Chapter Text
The silence is tense.
Katsuki sits on the couch, shuffling his socked feet against the carpet.
There’s a wide rift between him and his parents, and he feels like they’re worlds apart.
But it’s still not enough. He hates this.
Both of them were informed of the situation. Of course they were—UA doesn’t have the right to keep major medical documentation from them, given that they are his legal guardians.
They know everything, and there’s nothing that Katsuki could’ve done to prevent it.
He wants to run.
He grips the armrest tighter.
His mother says, “I’m sorry, Katsuki,” and he wants to yell.
It’s not because he thinks that her words aren’t sincere—he believes they are, but it’s the fact that he’s been through this conversation countless times before, and he doesn’t think he can take another moment.
He needs a change. He needs a change, he needs a change.
So he makes it happen.
“I don’t hear another damn word of that!” he blurts out, and he sees his mother flinch back slightly. His father, too, from beside her.
“I’ve heard enough! You’ve said it enough! The damage has been done, and I hate everything, and I don’t fucking want to talk about it. There’s nothing to discuss when it comes to you two.”
There’s a dead silence for a good twenty seconds, as he tries to collect himself. As he tries to pretend he’s not falling apart in front of two people who are supposed to be there for him, and in the middle of their living room, a place he’s supposed to consider his home.
They can’t fix anything that’s already happened, and he doesn’t owe them his time. He wants to leave. He wants to be anywhere but here, and yet, he forces himself to stay seated, barely restraining himself.
He forces himself to stay sane, as difficult as it may be.
“...you could’ve told us the truth at any time,” his mother says, her voice barely above a whisper. “You could’ve changed our minds, told us that we were wrong.”
“Have you ever considered that I didn’t want you to get involved?” Katsuki asks, his fists clenched. “Have you ever considered what I ever wanted at all? I don’t know why it’s so damn difficult to understand. I don’t trust you. I don’t want your help. And that holds true for anything and everything that happens. This is no exception, whether the circumstance is severe or not. You don’t have my trust.”
His mother has this scrunched-up expression on her face. This is what it takes, then. This is what it takes to make her sad rather than angry. Katsuki hates it—it doesn’t feel like a victory to him. The entire process has drained him so much that no reaction from his parents could ever be worth the price he had to pay to receive it.
His father speaks up next. His voice is dense with emotion.“Please, Kats. We’re so sorry. God… we didn’t know we were handling this that wrong.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that you screwed up majorly. It doesn’t revoke all of those years of you being lenient, of you letting—”, Katsuki gestures vaguely at his mother, “—her have the final say. You’ve never contributed anything. You never took action. Grow a damn backbone; step up and take action!”
His father promptly shuts up at that, and Katsuki feels like shit, but he’s fighting for his rights, and doing that is going to require being firm in his statements. He cannot be nice, and he cannot relent. He can’t be forgiving, if he’s going to do it correctly.
“Both of you have fucked up irreversibly. Listen to me the first time I say things. Don’t make assumptions. Don’t try to speak over me when I’m trying to tell you something. If I’m even willing to tell you.”
It almost sounds like his mother’s words. When she tells him not to argue back as she’s reprimanding him.
What goes around really does come around. Both his parents are finally silent for once, and Katsuki finds that his voice doesn’t shake, and that his mind isn’t clouded with anger.
So that’s what he was missing. He never needed to be louder, fiercer, and more violent than his mother. He never needed to try and overpower her.
He just needed her to be quiet.
He has always exactly what he wanted to say. He just needed his audience to listen.
The solution was right there. It was so simple.
He feels elated.
His parents stare at the ground, his mother’s face red and her eyes teary, and his father’s expression oddly blank, as if he’s still trying to fully absorb all of Katsuki’s words. But they’re both listening, and Katsuki can’t even find it in himself to be irritated anymore. He’s overjoyed. He’s so… he feels so amazing.
He feels relieved.
The silence is steady.
Katsuki sits on top of a desk—the one frontmost and center. The one closest to Aizawa.
The classroom is empty, save for the two of them.
Aizawa doesn’t prod. He doesn’t push for information, and he doesn’t expect anything. He simply leans against the podium, staring down at his shoes, and waits for Katsuki to speak.
Katsuki was the one who requested that they have a conversation, anyway.
He didn’t really think about what he wanted to say. He just knows that Aizawa was directly involved, and that he wants to make sure that this doesn’t remain as something the two of them never get closure for.
So he begins with the basics.
“I’m sorry for not telling you anything earlier,” Katsuki says, staring at his right hand. He fiddles with the sleeve of his school blazer. “And for the fact that you had to see that.”
Aizawa seems to consider this for a moment before responding.
“That wasn’t your responsibility. You were under no obligation to say anything to me, and it is not a fault on your part. It’s a fault on mine, Bakugou.”
Katsuki tilts his head curiously, not taking his eyes off his uniform. Aizawa’s not supposed to be apologizing. He didn’t do anything wrong. All he did was help, in the end.
But if he’s saying that about himself, then it must be for a good reason.
“How so?” Katsuki asks.
“In the sense that you felt you couldn’t trust me. I’m your teacher, and my job is to keep you safe. Regardless of how much knowledge I have, or how equipped I am to handle a situation, none of this matters if I can’t get you to trust me in the first place. I can’t help you if you don’t feel comfortable enough to seek my assistance.”
And that’s an interesting way to phrase it, because it still isn’t Aizawa’s fault for Katsuki’s lack of trust. His sensei has done more than enough to prove himself as someone to be relied on, and yet, Katsuki decided that he didn’t want any adults to help him. He decided that if his own parents, who raised him, weren’t sufficient, then no one else would be.
And he was wrong. Aizawa’s a pro-hero. He has experience. Of course he would listen, and of course he would understand. Katsuki had no reason to doubt him. He just couldn’t see past his own stubborn beliefs.
He laughs bitterly. “That’s not how it’s meant to go. You’re not meant to apologize. You shouldn’t even want to help me in the first place—why would you? I’m a damn brat, and I don’t deserve this sort of kindness from someone.”
He doesn’t deserve kindness that he was too foolish to accept.
Aizawa frowns in discontentment. “Bakugou. What makes you think that?”
“I push people away all the time. I’m defensive and rash. I yell at people without thinking twice, and I’m almost never in a good mood. You shouldn’t want to protect someone like me, when there are many others who could use the help.”
There’s a long pause.
“Just because I could do this for someone else doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve it too. You are not a brat, and you are not any of those terrible things you view yourself as. Those are shallow aspects, and they don’t constitute the entirety of you. If I truly thought you were a bad person, then you wouldn’t be in my class.”
“Then you should’ve kicked me out.”
“Kid,” Aizawa states. Katsuki tenses. “Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t try to paint yourself in a negative light. There’s a justification for your behaviors, isn’t there? Nobody is born with a set personality. I can’t hate you for something that isn’t your fault.”
Katsuki bites his lip at that, because this is one of the few things he’s always been uncertain of.
Whether or not he’s right to be the way he is. His mother tells him that he isn’t. His classmates accept him, though.
But no one has ever straight up told him that it was okay.
He sniffs a little. Aizawa shuffles over.
“You are not unlovable, and you are not undeserving. You may believe as you wish, but know that I stand by my choices, and I do not regret them. I care about you just as much as anyone else, and just because you’re tough to get to doesn’t mean that I’ll stop trying.”
And that’s all Katsuki needs to hear. That’s all he’s ever needed.
His hands twitch a little. He’s unsure of whether or not he should reach forward, but he thinks… he wants this. He knows he wants this.
Aizawa seems to read him well enough, though, because he swiftly places one hand on Katsuki’s shoulder, and Katsuki doesn’t hesitate to complete his action, wrapping both arms around his teacher.
He buries his face in soft cotton. It feels nice. Loving feels nice.
It fills an emptiness within him that he never even knew existed.
The silence is easygoing.
Who Izuku is, in relation to Katsuki, is a difficult question to answer.
Katsuki doesn’t want to think of him as a friend, because he doesn’t believe that the teen has fully earned the title. He doesn’t think he has earned the role of being a friend to Izuku, either.
He thinks they might have been friends, once. Back when they were just toddlers, and long before they ever received their quirks. Their mothers were close, and naturally, they knew each other from the very beginning.
It’s a weird concept to think about, because both of them have changed a lot since then.
But regardless of how many times Katsuki tells Izuku to stay away, or how many times he has tried to make him stay away, the nerd always comes back. Always. It’s the one constant Katsuki has in his life.
And he figures that maybe it really isn’t that bad, seeing him around. He thinks that maybe most of it was in his mind.
Izuku has never been anything short of kind. He’s always been selfless and timid, and even if he is quite a nuisance, he’s not a bad person. Katsuki doesn’t think he is, at least.
And he’s had a lot of time to think that over and come to a proper conclusion.
If he keeps holding a grudge, then he’ll be hurting nobody but himself. Katsuki’s going to be seeing the boy’s face for the next three years in UA.
If he doesn’t let go of his resentment now, he’ll be the only one suffering.
So he understands, he forgives, and he communicates. He sets boundaries and he reconciles.
It’s taken them a decade and a half to reach this point, but he thinks they finally have it down. He thinks that they’re finally doing it right, maybe.
There’s no such thing as perfection, but it’s an uphill battle.
Katsuki feels free. He feels liberated, and he feels like he understands Izuku better.
They could be friends once again, perhaps.
He doesn’t know whether this is considered ‘hanging out’. The type of stuff friends do?
But he looks to the side, and watches as Izuku takes a sip from his carbonated fruit drink. He rests his arms on top of the balcony railing.
Katsuki follows his gaze, glancing up at the stars.
“Bet you could name all the constellations if you tried, huh?” Katsuki jokes lightly. “Actually—forget I said anything. I don’t think I’m up for another brain-hurting session.”
Izuku laughs softly, giving Katsuki a lively smile, his eyes bright with the reflection of moonlight. “I don’t think I know that much about astronomy, Katsuki.”
There it is. His first name. Not Kacchan, but Katsuki. It still sounds unusual, coming from Izuku, but Katsuki prefers it over the childish moniker he was assigned in the past, without a say in whether or not he wanted to be called that. He feels happy.
He gives Izuku a good-natured nod in return. “You’ve still learned far more than I have. Space ain’t my thing.”
“Well… it’s interesting,” Izuku says, fiddling with the cap of his glass bottle. “Sometimes I pick up on things without even knowing it, and then I find that I can ramble on about it forever.”
“Hm. You just say anything that comes to mind, then,” Katsuki responds. “....Nerd.”
Izuku smiles softly, gazing outward at the city. The lights are always brightest late at night, and it’s beautiful. The ambiance is vaguely soothing. The air is also cooler, now that the sun isn’t out anymore.
Katsuki likes it. It’s refreshing. All of this is refreshing.
He’s spent so long trying to push Izuku away that he didn’t know how great it could be, if he had just tried to work things out rather than get rid of his problems. And the two of them are older now. They’re not children anymore, and they can make better choices. They get each other.
Things change with time.
And Katsuki feels at peace.