Kacchan!
< kiss my ass and die
> I’d rather do the former than the latter
< what
> Oh, I thought you were making me choose between kissing your ass or dying
< what
< you’d rather kiss my ass?
> Sure!
< ???
< you know how you sound, right
> hahahaha!
Katsuki shakes his head, a reluctant huff of breath escaping him. This is how it’s always been, sharp words wrapped around familiarity, insults softened by something dangerously close to affection. Over the years, they’ve grown closer in ways Katsuki pretends not to think too hard about. The teasing, the late-night calls, the subtle flirting buried beneath jokes. If you asked him, he’d say they were halfway into something already, stuck in a situationship neither of them had named.
But that’s only if you ask him.
Because to Izuku, it’s just friendliness. It always has been.
Another notification pulls him out of his thoughts.
[From: Bakugou’s Strongest Soldiers]
Mina: Midoriya and Ochaco-chan?
Eijiro: Huh? What about them, Mina?
Mina: Are they together? Like together together? 🤞
Denki: I thought so too??
I saw them having dinner after Shoto’s ranking celebration
Hanta: Is this real chat?
I thought
We thought
Mina: Yeah, kinda unexpected
Katsuki stares at the screen for a moment before typing.
Katsuki: unexpected, you said
Izuku’s had those big round eyes glued to round cheeks since high school
Guess the nerd finally grew some balls
Mina: Yeah
’Cause I thought he only had eyes for you
Eijiro: Mina
Katsuki: what
you joking or what
Hanta: Let’s be real here
All those years
Eight years after graduation
They didn’t talk at all, like talk talk y'know?
And now they’re suddenly together?
Sounds like a joke, don’t get me wrong
But I guess…
Happy for them?
Denki: Shinsou said they’re not together yet
I just asked him
They’re just talking, he said
Eijiro: Yet, you said?
Katsuki: just
fucking shut the fuck up
we’re fine over here
Mina: Hmmm
Anywayyyy
Saturday party!!!
For our 4th and 5th herooo!!!!
Eijiro: YAYYY
Let’s gooooo party!
Mina: Obviously, Blasty, you’re coming
It’s literally a party for you lmao
Katsuki: like I have a fucking choice
Mina: You don’t 😋
Katsuki tosses the phone onto the couch harder than necessary. He already knew, really. He was just the first to find out because Izuku tells him everything, he always has. Izuku messages him immediately after talking with Ochaco, rambling, nervous, excited in that painfully familiar way. That’s when it finally sinks in. For Izuku, Katsuki has always just been his best friend and nothing more. Everything Katsuki ever read into, the tension, the closeness, the years of unspoken understanding, was something he built alone in his own head.
He thinks back to the offer he made just months ago, asking Izuku to join his agency, or at least work alongside him. Izuku turned him down gently, with reasons Katsuki understood completely. It is reasonable, logical, and very Izuku. But maybe that should’ve been the moment he realized. Maybe he should’ve known then that he wasn’t special in the way he wanted to be.
Because when you give the same warmth to everyone, it stops being special at all.
Friday morning comes too quickly. Katsuki gets dressed in silence, movements sharp and practiced. Tomorrow is the party his friends are throwing to celebrate both him and Izuku climbing the ranks. He doesn’t want to go. All he wants is peace and quiet, maybe a day where he doesn’t have to pretend he’s fine. But he knows he’ll show up anyway. Because he always does.
Growing up, he’s learned, means learning how to swallow things without exploding. It means disappointing yourself instead of others. And gods, he hates it. He hates that he can’t even punch his friends anymore without feeling guilty afterward.
But he goes on, just like he always has—because saving people, fighting battles, and standing beside Izuku, even if only as his best friend, is still the one thing he refuses to give up.
“Ka—Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight!”
Katsuki snorts as he tightens the last strap on his gauntlets, standing at the very edge of the tallest building in the district. The afternoon sun beats down on the concrete, his lunch barely settled, and he already knows exactly who’s interrupting his moment of quiet. Of course Izuku knows where to find him. The nerd has just finished teaching his class and is starting his patrol early, which means they’re partnered for the afternoon whether Katsuki likes it or not.
Izuku, predictably, uses his full hero name. Katsuki pretends it doesn’t matter, but he appreciates it more than he’ll ever admit. Aside from Iida and a handful of senior pro heroes, Izuku’s the only one who bothers saying the whole damn thing. Everyone else shortens it to Dynamight because it’s “too long.” Like Katsuki gives a shit.
He looks up at Izuku, already suited up, green accents catching the light as he lands lightly on the rooftop. Seeing him like this—confident, steady, back where he belongs—still does something to Katsuki’s chest. Even if he wasn’t the only one who made the suit possible, even if it wasn’t his name stamped all over it, he’s proud. Proud that Izuku gets to live this dream again. Proud that he got to help bring it back.
“You ready, Kacchan?” Izuku asks, bright as ever.
“I’m always ready, Deku,” Katsuki shoots back.
Izuku just smiles, eyes shining in that way that makes it look like he’s holding the damn stars in them. And really, Katsuki wonders how he ever convinced himself there was something mutual there when Izuku looks at him like that, open and trusting and warm in a way that’s never crossed into anything else.
They drop down to street level, moving side by side as they begin their patrol. Civilians recognize them instantly but keep their distance, people have learned over the years when not to interfere with pro heroes on duty, and Katsuki’s grateful for it. Still, he can feel the presence of cameras, lenses following them from afar. This is just how things work now.
“Kacchan,” Izuku says, because of course he does, “are you going tomorrow night?”
“As if I have a fucking choice,” Katsuki replies flatly, eyes scanning alleys and rooftops. “It’s literally a party for us.”
Izuku laughs, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, yeah, but it’s you, Kacchan. You could skip it and not feel guilty.”
Katsuki huffs. “You know me well enough by now to know I’ve fucking grown up already, De—Izuku.” He pauses, then adds carelessly, “Guess dying made me soft.”
The words slip out before he can stop them. He says it like it’s nothing, like it’s a joke, because that’s how he’s learned to cope—if he treats it lightly, it feels less real. Less like it actually happened. Just a damaged heart, a short moment, and something that passed.
But Izuku doesn’t see it that way.
“Kacchan,” he says quietly, slowing his steps. “We’ve talked about this. Please stop joking about… that.”
Izuku’s eyes are sad, too sad, and Katsuki hates it. He hates that look more than anything. He turns his gaze back to the street, jaw tightening.
“Stop making it a big deal, nerd,” he snaps. “It was almost a decade ago. It’s not that serious.”
Izuku opens his mouth to argue, Katsuki can feel it coming, but before he can say another word, a distant explosion rocks the air. It’s far, maybe a kilometer out, but loud enough to set every alarm in their suits screaming.
Their alert signals flare at the same time.
Without another word, they launch into the air, explosions propelling Katsuki forward as Izuku keeps pace beside him, green lightning crackling faintly around his suit. Whatever tension lingered between them gets shoved aside by instinct and muscle memory. This is what they know. What they’re good at.
Side by side, they fly straight toward the smoke.
The fight is over in fifteen minutes flat. With Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight and Deku working in perfect sync, the outcome is never really in question. The villain’s quirk is strong, strong enough to rival Katsuki’s explosions, but it doesn’t matter. Not when the two of them are fighting side by side. Not when their movements still fit together like muscle memory carved into bone. It ends in a clean, decisive victory.
Afterward, they return to patrol as if nothing heavy ever hung between them. The earlier tension fades, replaced by easy conversation, the kind that comes naturally when they’ve spent years pretending everything is fine. They fall into talking about their classmates, because they always do. It’s no secret that both of them love gossip, and once the tea starts pouring, neither of them knows how to stop.
“Did you know Shoto’s started talking to Sero-kun?” Izuku says casually.
Katsuki smirks. “That bastard finally grew some balls. I swear, if I open our group chat and see him thirsting over IcyThot, I’m gonna fucking puke.”
“Oh! So Sero-kun really liked Shoto all this time? I knew it!” Izuku lights up immediately. “I kept telling Shoto that Sero-kun liked him, but Shoto didn’t believe me. He said he didn’t want to ruin their friendship, so I guess Sero-kun confessed first. Shoto didn’t say, but I think that’s what happened. I was so excited for them! Are you excited too, Kacchan? Two of our friends together! And there’s also Denki-kun and Shinsou-kun. Our friend group is really that close, huh? Wow… and I heard Jirou and Yaomomo—”
Before Izuku can finish, Katsuki lightly smacks his shoulder.
“You’re way too invested in other people’s love lives for someone who does have one,” Katsuki says, tone casual, almost careless. He side-eyes Izuku, watching closely. It’s the first time he’s said anything like this since Izuku told him, months ago, that he and Uraraka were talking.
Izuku blinks. His expression falters, not in embarrassment, but in genuine confusion.
“Oh.”
“Oh?” Katsuki echoes.
“I… don’t have one, Kacchan?” Izuku says, honestly baffled.
Katsuki nearly explodes. He resists the urge to grab the nerd by the collar and shake some sense into him.
“Don’t play dumb,” Katsuki says, forcing his voice to stay even despite the sharp twist in his chest. “You told me months ago you and Round Cheeks were talking.”
Izuku’s eyes widen slightly. “Ah! Right, that.” He smiles sheepishly. “I meant that we hadn’t really talked in years, so I was happy we were catching up again. We’ve both been really busy, and it was nice hearing about what she’s been doing lately. That’s what I told you, isn’t it?”
Katsuki stops walking.
He turns slowly to look at Izuku like he’s grown a second head. “No,” he says flatly. “You said you were finally talking again and you were blushing like an idiot. What the hell was I supposed to think?”
“Oh—! I’m sorry about that, Kacchan!” Izuku laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m just like that with everyone, you know! I get embarrassed really easily.”
Katsuki clicks his tongue and looks away. “Whatever.” He returns his focus to the street, jaw tight.
But nothing about this makes his situation any better. If anything, it makes it worse. Because now he knows, really knows, that Izuku and Ochaco are reconnecting. And catching up leads to more talking, and more talking leads to feelings, and the next thing he knows, they’ll be going on dinner dates. Katsuki knows Izuku. He knows Izuku had a crush on Ochaco back in high school, and crushes don’t always stay buried. Sometimes they just wait.
And even if this gives Katsuki the space—the chance—to finally confess, he knows he won’t. He can’t. He won’t risk destroying what they have. The last thing he wants to lose in his life is Izuku’s friendship.
So call him a martyr. Call him an idiot. He doesn’t give a fuck. He’ll stay right where he is, by Izuku’s side, smiling through the ache, if that’s what it takes to keep Izuku in his life, even when it means watching him move on with someone else.
Tomorrow night arrives far too quickly for Katsuki’s liking. One moment he’s convincing himself he can survive it, and the next he’s heading straight into his own damn celebration. The room is booked in a private section of a club—top floor, restricted access, and no paparazzi allowed. At least there’s that. Heroes deserve some peace, even if it’s temporary.
He doesn’t bother dressing up beyond what he considers acceptable for a bar. A fitted black shirt that hugs his shoulders and arms just right, the fabric stretched slightly across his chest, paired with dark pants that sit low on his hips and boots worn in enough to be comfortable. He knows he looks good, people have told him enough times.
As expected, he’s one of the first to arrive. Mina and Kirishima are already there, unsurprising since they’re the ones who reserved the room and handled most of the planning. Shoto and Sero are there too, practically glued together, leaning in close and forgetting the rest of the world exists.
“Blasty!” Mina squeals the second she spots him, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug.
Katsuki grumbles under his breath but doesn’t fight it. He stiffens, clearly annoyed, yet makes no real effort to escape. Mina knows him well enough to ignore the protests anyway.
Kirishima’s next, clapping him on the back before pulling him into a quick, solid hug. “Good to see you, man!”
“We literally saw each other this morning,” Katsuki mutters, rolling his eyes, but he still mumbles a greeting back.
He gives Shoto and Sero a pointed look when he passes them, how they’re already attached at the hip, but says nothing. Instead, he claims a seat at the far end of the room, sinking into a solo couch tucked away from the crowd. Minimal socialization. That’s the goal. Even if the party is technically for him.
More minutes pass, the room slowly filling with familiar faces, laughter growing louder, drinks being handed out freely. Finally, Izuku arrives last, walking in alongside Ochaco. Izuku mentions something about picking her up because she had “something” to take care of beforehand, but doesn’t elaborate.
Katsuki doesn’t need him to.
Yeah. Something, he thinks bitterly. Sure.
What else is he supposed to assume? They’re together. Or getting there. Probably already did something. The nerd’s full of shit if he thinks Katsuki can’t read between the lines. So much for “just catching up.”
Despite it being his party, Katsuki keeps to himself. He’s grateful Izuku ends up on the other side of the room, far enough away that it’s easy to pretend he’s not there at all. Katsuki stares into his drink for a few seconds, then downs it in one go. And then another.
He half-listens to the conversations around him, bits and pieces filtering through the haze. Someone’s talking about him modeling for Calvin Klein—when the hell did that happen?—and someone else brings up how hot his mom is, which is definitely Kaminari and absolutely grounds for murder.
By the time he stops counting, he thinks he’s on his fifth beer. Maybe more. He’s not sure anymore. The edges of the room feel softer, voices louder, and the lights just a little too bright.
All he knows is that at some point, someone suggests a game, something loud and stupid with an even dumber name.
“C’mon, Superman,” someone shouts, laughter erupting around the room. “Say your stupid line!”
Katsuki scowls, already irritated, already drunk, and very much aware that this night is only just beginning.
Katsuki knows he’s drunk.
He can feel it in the heat crawling up his neck, the way his face feels too warm, the way his shirt suddenly feels like it’s strangling him even though it fits just fine. He has the brief, dangerous urge to peel it off entirely before sheer willpower forces him to stay put. He refuses to be the one everyone points at tomorrow and says, yeah, Bakugou was wasted.
Amid the overlapping voices and laughter, it finally clicks what the hell they’re doing. Someone’s placed a bottle in the center of the room, and they’ve apparently invented a game on the spot. When the bottle lands on you, you either say a stupid line or confess a secret you’ve been sitting on for way too long. That’s it. Most of them are already drunk enough to swear they won’t remember any of this in the morning.
Katsuki very much hopes that’s true.
He keeps his head down, pretending he doesn’t care, focusing on his drink like it personally offended him. The bottle spins.
It lands on Kaminari.
Denki squints at it, then grins way too wide. “Okay, okay uh my first crush at U.A. was actually Ei,” he blurts out. “Not Jirou.”
There’s an immediate explosion of reactions. Kirishima laughs loud and proud, hauling Denki into a bone-crushing hug while Mina shrieks something about “having taste.” Shinsou groans softly, rubbing his temples as he tries to wrangle his drunk boyfriend into sitting back down.
The bottle spins again.
It lands on Shoto, who stares at it for a second before calmly saying something about his childhood trauma, something everyone in the room already knows by heart. No one pushes. They just nod, someone pats his shoulder, and the bottle gets spun again.
By the fifth spin, Katsuki feels dread settle deep in his gut.
He’s sitting at the far end of the room. Far enough that he thought he’d be safe. The bottle slows. Wobbles.
And then stops.
Pointing directly at him.
Every single pair of eyes locks onto Katsuki. Someone whistles. Someone else snickers. Mina leans forward like this is the best thing that’s happened all night.
“C’mon, Blasty!” She sings. “Say the stupid line!”
Katsuki’s brain feels fuzzy. Too loud. He doesn’t even fully process what’s happening, he just knows he has to say something to make them stop staring.
His gaze drifts around the room and then it stops.
Green.
Izuku’s watching him, beer in hand, clearly drunk too if the way he’s swaying slightly is any indication. His curls are messier than usual, cheeks flushed pink, eyes bright and expectant like he’s genuinely excited to hear whatever Katsuki’s about to say.
That’s when Katsuki opens his mouth.
“I thought we were in a situationship after the war,” he says, voice slurring just enough to give him away. “And I just fucking realized I’ve been friend-zoned this whole damn time.”
Silence crashes over the room.
Every conversation dies instantly. Heads snap back and forth between Katsuki and Izuku like they’re watching a live tennis match. Someone audibly chokes on their drink.
Izuku freezes.
“S—situation—what?” he stammers. “What do you mean, Kacchan? Me? Are you talking about me?” He looks around wildly, pointing at himself like he’s checking for confirmation. “Am I drunk? Am I hearing this right?”
God. He’s adorable. Katsuki hates it. He wants to crawl out of his own skin.
“Who the hell else would I be talking about, nerd?” Katsuki snaps. “You act like we’re more than friends. You flirt with me like it’s as easy as breathing.”
Izuku blinks. Hard. “F—flirt? I—I do?”
Katsuki scoffs. “You literally said yesterday you’d rather kiss my ass than die.”
There’s a collective gasp from the room.
“I thought we were joking!” Izuku protests, face burning red.
“You fucking idiot,” Katsuki fires back, words spilling faster now. “You treat me like I’m special. You worry about me like you’d die for me. You said you’d kill for me. Don’t tell me that was all a joke.” His voice cracks slightly. “You let me make you bentos. You let me walk into your classroom while you’re teaching like I belong there. I thought—”
He hiccups.
That made everyone freeze.
“I thought I was special,” Katsuki mutters, clutching his beer to his chest like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His vision blurs, anger melting into something raw and exposed. “But then… I thought I was special, and then—”
His voice breaks.
And for the first time in his life, Katsuki Bakugou cries in a room full of people—every single one of them watching, stunned, as the truth he’s been burying for years finally spills out.
The room stays deathly quiet.
No one moves. Even the music feels like it’s faded into the background, as if the club itself knows better than to interrupt whatever the hell is happening right now.
Izuku stares at Katsuki like he’s trying to solve an impossible equation with half the numbers missing.
“Kacchan,” he says slowly, carefully, words thick with alcohol and confusion, “I—I don’t… I don’t understand.” He takes a step closer without realizing it. “We are close. We’ve always been close. But I thought… I thought we were just—”
“Friends,” Katsuki cuts in bitterly. “Yeah. That word.”
Izuku winces. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just—when I think of you, I think of home. Of safety. Of someone who’s always there.” He laughs weakly. “Isn’t that what friends are?”
Katsuki lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “You don’t stay up till three in the fucking morning texting your friends.”
A ripple of murmurs passes through the room.
Izuku blinks. “We… do that all the time.”
“Yeah,” Katsuki snaps, pointing a finger at him. “We. Not you and everyone else. Me and you. Every damn night. Talking about nothing. About everything. About hero work, about your kids at school, about shit that scares you. You fall asleep mid-text and I just—” He swipes roughly at his face. “I just wait for you to wake up and say ‘sorry, Kacchan’ like it’s nothing.”
Izuku opens his mouth. Closes it and opens it again. “I just… I thought that’s what we do. We’ve always talked like that.”
“You send me good morning texts,” Katsuki presses on, voice cracking again. “You send me pictures of your fucking coffee and ask if I’ve eaten. You tell me when you’re hurt before you tell anyone else.” He laughs shakily. “You even say ‘be careful’ before every patrol like I don’t already know how to fight.”
“I say that to a lot of people,” Izuku says weakly, but even he doesn’t sound convinced.
“Bullshit,” Katsuki snaps. “You don’t call them when you can’t sleep. You don’t sit on my rooftop at two in the morning because you ‘just needed to see me.’” He steps closer now, too close, eyes burning. “You don’t look at your friends like you look at me.”
Izuku’s face goes bright red. “I—I didn’t realize,” he says, voice small. “I never thought… I didn’t know you were reading it like that.”
“That’s the problem,” Katsuki growls. “You never fucking think about it. You’re warm to everyone, so how the hell was I supposed to know I wasn’t special?”
The word hangs heavy in the air.
“I thought we were building something,” Katsuki continues, quieter now but no less intense. “After the war. After everything. I thought we were taking it slow because we were scared to name it. I thought—” His shoulders sag. “I thought you knew.”
Izuku swallows hard, eyes glossy. “Kacchan… if I knew, I would’ve said something. I swear. I just thought we were… best friends. Partners. Teammates.” He rubs his face, overwhelmed. “I didn’t realize you were hurting.”
Katsuki lets out a broken laugh. “Yeah. No shit.”
Around them, no one dares to interrupt. Mina’s hand is clamped over her mouth. Kirishima looks torn between stepping in and giving them space. Even Denki’s gone quiet.
Izuku takes another step closer. “But Kacchan,” he says softly, “just because I thought we were friends doesn’t mean you didn’t mean something to me. You do. You always have.”
Katsuki looks at him, eyes red, chest heaving. “That’s not enough,” he whispers. “Not when I wanted you.”
Izuku doesn’t have an answer—only a stunned, aching silence as the weight of Katsuki’s confession finally, truly sinks in.
The silence stretches, thick and unbearable.
Izuku is still standing in front of him, mouth slightly open, eyes wet and searching, like he’s desperately trying to find the right thing to say—something that will fix this, something that will make it hurt less. Katsuki watches him sway, watches the room tilt just a little too much.
His head feels too heavy.
“Whatever,” Katsuki mutters, the fight finally draining out of him. His grip loosens on the beer bottle, fingers numb. “Doesn’t matter. Forget I said anything.”
His vision blurs at the edges. The lights smear into color. He barely registers Mina shouting his name or Kirishima lunging forward.
“Katsuki—!”
He takes one unsteady step and then another, knees buckling without warning. The room spins violently, and the floor rushing up far too fast.
The last thing he’s vaguely aware of is Izuku catching him—hands fumbling, panicked, holding him too tightly.
“Kacchan hey, you drank too much, you idiot!”
Katsuki wants to laugh at that. Of course this is how it ends. Of course he finally says everything and then passes out like a damn coward.
His consciousness slips, sound fading into a dull roar.
Izuku sits on the edge of his couch, staring at nothing in particular.
The living room is quiet. The party ended hours ago, but his ears still ring with echoes of laughter, gasps, and Katsuki’s voice cracking in ways Izuku has never heard again ever since years ago at the hospital after the war. Kirishima and Mina volunteered to take Katsuki home when he collapsed, and Izuku hadn’t even been able to argue. He remembers standing there, frozen, watching them carefully lift Katsuki up, his head lolling against Kirishima’s shoulder.
Izuku doesn’t remember walking home.
He just knows that somehow, he’s here now—alone in his apartment, shoes still on, jacket tossed carelessly over a chair. His hands are trembling slightly, even though he’s sober enough to feel everything too clearly.
He isn’t drunk. The alcohol burned off fast, leaving him painfully aware of every word Katsuki had poured out in front of everyone.
I thought you knew.
The words echo in his head, over and over again, refusing to fade.
Izuku presses his palms into his eyes, breathing out slowly. When he starts replaying the last eight years, the pieces begin to rearrange themselves in ways he can’t ignore anymore. The late-night messages. The calls that lasted until one of them fell asleep. Katsuki showing up unannounced, lingering just a little too long. The way he always stayed, no matter what.
Izuku swallows hard.
He can’t deny it anymore. Katsuki isn’t wrong. Izuku does flirt—subtly, unconsciously, without meaning to. He gives warmth easily. He crosses lines without realizing there were lines to begin with. And in doing so, he gave Katsuki hope without ever meaning to.
The realization sits heavy in his chest.
Kacchan was hurting, he thinks, guilt twisting painfully through him. And I didn’t even notice.
The worst part is that Katsuki is the most important person in his life—aside from his mother and All Might. That’s never been a question. Katsuki has always been there, even when things were ugly, even when they were both broken kids learning how to survive. No one knows him the way Katsuki does. No one ever has.
Izuku laughs weakly to himself. “Of course it’s you,” he murmurs into the empty room.
He would do anything for Katsuki. He always has. The thought comes so easily it almost scares him.
Izuku boxed their relationship into something safe. Something defined. Best friends. Because that was all he ever wanted, being close to Katsuki without risking losing him. And when they finally reached that place, when the title fit and the distance closed, Izuku stopped looking any further.
He never noticed when things shifted.
He never questioned why Katsuki was the first person he texted when something good or terrible happened. Why he instinctively reached for Katsuki’s hand during patrol briefings. Why Katsuki’s approval mattered more than anyone else’s.
He thought it was normal.
He thought it was friendship.
Now, sitting alone in the quiet, Izuku realizes how badly he misunderstood the depth of what Katsuki was giving him and how carelessly he accepted it.
And for the first time, he wonders if Katsuki was right all along.
Izuku exhales shakily, staring at the dark reflection in his window, knowing that nothing between them will ever be the same again.
Izuku knows he can’t figure this out on his own.
He never has been good at making clear, confident decisions when it comes to emotions, especially not about love. Give him a battle plan, a lesson outline, a crisis to solve, and he’ll manage just fine. But feelings? Relationships? He overthinks until everything blurs together.
That’s why things with Ochaco never worked out, even when they tried. They cared about each other, genuinely, but something had always been missing. Maybe it was timing or direction. Or maybe Izuku had already given the most important parts of himself to someone else without realizing it.
Ochaco.
The thought comes gently, without bitterness.
If anyone could help him make sense of this mess, it’s her. She’s always been honest with him—kind, but never sugarcoating the truth. And more than that, she knows Katsuki too. She’s seen them together. She’s seen what Izuku has been blind to.
Izuku reaches for his phone, hands still slightly unsteady, and opens their chat.
[To: Ochaco]
> hey, ochaco-chan!!
> are u still awake?
The reply comes almost immediately.
< yup! not really that drunk
< are you bothered by earlier event?
Izuku huffs out a quiet laugh, rubbing his face.
> heh 😅 how did you guess
< i know you enough, deku-kun!
< you wanna talk about it?
> i do
> can we meet tomorrow?
< of course!
< i’m free at lunch only! i’ll go to your class!
> thank you so much, ochaco-chan
< anytime!
Izuku sets his phone down, staring at the ceiling as the room sinks back into silence.
But sleep doesn’t come.
No matter how many times he closes his eyes, Katsuki’s voice cuts through the dark—raw, angry, and vulnerable.. Every word replays itself over and over, digging deeper each time.
I thought I was special.
Izuku turns onto his side, clutching his pillow like it might ground him. He thinks about Katsuki laughing with him, fighting beside him, standing at his back without question. About the way Katsuki always stays.
He wonders how long Katsuki has been carrying this alone.
And finally, Izuku falls asleep with Katsuki’s name lingering in his thoughts.
When he wakes up he can feel the hangover already, he goes up feeling groggy and takes a pill to wash his dizziness away, he still has class to attend anyway.
By the time his class ends for an afternoon break, he meets Ochaco in the school cafeteria.
The school cafeteria is empty, leaving them a rare pocket of quiet in a corner booth. Izuku tracks the condensation sliding down his green tea bottle, his fingers mindlessly tearing at the edge of his sandwich wrapper. Across from him, Ochaco watches quietly, her own bento half-eaten.
"You're going to burn a hole through the table if you keep staring at it like that, Deku-kun," she says softly, her voice carrying a wry but warm edge.
Izuku flinches, pulling his hand away from the wrapper. "Ah! Sorry, Ochaco-chan. I’m just… my head is still spinning from last night. I haven't slept at all."
"I figured," she replies, setting her chopsticks down. She leans forward, resting her chin on her hands. "Kirishima texted me this morning. He said Bakugou woke up furious, threatened to blast anyone who mentioned the party, and immediately went out on a solo containment patrol. So… yeah. It sounds like everyone is feeling the aftershocks."
Izuku groans, burying his face in his hands. "I feel terrible. I feel like the worst friend in the world. Kacchan was sitting there, carrying all of that for years… thinking we were in a… a situationship… and I just—I was completely oblivious. I told him we were just catching up, Ochaco-chan! I literally told him I was just embarrassed because I get that way with everyone!"
"And how did he look when you told him that?"
Izuku drops his hands, looking at her miserably. "Like I’d kicked him. Like I was deliberately playing with his feelings." He shakes his head, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. "But I swear I wasn't! I thought we were just closer now. I thought the late-night texts and the rooftop visits were just… what we did."
Ochaco sighs, a gentle, understanding smile touching her lips. "Deku-kun. Look at me."
He raises his eyes, meeting her steady, round gaze.
"Do you remember months ago? When we finally sat down and tried to talk about… us?" she asks quietly.
Izuku blinks, the memory pulling at him. It had been a quiet evening at a small diner, full of awkward pauses and heavy hearts. "Yeah. We… we decided it was better if we just stayed friends. We blamed it on the timing. The hero rankings, our agencies, how busy we both were…"
"That was a lie we told ourselves to make it hurt less," Ochaco interrupts gently, though there’s no bitterness in her eyes. "Timing wasn't the problem, Deku-kun. We weren't the problem. You cared about me, and I cared about you. But even back then, when we held hands or tried to go on a proper date… something was missing."
Izuku swallows hard, his throat tight. "Ochaco-chan, I’m sorry. If I didn't try hard enough—"
"Stop," she says softly, reaching across the table to lightly tap his knuckles. "You tried so hard. That was the giveaway. Romance shouldn't feel like you’re forcing yourself to study for an exam you aren't ready for. You were trying to give me a version of yourself that you didn't actually own anymore."
Izuku stares at her, completely frozen. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, the most important parts of you—the parts that stay up until three in the morning just to hear a phone buzz, the parts that look for safety in the middle of a war zone—you’ve already given those away," she says, her voice incredibly tender. "You boxed Bakugou into this safe little room labeled 'best friend' because you were terrified that if you let him out, you’d lose him. But Deku-kun… you don't look at any of your other friends the way you look at him."
"I… I don't?" Izuku whispers, his voice trembling.
"No," Ochaco says, a small, knowing laugh escaping her. "When you talk to me, or Todoroki, or Iida, you're the number four hero. You're steady, you're professional, you're Deku. But the second Bakugou walks into the room? You brighten up like a kid who just saw All Might for the first time. You listen to his breathing on patrol. You memorize his schedule. You unconsciously match his stride when you walk down the street."
She leans back, letting out a soft exhale.
"Bakugou was right last night, even if he was too drunk to say it properly," she continues. "You do flirt with him like it’s as easy as breathing. You give him a type of warmth you don't give anyone else, and then you call it 'friendship' because it’s safer that way. But it’s not fair to him, Deku-kun. And honestly? It’s not fair to you, either."
The cafeteria is entirely silent now. Izuku looks down at his hands, his heart hammering against his ribs. The pieces of the last eight years—the finished suit, the shared glances, the terrifying panic he felt every time Katsuki got hurt, suddenly shift into a terrifyingly clear picture.
I thought you knew. Katsuki's broken voice echoes in his mind.
"He’s miserable because he thinks he's the only one standing in that room," Ochaco says softly, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Are you going to leave him there by himself?"
Izuku wipes a stray tear from his cheek, a sudden, fierce determination grounding the panic in his chest. He looks up at Ochaco, his eyes shining.
"No," Izuku says, his voice small but steady. "No way in hell."
Ochaco smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Then stop eating that terrible sandwich, get out of here, and go find your partner."
The afternoon air is biting at this altitude, the wind whipping past Izuku’s face as the thrusters of the armor hum a steady, rhythmic vibration beneath his skin. The city spreads out below him in a blur of concrete and glass, but his eyes are fixed entirely on the localized tracking grid flickering across his visor.
A bright crimson dot pulses three blocks ahead, moving with an aggressive, erratic speed. Katsuki.
Izuku drops down, cutting his momentum just enough to land heavily on the gravel-lined rooftop of an abandoned warehouse. The sound of his landing is instantly swallowed by a sharp, cracking boom as Katsuki blasts himself into the air from the alley below, landing on the opposite side of the roof.
Katsuki turns, his chest heaving, palms still smoking. His eyes are shot with red, his jaw clamped so tight the muscle feathers against his cheek. When he sees the green accents of Izuku’s suit—the suit Katsuki spent nearly a decade pouring his own blood, sweat, and money into building—his expression twists into something ugly, defensive, and deeply mortified.
"Get the fuck out of here, Deku," Katsuki snarls, his voice raw. He turns his back instantly, his shoulders hunching up as if trying to shield himself. "I told the agency I'm handling this sector alone. I don't need a babysitter, and I damn sure don't need you."
"Kacchan, wait—"
"I said back off!" Katsuki whips around, small sparks exploding from his right hand, though he keeps it pointed firmly at the concrete. "I was wasted last night. I said a bunch of stupid, incoherent shit because the extras kept pushing it. It didn't mean anything. Forget it, let it go, and leave me the hell alone."
"I'm not leaving," Izuku says. His voice drops the frantic edge it usually has, replaced by a quiet, grounding weight. He takes a deliberate step forward, his heavy boots clicking against the gravel. "And it wasn't incoherent. I remember every single word you said, Kacchan."
Katsuki flinches. A flicker of pure, unadulterated vulnerability breaks through his glare before he fiercely masks it with fury. "Then you should know better than to come out here and rub it in my face! I get it, okay? I grew up, I learned how to swallow my own shit, and I slipped up. You made it clear yesterday—we're 'catching up.' You're just like that with everyone. I fucking get it."
"It's not how I am with everyone," Izuku shouts, the force of his voice finally cutting through the howling wind.
Katsuki freezes, his shoulders tensing.
"I talked to Ochaco-chan today," Izuku says, taking another slow step closer, his hands dropping to his sides, completely open. He doesn't want to look like a threat, he wants to look transparent. "We talked about why things never worked out between us. And she told me that I’ve been giving away the most important parts of myself for years, calling it 'friendship' because I was too terrified to name it anything else."
Katsuki’s breath hitches, but he keeps his eyes locked on the gravel, refusing to meet Izuku's gaze. "Don't do this, Deku. Don't come here to pity me."
"It's not pity!" Izuku’s voice cracks, tears finally spilling over his flushed cheeks. "You asked how you were supposed to know you were special if I'm warm to everyone. You said you thought you were building something after the war, and that you were the only one standing in that room."
Izuku closes the remaining distance slowly, giving Katsuki every opportunity to blast away, to leave, to yell. But Katsuki stays rooted to the spot, his breathing shallow. Izuku stops just a foot away from Katsuki's rigid frame.
"You weren't alone in that room, Kacchan," Izuku whispers, his voice trembling but fiercely certain. "I was right there with you the whole time. I was just too dense, and too scared of losing my best friend, to realize that the room we built was the thing I wanted most. I don't send good morning texts to Todoroki-kun. I don't sit on Iida's roof at two in the morning because I just need to see his face to feel safe. I do those things because it's you. It has always been you."
Silence settles over the roof, long and heavy, broken only by the distant sound of city traffic below.
Katsuki slowly raises his head. His crimson eyes are glossy, searching Izuku's face with a desperate, quiet intensity, looking for any sign of a lie, any sign of a cruel joke. His mouth parts slightly, the hard, defensive shell he’d spent eight years building finally fracturing down the center.
"You're a fucking idiot," Katsuki muttered, though the anger was entirely gone, replaced by a thick, heavy ache. "A complete, oblivious nerd."
"I know," Izuku manages a small, watery smile. He steps directly into Katsuki's space until their chest plates practically touch. He reaches out, his gloved hand trembling slightly as he gently rests it against the side of Katsuki's gauntlet. "But I'm here now. And I'm not boxing this up anymore."
Katsuki looks down at Izuku’s hand. For a long second, he doesn't move, and Izuku holds his breath, wondering if he's pushed too far.
Then, slowly, Katsuki's fingers twitch. He turns his palm upward, letting their fingers lace together—a tight, grounding grip that had been eight years in the making. He pulls Izuku just a fraction of an inch closer, burying his face into the crook of Izuku's armored shoulder with a long, shuddering exhale.
The wind continues to howl around the rooftop, but for the first time in nearly a decade, the silence between them doesn't feel heavy anymore. It feels like coming home.