Work Text:
Four
“This one, this one!” Kacchan yanks at his dad’s sweater sleeve, pointing to a DVD case. “This one!”
“Easy, Katsuki,” Uncle Masaru says. He turns with a smile on his face. “Which one would you like to watch, Izuku?”
Izuku stares open-mouthed and wide-eyed at the big shelf of movies in the Bakugous’ living room. Kacchan is jumping up and down, stomping with both feet and yelling this one, finger leveled on a bright red plastic case.
Izuku can’t read the title. “That one, please,” he says with breathless excitement anyways, and points to the red case.
“Yes!” Kacchan shrieks. “Yeah—yeah! Hurry! I wanna watch it—”
“Shh, Katsuki. Gentle, you’ll burn my sweater, see? There we go.”
Izuku watches with fists curled into the hem of his t-shirt while Uncle Masaru puts in the DVD and adjusts the volume level. Then Kacchan is dragging him to the big sofa, and they’re climbing up, collapsing in a pile of giggles. Kacchan grips his arm, and his excitement would infect Izuku if Izuku weren’t already so excited! A whole movie about All Might! His favorite hero, and Kacchan, his favorite friend! Izuku can’t stop smiling. He can hardly see the screen, his eyes are so blurry.
Oh! There he is, there—All Might! Wow.
“The colors are so bright, Kacchan!” This isn’t like the video Izuku’s seen online; it’s so cool in a different way, and—
“Yeah, look—watch… boom!” Kacchan narrates, jabbing a hand out when All Might swoops forward to knock a big villain away. His palm sparks.
Sparks. Kacchan’s quirk arrived last week. When Izuku gets his, they’ll be an unstoppable duo.
“Boom!” Izuku echoes just like Kacchan.
“Smash!” Kacchan yells at the screen a minute later, standing up on the sofa cushion. “Did you see that? I’m gonna be even stronger when I’m a grown up.” The grin on his face is so sure. Kacchan’s amazing like that.
Izuku’s whole body is rocking back and forth with excitement, his eyes wide to take in everything. All Might races forward to scoop a woman out of the path of danger, and punches back a villain with ease, smiling as the dust settles.
Izuku’s heart pounds. It’s like looking right into their future.
Thirteen
“Katsuki, show Izuku your room. Inko and I haven’t properly caught up in ages, so don’t be a brat about it,” Auntie Mitsuki says.
Izuku digs his nails into his palms. He doesn’t point out that he’s seen Kacchan’s room before. A number of times, in fact.
“Fuckin’ hag,” Kacchan says under his breath but not very quietly. “Come on, Deku.”
“What did you say?!” Auntie shouts.
“Nothing! God.” Kacchan kicks at the edge of the carpet as he stomps out of the room, hands in his pockets.
Izuku watches his retreating back for a second too long, then kicks himself into motion and scurries after him.
“Kacchan’s room is upstairs, right?” he asks.
“No, idiot.”
Ah. Izuku could have sworn it was upstairs, right across the hall from his parents’ bedroom. But this is definitely Kacchan’s. Down here used to be the guest bedroom they weren’t allowed to play in.
The bed is made up with black and dark orange bedding, and blackout curtains cover most of the windows. There’s workout equipment stacked in the corner—dumbbells that Kacchan can probably lift because he’s got strong arms. His desk is clean, just his school bag leaned against the side and his computer set up on top. Kacchan’s own personal laptop computer.
Izuku picks at the dry skin of his lip. “Kacchan’s room is so cool.”
It makes Kacchan’s ears turn red for some reason, and he whips around to glare at Izuku. “Don’t touch my stuff, got it?”
Izuku nods. “Of course not!” He tries to eke out a smile. “I’ll… I’ll stay over here.” Should he avoid sitting anywhere?
“Don’t just stand there,” Kacchan grumbles.
“Right!”
“Let’s—watch a movie or something,” Kacchan says after a lot of uncomfortable silence, and a lot of shuffling around on Izuku’s part. Ah, yeah—Kacchan probably wants to watch something so they don’t have to talk. Or look at each other.
They sit on the floor in front of his bed. Izuku keeps a polite and appropriate distance after a little slip up where he got too close on accident and upset Kacchan. He just wanted to see the movie options on the computer screen. Kacchan picks the movie, then nudges the computer out in front of them with his foot.
Oh—it’s Izuku’s favorite. His all-time favorite! All Might Returns. The third one in the original franchise series, the best by far!
“Kacchan!” he says, scooting closer and beaming. “Is this one your favorite too?”
Kacchan jerks away, face turning a mottled red. “Hah?” He wrinkles his nose. “I—I barely even like this one.”
Izuku sags.
Kacchan sure watches with rapt attention, though, for someone who barely even likes the movie. Izuku sneaks a glance every so often—as much as he can bear to look away from All Might on the screen. Kacchan’s eyes get big and soft when he’s watching like this. When he doesn’t know Izuku is paying attention to him. His whole body relaxes after a few minutes. Maybe re-watching something he likes is soothing to Kacchan too?
The plot is still engaging the fiftieth time, and Izuku can never help the excited thumping it sets off in his chest. That’ll be him, one day. Him and Kacchan. Heroes, like All Might. Kacchan’s quirk is strong and he’s confident and fearless, and Izuku… Izuku is determined. He’ll do it too. Be as good as Kacchan.
Things are fine until Izuku messes up again. He looks sideways for too long, and Kacchan sees from the corner of his eye and tenses and jerks in place. An angry flush spreads under his skin, visible even in the dim room. He yells something about watching the damn movie instead of being a freak, and learning how to be less useless.
Izuku hugs his knees and turns back to All Might on the screen, his body strangely warm.
Seventeen
Kacchan isn’t touching him. He’s at that distance where he could be in just an instant, an inch. But he’s not.
Izuku’s heart is close under his ribs, his skin—right below the surface.
“I am here,” crackles out of his laptop speakers, but it’s nothing more than distant background noise, somehow. Too many things fight for Izuku’s attention.
Kacchan shifts. He smells good. He’s warm.
And Izuku’s hands itch to touch him. It would be easy to lift up his arm and wrap it around Kacchan and pull him in, or to lean in and rest his head on Kacchan’s shoulder. He’s on the side of his undamaged arm, anyways. Izuku peeks at Kacchan. His features are softened by the dimness and washed blue in the glow of the screen. Pretty—he’s so pretty. Izuku swallows and looks away. Looks back.
Oh. Kacchan’s staring at him. His eyes snap to the screen when Izuku catches him, and Izuku can’t be imagining the blush that creeps down his neck, right? Is Kacchan blushing because of him? He holds himself so stiffly, color seeping into his ears and cheeks, eyes fixed on Izuku’s laptop.
Izuku swallows with more difficulty this time. His hands tremble as he reaches out, but Kacchan doesn’t shy away. He keeps his arm relaxed as Izuku scoops his hand up off his lap and cradles it between both of his own.
Izuku’s circulation is bad, so his extremities are always cold, even though his palms are sweating a lot right now. But Kacchan’s hand is really warm.
It twitches, and Izuku almost withdraws in a panic, but all that happens is a pivot, and then fingers curl around Izuku’s. It’s a clumsy grip, their fingers slotting in the wrong spaces for a second before they both adjust.
Kacchan’s face is even redder now. He’s looking at the screen like he’s not seeing it.
Izuku squeezes his hand, and Kacchan squeezes back. His other hand—the injured one—is tucked against his side where it still rests in the sling.
“Kacchan?” Izuku whispers.
“Hm?”
Izuku plants one hand on the bed to lift himself, scoot a few inches closer. He’s about to vibrate out of his own skin, but—it would be nice to put his arm around Kacchan while they watch the movie. Kacchan’s so…holdable.
A rush of shrill beeping startles them apart.
“Fuck—it—this stupid fuckin’ thing—” Kacchan tries to use his elbow to tug at the heartrate monitor strapped around his chest and hidden away under his tank top. Oh, his face is so blotchy and his lips are wobbling. He must be embarrassed.
“Sorry,” Izuku begins in a tumble of words. “Sorry, Kacchan, I’m—I didn’t mean to startle you—”
“You didn’t startle me,” he insists. He pulls his good hand out of Izuku’s to struggle under his shirt and unclip the band. “Fuck. Damn it.” It stops beeping when it’s away from his heart and tossed over onto a pillow a few feet away. Kacchan drags his hand through his hair and rubs it over his face. His throat works when he swallows.
“It’s okay,” Izuku says. “Or? Ah… Is it okay for Kacchan to take off the heart monitor? It might not be sa—”
“It’s fine, Izuku.” Quiet and sure. “I’ll put it back on later.”
“Okay.” Izuku’s cold, abandoned hand twitches on the bedspread. He reaches out again, and this time Kacchan meets him halfway.
He leans into it too when Izuku uses the grip to tug Kacchan against his side and drape an arm around him. The sweet musk of Kacchan’s shampoo fills his nose, and his soft cheek nestles against Izuku’s shoulder, a sigh leaving him. His cheek is burning hot even through Izuku’s t-shirt, and Izuku squeezes tighter at his shoulders like maybe it will ease his mind.
The movie is still playing. How are they already on the chase scene through the city? That’s at least ten minutes past the last thing he remembers watching.
Really, Izuku could kiss him. Tilt Kacchan’s face so he has to look at him, then close his eyes and put their mouths together. He chews the inside of his cheek. His whole body is twitchy. He wants to kiss Kacchan so bad. His hand shakes when he brings it to Kacchan’s face, rigid, awkwardly angled to cup his cheek while they’re side-by-side.
Izuku chickens out at the last second, seeing how Kacchan’s eyes go wide and panicky. His lips glance off the corner of his mouth, and he presses them to Kacchan’s cheek instead, pulse hammering.
“Sorry,” Izuku mumbles.
Kacchan swallows. “Don’t be.” His hand balls up in the fabric of Izuku’s shirt and stays there.
Thirty-two
Izuku kisses the corner of Kacchan’s mouth, smiling against his skin.
Kacchan hums. His eyes are still open. It’s something of a miracle. Although not for this one, really—he doesn’t fall asleep during their favorite unless he’s very, very tired.
But his eyes are sleepy now, chest and stomach rising and falling at a slow pace under their clasped hands. Izuku relaxes back into the couch, noses into the nape of Kacchan’s neck and closes his eyes. He doesn’t need to see the screen.
“I won’t let you harm these innocent citizens,” he mumbles against soft skin.
Kacchan’s laugh is breathy, just through his nose. “Not as long as I can still stand and fight.”
Izuku smiles, squeezes where his hand is molded over the back of Kacchan’s. There’s an answering squeeze, then Kacchan presses back firmer against Izuku’s chest until Izuku gives him what he wants and drags him in by the waist, hugging tighter for a few long seconds. He goes limp, and his toes curl where they rest tucked next to Izuku’s ankle.
They mumble the next line of dialogue under their breath together, and Kacchan trails off into humming the score.
The scene changes, brighter light washing over their living room. It shouldn’t give Izuku the twinge of adrenaline it does, not after watching it over 300 times. And yet. As All Might’s head lifts and he looks up and out from the screen, burning intensity in his eyes, Izuku’s blood pumps faster.
Kacchan lies still against him, but not with drowsiness. His breathing is shallower. When Izuku finally manages to glance away from the screen, Kacchan’s eyes are locked in on it.
They always wanted this. The adrenaline, the victory, the chance to help and save and uplift. However roundabout and long the paths were, neither of them were ever ones to give up. Kacchan’s gauntlets lie on the coffee table, still dusty from today and waiting to be polished and put away. Right beside Izuku's crumpled cape that's in dire need of washing.
After the movie, though.
Seventy-six
Izuku knows before he sits down on the couch that Kacchan’s going to make fun of him. He grips at the cushioned arm with his left hand, right still clutching the rubbery handle of his walking cane, and lowers himself down with a heavy sigh.
“You and your old man noises,” Kacchan says, far too loud. “Every time you get up and down and sit up and lay back.”
Izuku reaches over. His fingers fumble for a few seconds with the tiny button of Kacchan’s hearing aid—his knuckles get swollen and stiff when it’s cold out—before he clicks it up. “You make the same noises, Kacchan.”
“Like hell I do,” Kacchan grumbles at a normal volume. He messes with the other ear. He must have forgotten he turned them down earlier. “Here.”
The cup Kacchan passes him is warm on his hands, and he smiles at the feeling.
Kacchan’s leaning forward with a groan to pick up his own cup off of the coffee table, then sagging back against the couch. He takes a careful sip of tea. Izuku holds on to his to let more of the heat seep into his aching fingers.
But Kacchan is watching from the corner of his eye, waiting. He won’t ask Izuku to put the tea down—of course not—but he’s waiting. When Izuku sets it on the side table, shaky but without any spills, Kacchan shifts over. He moves under Izuku’s arm that raises to accommodate him, and curls up against his side. His sigh of relief when Izuku holds him closer is a soft, pleased sound that hasn’t changed since they were teenagers.
His head finds its usual place on Izuku’s shoulder, and he reaches for Izuku's free hand to hold. He plays with his fingers, strokes the bony, protruding knuckles and ropy scars like he loves them as much as the person they’re etched into.
“Mm.” Izuku presses a kiss into his white hair. He’s still got hair—Kacchan is amazing like that. He and Shouto knit hats for Izuku to cover the growing expanse of his baldness. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
Izuku strains for the remote on the end table, and passes it to Kacchan to press the buttons.
The audio of the opening theme is tinny and grainy. The title sequence is pixelated, too. It never seemed like it was when Izuku was little, but it had been the least of his concerns. It’s impossible to actually care about video and audio quality when All Might appears on screen, striking in his Golden Age suit, smile blinding. Every hair on Izuku’s body raises, and blood races faster through his now-sluggish body. Kacchan strokes the back of his hand. Izuku tightens the arm he has around him, and rubs his thumb in slow circles against his bare shoulder. It’s dotted all over with goosebumps.
It’s not until the end of the third action sequence that Kacchan speaks. His voice is quiet but steady and sure. “I miss him.”
Izuku’s throat constricts. He closes his eyes, breathes. “Yeah. Me too.”
It’s hard watching these movies sometimes. They’re twisted up with everything—all of Izuku’s past, every emotion he’s processed and lived through since his earliest memories. This one especially. All Might Returns always reminds Izuku of Kacchan.
At least with all the movies about him, Izuku will never forget All Might’s heroic smile, or the exact sound of that laugh. But it’s what’s not in the movies that matters to Izuku. The parts that weren’t caught on tape, only recorded in the recesses of his fallible, human memory—those are what shaped him.
All Might telling him he could be a hero. Teaching, guiding. Saying Midoriya-shounen in that deep, gentle voice. Pulling a trembling Kacchan into a hug that night at Ground Beta. Going into battle beside them. Protecting, saving, being saved. Giving Izuku his dream more than once. Speaking words that made Kacchan’s chin wobble and his eyes wet and his face break into the loveliest smile Izuku knows. Hugging both of them at their wedding. Moving into the little house close by theirs when he got too frail to do the stairs in his old place. Walking with Kacchan on Sunday mornings in the park. Giving Izuku a birthday present every year. Coming to dinner. Signing their trading cards. Asking them to sign his.
Kacchan squeezes his hand, and Izuku startles. It’s his favorite scene.
Kacchan’s eyes are heavy on him throughout it—not watching the movie but watching Izuku. He doesn’t look away when Izuku catches him. Long past shyness, he only smiles and readjusts his head on Izuku’s shoulder.
“Play with my hair?” he requests when the ending credits roll. He heaves his legs up and shuffles around with slow progress to lay his head in Izuku’s lap.
Izuku smiles down at him. His Kacchan.
His hair is downy and thinning between Izuku’s fingers, and he hums another pleased sound when Izuku scritches at his scalp.
“We had more time with him than either of us ever could’ve hoped for, huh?”
“Mhm.”
“More time with each other, too.”
Not much longer, Izuku knows. They both know. But the years of pro heroes are often numbered to begin with. Kacchan’s eyes are so pretty when he blinks up at Izuku. “I said for the rest of our lives. Meant it, damn it.”
Izuku’s eyes gloss over with tears. He almost chokes on a breathless laugh when his love for Kacchan comes swelling up his throat. “Yeah—yes, Kacchan. Let’s enjoy it, hm?”