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“If you don’t hit me back, I’m going to kill you.” The threat is a ragged, wet sound, stripped of its usual arrogance.
Katsuki Bakugo is shaking. He isn’t shaking from the cold of the midnight air at Ground Beta, nor from the exertion of the brawl; he is vibrating with a frequency that threatens to shatter his own ribs. He stands in the center of the simulated city, chest heaving, eyes bloodshot and wide, staring at Izuku Midoriya with a look of absolute, terrifying fragility. Izuku freezes. He has never seen Katsuki like this. The blonde’s posture is jagged, his shoulders hunched as if he’ tượng bracing for a blow that has already landed.
Then, the sound breaks—a choked, guttural sob that rips through Katsuki’s throat, sounding more like a wound opening than a human noise.
“It’s my fault!” Katsuki screams, the sound echoing off the concrete shells of the fake skyscrapers. He isn't just shouting; he is purging. He collapses to his knees, not in submission, but under the sheer weight of a vault that has finally burst open. “The retirement! The end of it! It happened because of *me*! I was the one they took! I was the weak link that let them in!”
The guilt is a physical entity, a suffocating shroud that makes Katsuki’s skin flush a hot, angry crimson. He looks at Izuku, and for the first time, there is no pride left—only the raw, exposed nerve of a boy who believes he broke the world's greatest hero.
“Fight me!” Katsuki roars, lunging forward. He doesn't use a massive blast; instead, he slams his palms into Izuku’s chest, the impact a dull thud that knocks the wind out of Izuku’s lungs. “Fight me, you damn nerd! Do it!”
Izuku feels the heat radiating off Katsuki—not just the quirk, but a feverish, desperate need to be seen. He realizes that for Katsuki, words are a foreign language, but violence is a conversation. To refuse to fight is to tell Katsuki that his pain isn't real. Izuku’s eyes harden. He doesn't hold back. He pivots his weight, driving his heel into the concrete and launching himself forward. He catches Katsuki in a sweeping tackle, the two of them slamming into a brick wall with a bone-jarring crash.
They scramble, a blur of green electricity and orange sparks. It is a brutal, visceral exchange—the scent of burnt ozone and sweat filling the air. Katsuki lets out a strangled yell, his palms detonating in a series of rapid-fire pops—kablooey—that send them both spinning backward. They trade blows that leave bruises the color of midnight, their breathing becoming synchronized, heavy and wet, lungs burning like stoked furnaces.
Finally, they collapse. The energy spends itself, leaving them depleted. Izuku ends up sprawled atop Katsuki, his chest heaving against the other boy’s ribs. He can feel Katsuki’s heart hammering like a trapped bird against his own sternum.
The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by the distant sound of the wind. It feels like a fragile ecosystem, something as intricate as the structure of a bird's wing—where every barb and tiny barbule must lock together perfectly to create lift. If one hook fails, the whole wing collapses. For years, Katsuki had been trying to fly on a broken wing of guilt.
"That is enough," a voice booms, though it is softer than usual. All Might stands at the edge of the crater, his sunken eyes reflecting the moonlight. He doesn't scold them. He walks forward, his presence a grounding force. "Young Bakugo," All Might says, his voice resonating in the quiet. "The burden of a hero is not to carry the world alone, nor is it to punish oneself for the cruelty of villains. You were a victim, not a catalyst. My retirement was a destiny, not a consequence of your kidnapping."
The tension snaps. Katsuki’s body goes slack beneath Izuku, a long, shuddering exhale escaping his lips. The vault is empty; the secret weight is gone. Izuku shifts, pushing himself up. He crawls slowly, his muscles aching, until his face is inches from Katsuki’s. He sees the tear tracks on the blonde’s cheeks, the exhaustion, and the sudden, quiet peace. Gently, Izuku leans in and presses a light, lingering kiss to Katsuki’s cheek. Katsuki doesn't pull away. He just closes his eyes and lets the darkness take them both.