Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Izuku!” Kacchan’s voice cleaves through his focus, as sharp and immediate as the stab of Danger Sense. ”There she is!”

He twists, heels skidding across the concrete. Windsplicer, villain with a quirk that allows her to shoot bursts of air that can cut through solid stone. She aims a blast at the ground, dust filling the street between them. 

Kacchan curses. “Slippery motherfucker! Come out and fight us for real!”

A shot cleaves past Izuku’s side. He yelps, side-stepping with an electric prod from Danger Sense. The ground behind him bursts, asphalt and cement skittering across the street. He glances back, finding the sewage line and the natural gas line he’d marked on their prep map totally exposed. “Careful!” he shouts. “There’s a utility line behind us; it’s unburied!”

“Of course you fuckin’ remember that.” Kacchan readjusts his gauntlet, searching the cloud of debris. “Where the fuck is she?”

The dust clears. There. Her hand is raised, eyes darting between them, before locking on Kacchan.

When she swings her arm, the angle is obvious. 

Izuku’s body dives, body-checking Kacchan and shoving him out of the way, his heart throbbing in his skull. Terrible decision, he thinks distantly, in the analytic part of his brain. That part is not in control in these sorts of circumstances, though; it never is. 

The burst deftly shoots past his shoulder, clearing him by a good half-meter.

Confusion blooms. That was meant for Kacchan. She has good aim, as evident from the struggle she engaged in with Kamui Woods last week, where she’d easily pruned his extrusions. So that means either she misfired or Izuku miscalculated.

A crack groans behind him. He twists, mouth agape.

Wait, no— She was aiming for the wall?

“Deku!” Kacchan howls, climbing to his feet. “The fuck—?”

Concrete crumbles, cleaving in massive sheets as it starts to rain down. They have to get out right now. He takes a deep breath to prep for Gear Shift, fingers flexing. 

“Deku, where’d she fucking go?” Kacchan’s fists pop and—

“Kacchan, no!”

Heat flares against his side as the exposed natural gas line running under his heel ignites. 

Shit.

He makes it half a meter before the wall catches up with him.

He was hyperventilating at work again, standing awkwardly against the wall beneath the stairwell, clutching his backpack to his chest. Button eyes stared back at him from the unzipped sliver, plastic dull in the low light. Izuku ground his cheek into the rough canvas of the bag, blinking back tears.

“Izuku.”

Kacchan. 

“Couldn’t find you at the canteen and Half-and-Half says you just walked off. I grabbed those stupid— What’re you doing?”

He sniffled, rocking back and forth, shoulders tight. “H-hi, Kacchan.”

“You’re… Uh.” Kacchan’s eyes flit between his face and his backpack. “Are you…okay?”

Shit. Act normal. Act normal, you stupid piece of shit. It’s easy. You know who you are and where you are and what’s happening. Act. Normal. “I’m, um. J-just here.”

Kacchan frowned. 

That was not sufficiently normal. He tried again. “I am going to do the paperwork soon.”

Kacchan stopped frowning. He was giving him a very strange look now, though. 

Paperwork was a thing he did. Paperwork was important. Grown-ups do lots of paperwork, ergo he did lots of paperwork. It was a proven fact about grown-ups, a class that he occupied. He was twenty-seven. All grown up.

“Are you, uh…feeling weird?” Kacchan asked, stilted.

Izuku dug his fingers into his backpack. “No.” He was twenty-seven and Kacchan was his boyfriend.

(Boyfriend? Ew! Yuck.)

Kacchan started to reach his hand across the distance between them, but then seemed to think better of it, retracting. “Well, I’ve got lunch,” he said. “So we should eat. We got shift in forty minutes.”

“Lunch,” he echoed.

“Yeah. Got your favorite.”

“Ice cream?”

Kacchan closed his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them. “No.”

Well. Ice cream was Izuku’s favorite, so he wasn’t sure what Kacchan means by that, then. “‘Kay. Um. Thanks, Kacchan.”

“Sure.” Kacchan shifted, hesitating. That was a weird thing to see. Kacchan never hesitated. Kacchan was the most headstrong boy he knew. A perfect victor. “…Let’s go to the office to eat.”

“‘Kay.”

When Kacchan headed for the stairs, Izuku hugged his backpack tight and followed him up.

He groans, leaning away from the glove patting at his face. “G’way…”

“Izuku.”

His eyes slit open, stinging. “K’chan?”

“Yeah. It’s me.”

“Wh…?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that. Keep your eyes on me. Eyes open, Izuku. Right on me. Got it?”

When he tries to move, he finds himself stuck. “He p’me in the closet ‘gain?”

“No. No, you’re with me. Eyes on me.”

“K’chan.”

“Yeah. That’s me.”

He nods, his body incredibly heavy. “K’chan.”

“Oi. Eyes on me.”

He forces them open. “Always.”

“Must have been a concussion,” he said mildly, picking at his food.

Kacchan’s eyes narrowed. “A concussion.”

“Yeah.”

“You got a concussion, so you started throwing a temper tantrum when we walked by a playground.”

“I don’t remember throwing a temper tantrum.” He’d just wanted to go on the swings. He always wanted to go on the swings. He was scared of the swings, but he wanted to go on them. 

“You were yapping in my ear,” Kacchan said, stabbing his tofu and tearing it apart with both chopsticks. “Wah, Kacchan, let’s go on the swings! The other kids look like they’re having so much fun! Shit like that.”

He tensed. Forced himself to relax. 

Kacchan gave a pointed look at the snapped chopsticks in his hand.

“Spasm,” he offered. They did happen. 

Kacchan’s eyes narrowed.

“Um. A-anyways, yeah. I think I got a concussion from that hit I took in Naboo.”

“And you didn’t think to get it confirmed by the fuckin’ on-site medical staff?”

“I… No. I didn’t.”

Kacchan scowled. “Fucking moron. Fine. Lemme check—”

“That’s not necessary.” He ducked away from Kacchan’s reaching hand. “U-um. Actually, I’m really tired? I think I’m gonna head to bed.”

“Not with a concussion,” Kacchan pointed out.

“…Right. Um. I’m gonna watch some television? A-and, ah, er, try to relax.”

When he stood, Kacchan didn’t stop him. He shuffled awkwardly to his bed, grabbing the remote and turning on the television. The news played softly in the peripheral. 

“Your apartment is small as shit,” Kacchan commented.

“Ah. Well, it’s only me, so…”

“For now.”

His face flushed. “Right. Um. For now.”

“You seriously think you got a concussion?”

“Yeah,” he lied, eyes on the television. Four dead in Kamino. 

Kacchan grunted. Izuku heard dishes clatter. 

“You don’t need to do the dishes,” he called. 

“‘M not. Putting ‘em in the sink.”

“Oh. Okay! Thank you, Kacchan.”

“Whatever.” The fridge opened and shut. “You should let me do an assessment for concussion. I’m good at ‘em.”

“That’s fine! I’m fine, Kacchan. It’s, um. A minor one.”

“That made you want to check out the playground so bad that you started whining and stretching out my damn shirt with your tugging.”

“I-I think I was just, um. Confused? I was super confused, that’s all. Um. I’m really sorry about that, Kacchan.”

Kacchan turned, giving him a flat stare. He said nothing. 

“Are you done eating?” he asked, voice strained.

“Yeah.”

Izuku scooted further onto his bed, discreetly reaching under his pillow to fiddle with an age-softened ear. His heart settled. “W-well, then you should probably go home, Kacchan! I know you have an early shift, tomorrow.”

Kacchan grabbed the remote off the low table. He turned to a documentary about the ocean and settled beside Izuku on the bed, arms crossed.

“Oi. Izuku. Eyes on me.”

“On you,” he agrees, blinking rapidly. “K’chan.”

“Why the fuck did you shove me?” 

He stares dumbly, brain slowly clicking. It offers silence.

“Fucking hell, Izuku. After thirty years of this shit, you’d think I’d get a hint—”

“Thirty?” he echoes, aghast. That’s, like. A million years. 

“Yes,” Kacchan says tightly. “We’ve known each other since we were two. And you’ve been a self-sacrificial dumbass the entire time.”

“That’s— So long.” He sucks in a ragged breath, his lungs pinched. “O-ow. Ow. Um, Kacchan, my… M-my tummy hurts.” He lets his forehead fall into the dirt. 

“Hey! Eyes on me!”

He whines when a fist drags his head up by his hair. “Ow! Hurts, K’chan! Ow!”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve fucking done?” Kacchan seethes.

“N-no, I don’… Don’ know, Kacchan, ‘m scared, I—”

“Izuku.” Kacchan’s gloved hand is rough against his cheek. “Eyes. On. Me.”

He wasn’t stupid. He’d tried to stop this sort of stuff from happening. He had a good handle on it, most of the time, and was good at not letting people know when it happened. 

A mental “fugue state,” as someone once referred to it.

If that’s what it even was. Izuku knew, intellectually, that he was an adult. Even when he was having a weird episode, some part of him understood that he was not ten or six or twelve anymore. But then there was the rest of him. 

He’d told Kacchan about it early into their romantic relationship. Felt it was necessary to rip off the bandage. He’d known Kacchan almost his whole life, after all. They had no honeymoon phase to move past.

Kacchan had been… Well, he’d been strangely understated about the whole issue. Suspiciously so. Izuku wasn’t one to push back against acceptance, though, no matter the circumstances, so he left it. He tried not to be too much of a bother or let it interfere with their lives, and they continued on as any other adult couple of professionals did. 

For the most part, it wasn’t an issue. He had a stuffed animal in his backpack to mitigate anxiety and kept to himself when he could feel it coming on. The biggest issue was that he forgot he even had a quirk, usually. Or it would be an issue, if it were ever relevant. Thank everything good in the world that he’d never had one of these dissociative episodes in the middle of work.

“K’chan,” he wheezes. “K’chan, can’t feel m’ legs. Ka-acchan—!”

“Calm down,” Kacchan hisses, so close Izuku can taste his breath. Toothpaste and a hint of sweet on the edge. Canned coffee? Does Kacchan drink canned coffee? Izuku’s dad drinks coffee some mornings. It smells good, but when he tried it, it made him spit. Bitter. “Eyes on me. Keep your eyes on me.”

“Coffee’s icky.” He lets his cheek rest on the crunchy ground. It hurts but he can’t keep his neck up because that hurts worse. Everything hurts. “Y’drink coffee now, Kacchan?”

Kacchan gives him a weird look. Then: “No. You do.”

“Oh. ‘Kay.” He sags.

“Eyes open, damn it!”

He blinks, lashes fluttering. “Chichi drinks coffee.”

Kacchan curses. 

“Kacchan?”

“Yeah,” Kacchan bites out. “Your dad drinks coffee, huh?”

“Hot,” he clarifies. “Um, hot coffee. I tried it, but it tastes bad. I… H-hah, Kacchan, my legs hurt r’lly bad.”

“I know.” Kacchan leans down. He grabs Izuku’s hand and squeezes it. “I know. Just hold on. Pros are almost here. We’ll get you out.”

He perks up. “Pros? Like…?”

“Like Pro Heroes, yeah. EMTs. They’re gonna come fix you.”

“M-my bottom hurts really bad, Kacchan. I’m…” He sniffles. “I-it feels like Chichi…”

“Izuku.”

“Sorry.” Like his dad chewed him out. Did Papa chew him out? Did he do something bad again? 

“You didn’t,” Kacchan says. “You tried to do the right thing like you always do. Such a dumbass, fuck…”

He tries so hard not to do anything bad. He always fails. He always ends up doing something bad. His lower body hurts so badly, it must have been that. It must have been Papa. 

The solution is easy, then. He tucks himself as small as possible and keeps quiet. His breath squeals in his own ears, but there’s no much he can do with that. His nose is swollen and stuffy and his whole head hurts. 

“Izuku. Fucking keep your eyes on me!”

He looks up, neck twinging. “S-sorry.”

Kacchan’s back straightens. “Over here!” he yells. “Yeah—! Here, asshole! He’s right here!”

“Tests are coming back negative,” the doctor said. “Physiologically, there is nothing wrong with your brain. Nothing that a CAT scan can pick up at this stage, anyway.”

Izuku swung his legs under his chair, gnawing on his lower lip. “Okay.”

“Now, if you really are having these sorts of…fugue states, as you put them—limited memory, erratic behavior—that would be worth discussing with a staffed psychiatrist.”

“A psychiatrist,” he echoed.

“Yes. There may be something psychologically wrong with you, that medication may be able to correct. Like psychosis, for example.”

He stared at the doctor, gears slowly turning. Would he lose his license if he had psychosis? There was precedent in certain cases, such as Monsoon v Hero Commission, where the Pro was disbarred due to an inability to discern reality from delusion. Of course, that happened because Monsoon was having unregulated episodes at work. Whatever Izuku was dealing with did not happen when he was at work.

“Okay,” he said slowly. 

“I’ll write you a referral,” the doctor said. “From there, you’ll have an assessment. Then you and your treatment team will determine a plan.”

“And if it’s serious? I mean— Do you think it could be?”

“Well.” The doctor shrugged. “In my opinion—and I’m not a mental health professional—what you describe sounds like regular dissociation. It’s a common side effect of post-traumatic stress, which is not unusual among first responders. Therapy and medication should be able to manage it just fine.”

Oh thank fuck.

“There’s no shame in it,” the doctor said. “Like I said, it’s a common issue. I understand you’ve been referred to counseling before, after the war.”

He flinched. The feel of Tenko’s jaw unfurling over his arm—

No. Don’t think about it. He couldn’t think about it.

“Right. Um.” He stood. “Well, that’s… Good, I guess. Thank you for your time.”

“Of course, Midoriya-san. I hope you get this sorted out.”

He nodded and smiled, opening the door and slipping out.

Kacchan was waiting for him, past the receptionist. He stood as soon as their eyes met.“What’d the doctor say?”

“Inconclusive,” Izuku replied.

“Can you tell me the year?”

Izuku stares dumbly.

“Your street address,” the Pro then says. It’s... Marigold, the Assessment Hero. He’d written a rundown when Marigold broke into the field as a first responder, but really needs to update his notes. Marigold’s quirk allows—

“Izuku,” Kacchan snaps. “Address.”

“Five blocks from Kacchan,” he mumbles. He isn’t supposed to tell strangers his full address. 

“Your Hero ID?” the Pro asks.

“07550964001,” he replies.

The Pro nods, stepping past Kacchan. Kacchan just looks at Izuku with wide eyes.

“Do you know where you are?”

“Sorca Ward, on a mission w-with…with Dynamight and auxiliary staff from Endeavor Agency,” he sniffs, cringing when the Pro shifts some debris by his hip. “I— Ow! Kacchan! M-my tummy hurts really bad.”

Kacchan sinks onto his knees, grabbing his hands. “Like you’re gonna throw up?” he asks lowly. 

“Yeah,” Izuku whispers back, trying to match volume. “Like real pukies.”

Kacchan sighs, letting go of one hand to fit his fingers through Izuku’s matted hair, shifting his bangs back. “Just hang on.”

“How did you end up stuck like this?” Marigold asks.

“She shot a short burst of her quirk past me, thought she was aiming for Kacchan. I, um. M-my body moved. I miscalculated the angle and it shot past. I couldn’t get out of range fast enough from a triggered explosion, which sent me sprawling before I could activate Gear Shift.” He groans. “‘M sorry, I’m gonna have real pukies.”

Kacchan shushes him. 

“What triggered the explosion?” Marigold asks.

“Natural gas line. It’s n-noted on the…map. I always track—” He winces. “Always track utility lines before commencing altercations. She must’ve known. Blast wasn’t actually aimed at Kacchan, b-but the wall behind. That’s why I misjudged. S-stupid. I’m a…big dummy.”

“He seems surprisingly coherent, considering the blow he took,” the Pro remarks.

Kacchan makes a face.

“K-Kacchan,” he wheezes. “K’chan, my tummy is super ouchie right now. I’m…”

“Izuku,” he says, "shut up.”

He has pukies all over Kacchan’s boots.

“Kacchan is my best friend in the world,” he chirped, nuzzling into his neck. “I love cuddling!”

Kacchan carded his fingers through his hair. “Mmhm.”

“Thanks for cleaning Bunmight!” He fiddled with the plush animal’s worn ears. Kacchan insisted on cleaning Bunmight once a month; he used a special soap for it. Izuku didn’t like it because he always got scared that Bunmight would drown. He only had to be a lifeguard for half an hour, though, before Kacchan took him out and they let him dry for a couple of hours in his special chair. He was still a little damp, now, but Izuku didn’t mind if his shorts got wet.

“No problem. Thing was starting to stink.”

He rubbed his cheek against Kacchan’s broad shoulder. “We should play action figures again!”

“We just played with action figures.”

“Later, then,” he amended, relaxing as Kacchan wound an arm around his waist. “Does Kacchan wanna do anything fun?”

“Just wanna hold you,” he mumbled. “You’re so hyperactive.”

Izuku wriggled at that. Kacchan held tighter. He didn’t mind; he loved Kacchan’s hugs. Kacchan was so much nicer to him than he used to be. It was the best. And now that they’d been living together for six whole months (that as, like, a million, billion years), he got to get hugs all the time! “You’re my best friend,” he informed Kacchan again. It didn’t hurt to remind him, especially when he was feeling grateful like this.

Kacchan wrapped his other arm around Izuku’s shoulders, palm raising to cradle his skull.

“Kacchan’s so cool,” he whispered.

Kacchan also looked so, so tired. 

Izuku pressed a dry kiss to his chin and nuzzled against his neck, humming. 

“What happened at work today?”

What work? 

Oh shit. 

Kacchan rubbed his back. “Saw you in the stairwell, Izuku. You were staring at the wall for minutes. We had shift in four minutes. What the hell?”

Izuku stared at the smooth line of Kacchan’s throat. 

“Engine Legs saw you, you know. I covered for you, but...fuck, Izuku.”

He tried to push himself away, but Kacchan’s arms held fast. 

“I’m not mad, I’m— I’m fucking worried. I get that you...you know, when shit gets bad, but you can’t be doing it at work, Izuku. And not by the vending machines, I— Fuck.”

Izuku pressed his stuffed rabbit to his face, curling into a ball in Kacchan’s lap. His arms jittered. Bunmight was soft, threadbare, smelling of lavender. He focused on that. “’M sorry, Kacchan.”

Fingers threaded through his hair, sliding down the nape of his neck like water. “I’m not mad.  Just… What happened at work?”

“Dunno,” he mumbled, rocking slightly. “Smelled burnt paper and I needed a minute, I.” He took a shuddering breath. “Since I got my bad owie, I just don’t feel centered lately. Maybe it’s concussion-related, I dunno...”

The hand continued to card through his hair. “Burnt paper,” Kacchan echoed.

He nuzzled Bunmight’s ears. “Mm.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Like Chichi,” he replied. “Remember, he gets mad in his office and burns his papers sometimes. That’s how I know to run away, before he goes out for a smoke. ‘Cause if he sees me, he gets madder and...” He blinked. “Kacchan?”

Kacchan’s arms were very tight around him, shaking. He pressed against Kacchan’s chest, feeling the ragged beat of his heart. 

“Kacchan?”

“I didn’t know that,” he said.

“Know what?”

“About your... Your dad.”

“Oh.” He hummed, hugging Bunmight. “It’s okay. I’m annoying! Poor Chichi...”

Kacchan was shaking very hard. 

“Kacchan?”

He roughly wiped his nose on the back of his wrist. “Let’s play action figures, Izuku.”

“Kacchan?” he slurs, head lolling. “Where ‘m I?”

“You’re in a hospital, nerd,” Kacchan replies. “Smashed your damn tibia to pieces.”

“Oh…” He blinks, head fuzzy. His body feels faraway and unresponsive. Itchy, too. “Fr’m jumpin’ off th’ swing?”

Kacchan frowns. “No, from jumping in front of me like a dumbass and getting blasted by some chick with a air-spitting quirk.”

“Mm.” A new playmate, then. Well. Kacchan’s new playmate; kids generally don’t like to play with Izuku. He pats the bed. “Bunmight?”

Kacchan sighs heavily. He lifts a paper bag. “In here.”

He reaches with a trembling arm, stiff fingers twitching. 

Kacchan glances back at the closed door and hands the bag over. “Don’t take it out.”

“Kay.” He sets the bag down and slips his hand inside, fingers rubbing at Bunmight’s worn ear. His heart settles, slow in his chest. He blinks. “Which drugs?”

“They’ve got you on a mix of diazepam and hydrocodone. Probably some fentanyl still knocking around in your system.”

Mm. So the good shit. Must have been serious. “I’m broken?”

Kacchan fixes him with a flat stare.

“Where?”

“Tibia. I said.”

“So fen’nyl? Why?” His words slop together. 

“You…” Kacchan sighs. “The leg was crushed. You were in surgery for six hours.”

He blinks, eyelids sticky. “Oh no.”

“Yeah,” Kacchan says flatly. “Oh no.”

He rubs Bunmight, considering. “Am I in trouble?”

Kacchan barks out a laugh.

That’s not a good sign. Dread swims below the surface, unable to breach the icy barrier of medication. “Papa’s gonna rip me open,” he murmurs, unhappy. Ugh. 

Kacchan freezes. 

“Kacchan?”

“What’d you say?”

He blinks. “Huh?”

The door clicks open. Kacchan lunges for the paper bag, shoving it up Izuku’s arm. A woman in medical scrubs comes into the room. “Hello. Midoriya-san, it’s good to see you up.”

“Hi,” he says, feeling awfully shy. He doesn’t know this lady. He slips his hand out of the bag and drags the whole thing up, hugging it to his chest. It crinkles loudly. 

She glances between him and Kacchan. 

“We’re married,” Kacchan snaps. “Whatever you’re gonna say, you can say with me in the room.”

“Right, I wasn’t trying to—” She clears her throat. “We have some excellent healing quirk users on our staff here, but you won’t be able to engage in any physical activity for at least four weeks.”

“Four weeks,” Izuku echoes blankly. 

Kacchan curses.

“You have a significant burn wound on your left leg, in addition to the crushing trauma; your left thigh is currently wrapped to prevent infection.”

“A burn?” Kacchan says. “How bad? What the fuck?”

“Do you mind if I lift the blanket?” the doctor asks.

He does mind. Izuku shrugs, the paper bag with Bunmight crunching as his arms tighten. Burns are always gross, but he hasn’t been able to smell this one, at least. 

She flips the blanket, revealing his bare lower half. He flushes, ears burning. He doesn’t like showing his privates to people. 

“This,” she says, pointing at the black mass of shrink-wrapped material on his left thigh, crawling up toward his hip. “It was a third-degree burn, unfortunately. However, we’ve stabilized the environment with a wound vac.” She holds up a small box, attached to his leg with a wire. 

“So a cast on the bottom, a fucking…shrink wrap on the top,” Kacchan says blankly. 

“We’ll remove the wound vac before he’s discharged,” the doctor says. She turns back to Izuku. “You have a high pain tolerance, correct?”

“Yes?” he replies, dread forming a hard kernel in his stomach. 

She nods. “It’ll be off, tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? That sounds soon.”

“Well, it’s been on for four days,” she replies. “Don’t worry; we’ll go over proper wound dressing with you before you leave.”

“Four days?” That’s, like. A million years!

The doctor lets out a short, startled laugh. “It’s not so long, considering the extent of your injury. Certainly not a million years.”

“Feels like it,” he says. 

She shakes her head, offering him a small smile. “You’ll be just fine in a bit, Midoriya-san.” She flips the blanket back over his penis. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“Just try to get some rest. Like I said, you’ll be discharged tomorrow. You’ll get a boot for the tibia, so you should be decently mobile. Try to stay off it where you can, though.”

He nods, resting his cheek against the Bunmight bag. It crinkles against his jaw. 

The doctor reaches up and pats his shoulder. “You’re being very brave about this. Good job. Get some rest and I’ll check in tomorrow.” She looks at Kacchan. “We’ll have post-operative care instructions for him when you leave.”

“‘Kay,” Izuku mumbles, watching her leave.

Kacchan releases a long, shaky sigh. 

“Kacchan?” he asks.

Kacchan just sighs again. His hands rest on the edge of Izuku’s hospital bed, fingers curled into tight fists. 

Izuku reaches out and pats one hand. “There, there.”

Kacchan lowers his head until his face is pressed against Izuku’s chest. His hair tickles his mouth. He squirms a little, but Kacchan doesn’t budge. 

Well. There are much worse positions to be in than cuddling with his best friend.

“You have autism,” the psychiatrist said, fifteen minutes into the assessment.

Izuku blinked, his forced smile still plastered onto his face. “Ah?”

The psychiatrist wrote down a few more notes. “Severe case. High-functioning, though.”

“I— Sorry?”

“So these ‘fugue states’ you experience, do you notice a decreased mental capacity?”

“Er.” He was even more off-kilter, now. The topic was changing so fast and he wasn’t sure he even fully processed that sudden outburst. “Not exactly? Like. I know who I am and where I am and everything. It’s just… My… Mental attitude? I guess? Is different. Does that make any sense?”

The psychiatrist hummed, writing something down. 

“I-I, um. Sorry, I don’t know much about autism? Could you explain?”

“It’ll all be on your report when you leave.” The psychiatrist did not look up. This was fine; Izuku wasn’t good at maintaining eye contact with most people. Still, he intellectually understood the body language on display in front of him and it all indicated total disinterest. “Fugue state may be comorbid with it. Are there any traumatic life events you can point to that may present a dissociative reaction?”

“I… No?” he replied. “I mean, I don’t think so. No.”

The psychiatrist just wrote. 

“Sorry, could we go back to the, um, the ‘autism’ thing…?”

“So you have no trouble discerning basic facts of reality, otherwise?”

“Ah. No. As in— Um, I have no problem discerning basic facts.” He watched the psychiatrist write. “Like, I just… Feel, um. Weird. Like the past feels very present? Does that make any sense? I’m still aware of the actual present, but, ah. Stuff from before feels like it’s present, too.”

“But you can discern between them?” the psychiatrist said.

“Of course.”

“How am I going to get let out?” he frets, squeezing the bag. It tears a little against the bulge of his bicep. “My mom isn’t here to take me home.”

“You don’t need your fuckin’ mom to leave,” Kacchan says. “We’re going home. Where we both live.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Kacchan rubs his face, groaning.

“‘M sorry.” He isn’t sure what he’s apologizing for. Distantly, he is. But that’s distant, where all kinds of other nasty things lie in wait with snapping jaws. He’s scared of them. He doesn’t want them. 

“Okay,” Kacchan says, releasing his face. “Here’s the deal. A nurse is gonna come in and take off that…plastic wrap thing on your leg. The doctor’s gonna check in. Then we’re going to leave.”

“‘Kay...”

“You’ve got to act your age,” he continues. “You have to.”

Izuku frowns. “Am I not?”

Kacchan gives him a deadened look. He looks so tired. It’s a bad look on Kacchan. Well— Kacchan always looks cool, but this look makes Izuku’s tummy form knots of worry. “We’re Pro Heroes. We live together. We’re married. Got it?”

“Ohhh.” He nods in understanding. He gets it. “Okay.”

Kacchan nods, offering a wary frown. “Okay?”

“Yes.” He loves this game. He doesn’t like it when Kacchan does the wet kiss, though, but Kacchan doesn’t do those, generally. 

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-two. Almost thirty-three.” He knows the rules of the game. Why wouldn’t he? This is the only time Kacchan has ever let him be Pro Hero partners with him instead of a sidekick of bystander. 

Kacchan nods back, jaw tight. 

There’s a knock at the door, then it opens. A nurse steps inside. “Hi, Midoriya-san. I’m here to remove your wound vac and hand over some post-operative care instructions. The doctor will be in shortly.”

He smiles. “Uh huh!”

Kacchan groans faintly. 

The nurse flips up the blanket, revealing Izuku’s privates. He really doesn’t like that, still. The wound vac thing is black and shiny against his leg. He hugs the bag with Bunmight to his chest. “Will it hurt?”

“We’ll get it off as quickly as we can,” the nurse says, which is not an answer. 

He’s about to ask again when Kacchan grabs his shoulder. “Kacchan,” he whispers. “I’m scared.”

“You’ll be fine,” Kacchan says. His eyes track the nurse. 

“My tummy is really tight.”

“Don’t call it that. Fuck.”

“My stomach is really tight,” he corrects. “Um. L-like puke.”

The nurse is now giving him a look.

“Izuku,” Kacchan hisses. “Shut it.”

He nods. Be a tough Pro Hero who’s thirty-two and married to Kacchan for tax reasons. That’s the game. 

“I’m going to remove it,” the nurse says.

“O-okay,” he says.

The nurse leans down, and begins peeling the dressing back. 

He squeezes Bunmight so hard, the bag rips.

Kacchan rubbed his back, chin pressed into the crown of his head. Izuku sighed, cheek pressed against his chest. Another long day at work, but at least they had tomorrow off. And Kacchan had been so romantic, tonight, making dinner and pulling out the nice sake. His body felt loose in the aftermath of good food and good sex, brain pleasantly silent. 

“Izuku.”

“Mm.”

Kacchan’s legs shifted slightly, restless. They always were after they did it raw; no matter how thoroughly Izuku cleaned him out, he swore there was still drippage. ‘Cause you cum buckets, you damn freak of nature. “Does the… Does it need to be here, right now?”

He lifted his head. “Huh?”

Kacchan gave him a pointed look. 

“Kacchan, I dunno what you’re talking about.”

He sighed, reaching down to nudge at the stuffed rabbit squished between their diaphragms. “Does it really gotta be here when we fuck?”

Of course, he thought, bewildered. “Um… Yes? What?”

Kacchan flopped against the mattress, groaning. “Is it sex thing?”

“What? No!”

“‘Cause if it is, you gotta be honest,” Kacchan continued. “Don’t gotta dance around it. You’re into weirder shit than that.”

“It’s not,” he stressed, tensing. The thought was just… Eurgh. No. No, not Bunmight. Bunmight was his bedtime buddy. “I— I mean, if you wanna do some stuffed animal stuff, that’s fine, but not with Bunmight.”

“Izuku, you literally prop it up on a pillow to watch us whenever we fuck.”

He flushed. “That’s— I—” He had no idea how to explain it to Kacchan in a way that made sense. Well. In a way that made sense and didn’t make him sound either insane or insanely pathetic.

The truth involved memories he’d halfway to convinced himself were fiction. He hoped he’d get all the way, someday. 

“Just really dampens the mood,” Kacchan said. “Can you not grab it as soon as we’re done, at least?”

“I always sleep with Bunmight,” he said. “You know that, Kacchan.”

“Can’t you just leave it on the pillow or some shit? Do you really gotta cram it between our sweaty bodies?”

His heart sank. “Yeah.”

Kacchan stared at the ceiling. 

Izuku pulled away, lifting Bunmight to his chest. “I… Um. I can go sleep on the couch.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“I’m sorry, Kacchan. It’s just. I’m really sorry I’m like this. I. Yeah.”

“Don’t fucking— I’m not mad. It’s just weird.”

He felt gross. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He felt so gross. 

“Oi. Izuku.” A hand grabbed at his hip as he started to slip out of bed. “Don’t. We were having a good night.”

They were. It was ruined, though. His fault. Always his fault. “‘M just gonna hang out in the living room for a little bit. I’ll be back for bed.”

Kacchan’s fingers fell away. “Whatever.”

Izuku stood. In the half-light of their bedroom, hips covered by their duvet, Kacchan looked like something out of a classical painting. Beautiful. Untouchable. His eyes were garnet in the dimness, polished like a pair of pearls. Ethereal.

Izuku shivered, squeezing Bunmight. He was naked. A grown man, ugly and misshapen all the way through to his secret insides. Disgusting thing. Papa’s useless little hole. His arms tightened, heart in his throat. No. No. Nope. That’s not. No. 

Kacchan was so pretty, lying there, even when he was frowning at him. Kacchan was always so pretty. Perfect victory. The protector in his mind, though he never actually intervened. How could he have? They were the same age. Kacchan never knew. Kacchan never even liked him, back then. And why would he have? No one did. Izuku was filthy. He was always…

He did not want to be alone, right now. He desperately did not want to be alone. 

“I’ll be back,” he whispered, the door clicking shut behind his trembling wrist.

“I can change my own dressing, Kacchan.” 

“Did I fucking ask? Roll to the right.”

He sighs, shifting his weight. 

“How’s the pain?”

“It’s fine.”

Kacchan gives him a look.

“It is,” he insists. “The wound vac was way worse. All that granulation tissue came off and then the nurse spent ten minutes picking out pieces of sponge. That was horrible.”

“Smelled like shit,” Kacchan says.

He scoffs. “All burns smell bad.”

Kacchan gets more subdued at that. “Yeah.”

Izuku grimaces when the old dressing comes off.

“This was my fault,” Kacchan says.

He sighs. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I ignited it.”

“She blew open the line.”

“I ignited it.”

“Was going to ignite from the debris anyways.”

Kacchan doesn’t keep arguing. Instead, he dabs the site clean and starts applying new gauze. 

“Kacchan, you’re putting it on too tight.”

He loosens it. “‘Kay.”

“Like I said, I can do my own dressing. I’m pretty familiar with wrapping burns.”

“Right,” Kacchan says. “Right, you’ve been burned a lot, huh?”

Izuku frowns. “A few times, yeah.”

“A few times.”

“Yes.”

Kacchan finishes, setting his hands on Izuku’s hip and knee. His palms are hot. “When are we gonna fuckin’ talk about this, Izuku?”

“About what?”

“Your fucking dad.”

He stiffens. 

“Izuku.”

“Kacchan,” he says lowly, “I don’t think you wanna have this fight, right now.”

“Why the hell does it gotta be a fight, huh?”

“Because you’re gonna say some wild accusation about my dad and I’m gonna get upset and then that whole cycle starts again and I really don’t want that, Kacchan. Especially now, when I’m mobility-impaired and can’t leave the apartment. Okay?”

Kacchan gives him a steely glare. “Your dad burned you.”

“My dad’s a great guy,” he replies, “who has never once laid his hands on me. I have no idea where you get this insane pet theory.”

“Izuku, you’ve fucking told me he burned you.”

“There is no way I said something like that.”

Kacchan taps his temple.

Izuku narrows his eyes. “I’ve told you. You can’t trust that fugue state thing that happens to me.”

“Really. Seems like the only time you’re ever fuckin’ honest, these days.”

“Kacchan.”

“You’ve told me you remember shit from when you’re like that. So justify it. Go ahead.”

“Playing pretend,” he says. “Probably something dumb like that.”

“Playing pretend that your dad burns you. Sure.”

“Sure. Yes.”

Kacchan stands up. Izuku watches him warily. He leaves the room.

“Kacchan?” he calls. “Kacchan, where’re you going?”

Kacchan comes back with a sheet of printer paper. He brandishes it wordlessly, flipping it front and back.

“I don’t know what you’re… Okay? Paper. Sure.”

His palm pops, lighting the sheet.

The smell is like a gut punch. He presses his face into their duvet. “Stop it! Okay, okay! Okay, stop it, stop it, stop it, Kacchan, stop—”

The bed dips. He squirms, trying to get away. His leg hurts too bad, though, it really hurts, he can’t get away, Papa’s with him on the bed, Papa’s on the bed with him, that’s the worst, that’s really bad, and Papa’s mad and— And he can’t find Bunmight, where’s Bunmight? Bunmight, oh shit, no, no, he doesn’t want Papa to rip him open, no no no no no

Age-worn fabric shoves against his face. He gasps, grabbing hold and curling around Bunmight as much as he’s able. “Please d-donnn,” he blubbers. 

“I think I proved my damn point,” he hears Kacchan say, voice distant. 

“Wha?” He gags, sniffling. “K’chan? K-K’chan, ‘m scared.”

“Oh shit. You actually did…” The bed shifts. He whines, curling tighter. His leg hurts so bad. “I didn’t think it’d actually. What the fuck. Shit.”

“’S Papa?” he croaks. “Papa here, Kacchan?”

“No. Your shitty dad isn’t here.”

He sobs, rocking back and forth as he clings to Bunmight. Bunmight saved him from Papa’s mean smell. Bunmight always protects him. That’s what bedtime buddies do. 

Fingers wind through his hair. He jerks, gasping. Kacchan’s above him, wearing a weird face. Worried, almost. But Kacchan is so confident and cool; nothing scares him. “Fuck. I fucked up.”

“Huh?” He sniffles snot back up his wet nose. 

“I…” Kacchan sighs. Wow, he looks so old, suddenly. “Damn it, I fucked up. That was fucked up. I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t think you’d actually flip.”

“F-flip?”

“Between adult and kid. That shit you do. The ‘fugue state’ or whatever.”

He wipes his eyes on Bunmight’s head. “K-Kacchan, are you sure Chichi’s not here?”

“One-hundred percent fucking positive.”

“O-okay.” Kacchan continues to stroke his hair. He settles against the mattress, petting Bunmight. “I… I dunno what I did, but I think I made him mad.”

“You didn’t do anything. You’re fine.”

“He’s mad,” he whispers.

“He sucks,” Kacchan whispers back. 

A snort escapes him, a laugh he’s helpless to release. “Kacchan—!”

“What? I’m right.”

“Nuh-uh. Chichi’s the coolest. He got me that All Might action figure with the movable limbs.”

“If that’s all it takes to get on your good list, I’ll buy you that swappable nendroid of Snipe next time we get in a fight. Shit.”

He lifts his head. “Really?”

Kacchan sighs, ruffling his hair. “Nah. I’ll get it for you just ‘cause. It’s shitty to buy love like that.”

He blinks. 

“It’s lunch time,” Kacchan says. “What do you want?”

“Oh! Um…”

“Whatever you want. Sorry I was so shitty. Fuck. I dunno how I’m gonna make that one up to you.”

“Um… Uh…” He wriggles, looking up shyly. “Ice cream?”

Kacchan gives him a flat stare. “No.”

Aw well. Worth a shot. 

“I’ve already given you enough ice cream since you got out of the hospital. Gonna rot your teeth out.”

He pouts.

“Yeah, yeah.” Kacchan pushes his hair off of his forehead. “Turn on your cute charms all you want. I’ll make some bulgogi.”

Ah. Well, that’s fine, he guesses. More of a Kacchan staple than an Izuku favorite. 

“If you eat it all, I’ll get you a taro ice pop.”

Oh! He perks up. “Yes, Kacchan!”

Kacchan leans over, situating Bunmight more firmly in the crook of his right elbow. “Okay. Now sit up slowly, so I can help get your ass to the table.”

“I… What are you doing?”

Kacchan looked up from the computer. “Huh?”

Izuku shifted, rubbing at his arm. “It’s two in the morning, Kacchan.”

Kacchan glanced at the screen, then back. “Yup.”

“You know we got that big mission in Sorca tomorrow, right? Detaining Windsplicer?”

“Yeah.”

“Then… Why’re you up?”

“Couldn’t sleep. ’S all.”

“So you’re sitting at the computer in the dark?”

Kacchan shrugged. “Yeah.”

Izuku frowned, looking at the screen. It was on Yahoo News. Business Ventures at International Company Returning to Japa… Kacchan clicked out of the site. “Okay,” he said slowly. “If something’s bothering you, though, you’d tell me, right?”

“You’d tell me, right?” Kacchan countered. 

He restrained rolling his eyes. “Of course, Kacchan. Come to bed, please?”

“No, it’s not a big deal,” he says. “Um. Yeah, burnt paper is… Don’t do it again, that’s all. Please. I think, with the injury, I’m not super centered, so that makes the fugue state really easy to trigger. I kinda slide around, mentally speaking. That’s my bad, if anything.”

Kacchan gives him a pained look. 

“Really!” Izuku insists. “Not a problem. Um. Like, yes, it was really mean. I wish you hadn’t done that, but. Um. Uh. Y’know. It’s over, so.”

“We’re really not gonna talk about this, huh?”

“Nope,” he says easily. “We’re not.”

Kacchan gives a ragged sigh. 

“I’m with you all the way, Kacchan. No matter what either of us does. So… There’s no point in dwelling on it. We both made mistakes. Let’s move on.”

“You never let me apologize,” Kacchan says, strained. 

“You don’t need to.”

“I should be allowed to, though. You can’t keep making nothing out of every fucked up thing I do.”

Watch me, he thinks. “I’m really not upset at all, Kacchan. So there’s no reason to apologize.”

“There’s something wrong with you,” Kacchan says.

Izuku’s smile falls. 

“Like. Really wrong.”

“Kacchan,” he says softly. A warning.

Kacchan runs his fingers through his hair. “This is hard,” he says, words short. “This is— Really fuckin’ hard. And I fucked up. I deliberately tried to upset you. I wish I hadn’t done that. I wish you fucking cared for once about what happens to you.”

“Okay. Thanks. You’re forgiven. Can we have breakfast, now?”

Kacchan drags himself up from his chair, defeated. “Sure. Whatever.”

Kacchan’s hands slid down his back as he bottomed out with a low sigh, curling over Kacchan’s chest. “Y-you good, Kacchan?” he breathed.

“Fine,” Kacchan replied, fingers slipping lower. “Damn, you’re tense, right now.”

“Mm? Ah, you know I got a bad cramp in my hamstring, earlier. ’S good now, though.”

Kacchan grunted, palming his ass. Izuku squirmed, grimacing. “I could ride you,” he offers. “Or try something else to loosen you, I dunno.”

“If you want. Um. I’m good, though, really. I—” He froze when fingers pressed against the soft furl of his own asshole. A sharp prickle edged into his skull. “Kacchan.”

“Mm?”

“What’re you doing?”

A finger stroked the thin skin, slippery. “This bad?”

“I— Your finger? Yeah. I don’t—” 

It slipped inside, just barely.

Revulsion shot through him, deep into his core. Burning, unpleasant, filthy. He wrenched back, eyes searching past Kacchan’s frowning face. The finger felt like a fat worm as it slid out. 

“Shit, I didn’t mean to let it go in. Fuck. Izuku?”

His heart pounded, rattling his whole body. This was their bed. Their sheets, their pillows, their clock. Bunmight, on the pillow, looked back at him, a sentinel. That’s a bad touch, Bunmight said. Bad guys give bad touches. Remember what good guys do to bad guys?

He punched Kacchan in the mouth.

“No,” he snaps, setting his charity commemorative Gran Torino back to his starting place. “That’s inaccurate to his lore. Quirk analysis says that he wouldn’t be capable of going that fast.”

Kacchan groans. “It’s just make-believe. Who gives a shit?”

“Me! Gran Torino’s never gone to ‘mach twenty-million,’ Kacchan. That’s not a thing.”

“Fine.” He grabs Gran Torino, placing the figure next to Hawks. “Then he, I dunno, flies over to give Hawks some support. How about that?”

Izuku nods. “That makes sense.” He grabs his plastic allosaurus figure and sets it on the battleground. 

“Wh— That doesn’t make sense,” Kacchan gripes. “There ain’t any fuckin’ dinosaurs!”

“Allosaurus-kun is a guy with a dino quirk,” Izuku replies, sniffing. “He’s my character.”

“You’re serious.”

“Uh huh!”

“Then…” Kacchan riffles through the toy bucket. “Fine. I got…fuckin’…Frog Man.” He sets Keroppi on the table.

“That’s Keroppi,” Izuku points out. 

“Well, he’s a superhero now. My character.”

“He’s a Sanrio character, Kacchan.”

“No he ain’t. He’s Frog Man. If you can do a dumbass dinosaur, I can do this.”

“Fine,” he relents. That is acceptable, though barely. 

An alarm goes off on Kacchan’s phone. He quickly clicks it off. “How’s your leg?”

He hums, thinking. “Um. It’s pretty ouchie, but in a dull kinda throb-y way?”

Kacchan nods. “You’re due for another painkiller and some anti-inflammatories.”

Ugh. Painkillers are so gross and make him sleepy. “The pain stuff makes my head feel funny. I don’t like it.”

“I know.”

“And it makes it really hard to poop.”

“Yeah.”

He taps Allosaurus-kun against the table, frowning. “Do I have to?”

“It’s your call,” Kacchan says. “You’re an adult.”

Right. Hm. “Can I take half?”

“Sure. I’ll go split one.” Kacchan stands, stepping away. He turns suddenly, finding Izuku’s arm halfway across the table. “Oi. Don’t mess with Frog Man.”

Izuku pouts, sitting back. “Keroppi.”

“Frog Man. Be back in a sec.”

He lowers his face to the table, grabbing Bunmight and placing him in his lap. “Keroppi,” he whispers. Once he takes the pain med, he’ll get all weird and foggy and he won’t be able to play with Kacchan anymore. Such a bummer. 

Especially since Kacchan usually doesn’t play so much with him! He usually only lasts around ten minutes before coming up with some excuse that he needs to do something else, like check the laundry or clean the baseboards or take out the trash for half an hour. Oh well. He understands that he can’t always get what he wants; he’s learned that lesson well, a long time ago. It’s important to be grateful when people are being nice and things are all happy and good and fine. So he’ll focus on that, instead, before the nasty pill makes him confused and sleepy.

Kacchan’s lucky he’s so happy to be playing with him, though, because otherwise “Frog Man” would not be allowed. 

“No yeah, dude. It’s great to be over!” 

“Oi! Shitty Hair, take off your damn shoes. What the hell?”

“Sorry, sorry, man. I was gonna. —Yo, Midoriya’s home? I see his sneakers.”

Hurried footsteps.

Izuku looked up from the floor, his All Might and Gang Orca action figures loosely held in his hands. Kacchan stared back, eyes wide, arms braced against the entryway. “Hi, Kacchan,” he said, blinking. 

“Izuku,” Kacchan replied. His head whipped back, then forward. “Shit.”

“Hm?”

“Can you go play with your action figures in the bedroom? Door closed.”

“Ah. Um.” He stood, picking up his toys and putting them in the bucket. “Yeah, Kacchan.”

“Now.”

“‘Kay.” He placed Bunmight on top and hugged the bucket to his chest. He hesitated for a moment, looking at Kacchan.

“Now.”

He nodded, shuffling down the short hallway to their bedroom. As he turned, he saw Kirishima follow Kacchan into the living space with a wide smile. 

He closed the door and rested his back against it, heart aching.

“No, we’re not coming in for another week. Should be off the heavy shit by then, but he’s on a whole cocktail of drugs. …Yeah. Well, I mean. Yeah. Yeah. He’s been…fine. You know Izuku. …I was going to go with ‘stupid bastard,’ but sure. That too.”

Izuku groans nuzzling into Kacchan’s pillow. His eyes creak open to find Kacchan at the window, phone to his ear. “K’chan.”

Kacchan glances back at him. “Hey. I’m talking to Pink Cheeks about your busted-ass leg.”

“Oh.” He smacks his mouth a few times. It’s very dry. “Hi, ‘raka-san.”

“He says hi.” Kacchan rolls his eyes, pulling the phone away. “She says ‘Hi, Deku-kun.’ She wants to know if you’re eating.”

“Mm. Kacchan’s feeding me great.”

“I’m feeding him ‘great.’ That satisfy you? No. Nah. No. And don’t think about it, either. We’re fine. Don’t need visitors, not looking for ‘em. He’ll be back on the thirtieth. Of June, idiot. Desk only.”

Izuku hums, idly petting Bunmight, who’s crushed against his neck and shoulder. Kacchan looks so pretty in the morning light. 

“No,” Kacchan mutters, glancing at Izuku. “He’s right next to me. I’m not talking about damn…July plans or whatever. Talk to me about that shit on our break.”

“Are you guys talking about my birthday?” he asks sweetly.

Kacchan sticks out his tongue at him. “Piss off.”

Izuku laughs. “Love you too.”

“Ugh.” Kacchan shakes his head. “What— No, Cheeks. Seriously, we’re fine. I—” He stops. His eyes crawl back to Izuku. “Huh.”

Izuku props himself on his elbow. “What?”

“Really.”

He frowns, watching Kacchan. 

“Sure. Yeah. I’ll tell him. Bye.” He takes the phone away from his face, hanging up. 

“Kacchan? What’s going on?”

Kacchan sighs. “Nothing. Cheeks wanted to thank you for a drawing or some shit you left in her mailbox.”

“A drawing? I— Oh.” 

“Oh?”

He fiddles with Bunmight’s ear. 

“Was it a kiddie drawing or what?”

“I.” He sighs. “Yes. I forgot I actually put it in her mailbox.”

Kacchan purses his lips. He doesn’t say anything, though. Just plugs in his phone to charge at the nightstand. “I’m gonna make breakfast.”

“Okay,” he says, voice small.

“She said it was cute. For the record.”

“Mm.” Shame is palpable on the back of his tongue. He rubs Bunmight’s ear harder, chewing on his lower lip. 

“Breakfast,” Kacchan repeats. “Be out in ten or I’m eating your share, too.”

“‘Kay.”

Kacchan mumbles something. It’s too quiet to catch. 

“Kacchan.” He hates how naked his voice sounds. “Do you really think something’s wrong with me?”

Kacchan stops by the doorway, turning to give him a long look. He says nothing.

Izuku waits.

“No,” Kacchan says, finally. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“Yeah,” he confesses, voice creaking. 

“Then the answer’s no. Get ready for breakfast.” He leaves.

Izuku watches the empty doorway for a few more seconds. Then he swings his legs out of bed and goes hunting for a clean shirt.

“Kacchan,” he laughed, squirming under his grip. “That tickles!”

Kacchan froze. 

He blinked, looking up. “...Kacchan?”

“Izuku,” he relied, eyes wary. Of Izuku? Izuku was a lot smaller than Kacchan. There was no reason to be scared. He’d never seen Kacchan look like that at him.

“Mm. Is something wrong, Kacchan?” He spread his fingers. He was on a bed. The fingers of his right hand were sticky, kind of tacky. He wiped them absently on the fitted sheet. 

“What’s going on?” Kacchan asked, which wasn’t fair. That was answering a question with another question!

Izuku pouted. “You were tickling me, Kacchan. I’m not super usually ticklish, but that’s okay.”

Kacchan’s face twitched. His hand fell away from Izuku’s hip. “How old are you?”

What a jarring question. Izuku frowned. “What?”

“Izuku. How old are you?”

“You should know that, Kacchan!” His lower lip wobbled. “Did you forget my birthday again?”

“No,” he said quickly, sliding off of Izuku’s thighs. “No, I— Fuck. Uh.”

Izuku turned onto his side, watching Kacchan slip off the bed with wide, curious eyes. Kacchan was only in a tank top, no bottom. The insides of his thighs glistened in the light. Izuku was only in his underwear. Maybe they were wrestling?

Kacchan made a noise, stumbling.

Had he said that out loud? Oops. He did that a lot. “Kacchan?” he asked, hesitant. 

Kacchan didn’t look at him. 

“Are you... Are you mad at me?”

“No,” he said, still facing away. 

“You can tickle me if you want,” he said. “I don’t mind if it’s Kacchan.”

Kacchan jolted forward, hand slapping against a door. He wrenched it open and slammed it behind him. 

Izuku sat on the bed. He stared at the door, listening to Kacchan’s vomit splatter on the tile. 

Kacchan’s on the computer when he totters into the living room, dropping himself beside him, settling Bunmight in his lap. He nuzzles against Kacchan’s neck, humming.

Kacchan grimaces, shifting away. “You’re all wet. Quit it.”

“Mm! I wanted to snuggle with Kacchan.”

“Did you actually wash, in there?”

“Yup! ’S why my hair’s wet. Um. I couldn’t do my leg, though. I get nervous doing anything under my belly button.”

Kacchan grunts. “At least wash your dick.”

“I did! I just said I get nervous, is all.” He rests his cheek on Kacchan’s shoulder. There’s a lot of text on the screen. A lot of it’s in Japanese, but some is in English. Stock rates rising as a promise of domestic sites… “Are you trying to improve your English, Kacchan?”

Kacchan stiffens.

“Just, um. Sorry, I know you’re not the best at foreign languages. So I didn’t know you read news stories in English.” He looks more closely. “Oh! You’re using an online translator? Kacchan, I could translate for you. You know I’m fluent in English.”

Kanpeki Enterprise expansion to come to…

“Oh! That’s my dad’s company.” He points. “Did you know that? That’s my dad’s company, Kacchan!”

Kacchan shoves him off, closing the laptop. “Stop being such a nosy shit.”

“My dad works for that company. If you’re interested, I could get you two in touch! He’s in, um. In ‘Hoboken,’ right now, I think? It’s near New York City.”

“I don’t want to talk to your fuckin’ dad,” he snarls.

Izuku stops. “O-okay.”

Kacchan sighs, rubbing his face. “You don’t want to fight about this, so we’re not gonna fight about it.”

“Ah. Um… Yeah. Okay.”

“I ordered some dinner from the place down the street. I gotta go pick it up.”

“Oh! What’re we having?”

Kacchan gets up, grabbing his jacket from the genkan. “You’ll like it. Sashimi and katsudon.”

“Sashimi and katsudon? Wow!” He wriggles. “Yippee!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kacchan says. “I’m the best, I know.”

“You are! Kacchan is the best of the best!”

Kacchan offers him a small smile. 

“That’s so special! That’s not part of our diet.”

“Neither’s all the ice cream you’ve been inhaling. A cheat week won’t kill us.”

“Did you get me yellowtail?”

“Of course, you heathen.”

“Yayyyy, Kacchan!”

“Hold down the fort while I’m gone.” Kacchan grabs his keys. “And Izuku.”

“Hm?”

“No more snooping. Got it?”

He nods. “Of course, Kacchan. Thank you for getting me my favorites! Can I have ice cream after dinner?”

“Sure.”

“Ah! Kacchan is the greatest!”

“Yup. Be right back. Behave.”

He nods more frantically. The door shuts, leaving him in silence. “Why’s Kacchan reading about my dad’s company?” he wonders. He looks to Bunmight, who of course offers no independent thoughts on the subject. “Just… Hm. It’s weird. Papa hasn’t told me anything new about his work and Kacchan’s so averse to anything to do with Papa, so it’s weird. Though I guess one of the stories just happened to involve Papa’s company… That’s very possible. Still! It was all business news. Why would Kacchan care about business news?”

Bunmight offers no response.

Izuku hums, picking him up and swinging his legs off the couch with a grunt. “Regardless, it is Kacchan’s business. If he doesn’t want to tell me, he doesn’t have to. Trust is important in a relationship. I trust Kacchan. Um. Yeah. I should set the table.”

He limps to the kitchenette, setting Bunmight on the counter. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?” he asks. “Kacchan’s a good guy, so he doesn’t do bad stuff. Or he shouldn’t. Not that often. Kacchan’s a hero.”

Bunmight says nothing. 

He hums, considering. “I think Kacchan will tell me when he’s ready. I just need to be patient and respectful. Or maybe it’s actually nothing. But he was so weird about it… I dunno. I guess we’ll see!”

He pulls out two pairs of chopsticks, offering Bunmight a reassuring smile. “I’m probably worrying about nothing.”

“W-wait,” he managed. “Kacchan, wait, I’m… I feel kinda weird, I’m sorry.”

“What, like you’re gonna throw up?”

“Yeah.” No. 

Kacchan sighed, rolling over to his side of the bed.

“I could do you,” he offered. 

“No. I’m going to bed.” 

The bedside light clicked off. 

“I’m sorry, Kacchan.”

“We haven’t fucked in three weeks,” he said.

Izuku fiddled with Bunmight’s worn ear. The dark ceiling offered no reassurances. “Like I said—”

“There’s only so many blowjobs I want, Izuku. Forget about it.”

“Then we can. I just. I’m tired, I dunno. I can’t go super long, Kacchan, that’s all. I…”

“Don’t act like your dick doesn’t work,” Kacchan hissed. “I hear you whacking off in the shower every damn morning.”

He flushed. 

“Is it me? Can’t keep it up long enough to stick it in me or what?”

“N-no, that’s not… That’s not it, Kacchan. It’s…” He sighed. “Would you be mad if I said I’m worried?”

“Worried,” Kacchan echoed, voice flat.

“W-well, last time we tried do it—”

He groaned. 

“I don’t want that to happen again, Kacchan.”

“It won’t,” Kacchan said. “Or— If it does, we’ll just drop it. It’s fine.”

Kacchan had puked, last time. It was not fine. It would not be fine. 

“It’s not like— Look. There’s already all kinds of weird hang-ups we gotta deal with to get a fuck in. Work schedules and fucked up bones and other shit. —I sleep in the same bed as you and that stinking rabbit, don’t I? Let you fuck me with that thing staring at us on the pillows like it’s got some front-row seat.”

Izuku cringed.

“Izuku. You literally prop it on the pillow before we go at it.”

“It’s not like that,” he snapped, face hot. “It’s not a— I’ve told you, it’s not a sex thing, Kacchan!”

Kacchan narrowed his eyes. 

“Okay, well now you’re definitely not getting any from me.” Izuku glowered. “Goodnight, Kacchan.”

“Wh— Izuku. Seriously?”

He flipped onto his other side, crossing his arms over Bunmight. “Goodnight, Kacchan.”

Quietly, he heard Kacchan mutter, “The fuck is wrong with you?”

Kacchan did not want him to hear that. He knew Kacchan did not want him to hear that. He squeezed his eyes shut, throat thickening. Kacchan did not want him to hear him that.

He still said it, though.

“Hey, Midoriya! How’re you feeling?”

“I’m good,” he chirps, swinging his legs. “‘M on desk duty because of my bad owie, though.”

Kirishima cocks his head. “Huh?”

“Dumbass is sleep-deprived,” Kacchan cuts in. 

Izuku smiles. “I have to wear a boot, see?” He lifts his leg. He can’t lift it very high, because of the dressing on his thigh.

Kacchan nudges his leg back down. 

“And I have a third-degree burn!”

“Ouch!” Kirishima exclaims. “Yikes!”

“Yeah, you wanna see?”

Kacchan grabs his shoulder. “We’re not doing show-and-tell of shit like that.”

“Ah, okay!” He leans toward Kirishima and whispers, “It’s really gross!”

“I bet,” Kirishima whispers back. “Don’t let Bakugou see! I heard he’s squeamish!”

He giggles, falling back in his chair. “I won’t! I’m gonna file lots of accident reports, today.”

“Right.” Kacchan pats his shoulder. “I gotta get dressed for patrol. Meet you at lunch.”

“Okay!”

“And Shitty Hair. You see this fucker try to go down the stairs or anything on his own, tackle him.”

Kirishima laughs. He issues a salute. “Gotcha, Bakugou. I won’t let Midoriya do anything fun.”

“Aw…”

Kirishima gives him a wink.

Ah! Subterfuge!

Kacchan taps at his desk. “Oi, Izuku. Here’s your paperwork. You got that, right?”

He nods. “Of course, Kacchan. I’m very good at paperwork.” He is. 

“Alright. Later.”

“Mmhm!” He grabs his pen and sets it in his mouth, logging into his employee portal on his work computer. “E-768504, Tatooine Station…”

It’s easy to sink into, as it always is. Repetitive tasks are almost fun. Boredom isn’t a thing to him; it’s a flow state. The only real issue is eye strain. He’s learned to set an alarm in his phone to take breaks for this purpose. 

“Then hang it on your damn fridge if you like it that much, Cheeks. Fuck.”

He looks up from his paperwork to find the ever-classic, ever-cool profiles of Dynamight and Uravity passing through the hallway in front of their office, ready to fight crime in uniform. 

“Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan!” he trills. “I lo-ove you!”

Kacchan covers his face, issuing a wave as he quickly walks past. Uraraka laughs, punching him in the back as she follows. 

“It’s cute!” he thinks he hears Uraraka say as they head through a door.

“If you knew, you wouldn’t fuckin’ think so—” he hears, cut off as the door shuts.

“Let’s play with Bunmight,” Kacchan said. 

“A-at work,” he mumbled weakly. “’M not...”

“Damn it, Izuku,” he hissed. “You need to be ready to get back to work and this is the fastest fucking way.” The backpack tore away, the worn cotton of Bunmight shoved against his chin. “So play. With the damn. Toy.”

He took Bunmight, curling his shoulders to protect him. Kacchan always grabbed Bunmight too roughly. He snuffled against his head, rocking back and forth as he squeezed. 

“Where’re you at, now?”

“Unno,” he mumbled, words sticky in his mouth. 

Kacchan sighed. 

He continued to rock forward and backward, fingers rubbing the softness of Bunmight’s ear. 

“You’re not playing with it.”

“I don’t wanna play, Kacchan. ‘M scared.”

“Why are you scared?”

He shrugged, rocking harder. 

“Izuku.”

Kacchan was mad at him.

“We’ve got shift in fifteen minutes. Come on.”

He gnawed on his lower lip. Work. Right, he had work. He had to help people. He wanted to help people. That’s all he’d ever wanted. He needed to do that. He couldn’t be freaked out if he wanted to do that. Kacchan was mad at him. Kacchan deserved better. Everybody did. He was a useles—

“Ohmigosh,” he wheezed, squeezing the stuffed bunny harder. 

“What,” Kacchan pressed.

“N-no, I can’t. N-not that— ‘M not… N-no. No, Pa— Holy shit.”

Kacchan stepped closer. “Izuku, what’re you…?”

He shot past Kacchan, collapsing next to the trash bin between their desks, and vomited.

By the end of the week, the quirk specialists have declared his tibia officially “re-secured,” whatever that means, and he’s free of the loathsome boot. Turns out his bones had been held in a sort of quirk-implanted gel-like material that encouraged connective tissue regrowth. He’d excitedly asked the nurses about the specifics of the quirk, but none of them had been especially interested in staying too long to discuss. Understandable—they were all very busy. Still, it was a bit disappointing. 

What isn’t disappointing is his new, boot-free lease on life. “Look, Kacchan! My foot!”

Kacchan grimaces at him. “Put that nasty thing down.”

He does, grinning. “Can I have my shoe?”

Kacchan tosses it at him. There’s a sock bunched up inside. Smart! He has to bend slowly to get it on, since his thigh-to-hip area is still tight and healing from the burn wound. He really wishes they’d had a quirk that could healed that more quickly; burn wounds fucking suck. He misses being able to take a full shower or bath. 

Once his sneaker’s on, he tests putting his weight down on the leg. It’s very unsteady—mostly due to the burn. Ugh. 

“Still limping,” Kacchan observes.

“Stupid burn,” Izuku says.

“Mm.” He offers his arm. Izuku takes it, leaning against him as they leave the hospital. “Wanna grab some gyoza?”

“Not part of our diet, Kacchan.”

“Neither’s ice cream. Don’t see you complaining whenever you get that.”

He sulks. “That’s… You know I have poor impulse control when I’m like that.”

“Uh huh.”

“…Gyoza sounds good.”

“Thought so. Come on.”

Honestly, though, it wasn’t a problem. If it were a problem, Kacchan would have told him.

“You’re heavy as shit,” Kacchan grunts. 

Izuku shuffles closer, draping himself further up Kacchan’s back. “W-well we already tried you riding me and that was definitely a no-go.”

“You’re too damn small to do doggy when you can’t crouch, idiot.”

He thrusts forward. A punched out sound escapes below him. “Seems to be working just fine like this.”

“Lucky your dick’s big or it’d slip out in a second. Fuckin’ manlet.”

“I honestly can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

“If you’re not sure, you should bet on insult every time.”

He huffs, gripping Kacchan’s shoulders for leverage. “W-well, your ass is really nice. Almost makes me forget that I almost burned my leg off. —Compliment, by the way.”

Kacchan grumbles. “Your whole weight is on me, asshole.”

“Mm.” He humps forward, cock throbbing in that sweet way it does whenever Kacchan clenches hard around him. “I think I’ve got a good angle to get at your prostate, actually.”

“Tch. Good lu— Izuku!”

“Found it,” he announces, grinding his whole weight down. “Ah—! Th-that’s nice, Kacchan. Real tight for me. Fuck.”

“You gotta get off of it,” Kacchan says quickly, breath hitched. “Fucking— Asshole! Pull back!”

“Hah, y-you’re so tight right now, Kacchan. S-so good…”

“Shitty nerd, lay off!”

He shifts his hips back. “Sorry.” He pets Kacchan’s side. “That any better?”

“You suck at sex,” Kacchan says. “Don’t fuckin’ bludgeon me.”

“But you got so tight!” He gives a few short thrusts, sliding further in and past where he’s now positive Kacchan’s prostate must be at this angle. “Mm, l-like that.”

“I’ll strangle your stupid cock off your body if you try that shit again.”

“Haha…” He smiles dopily, pressing a wet kiss to the nape of Kacchan’s neck. “Love you, Kacchan. You’re so cute.”

“You’re so fuckin’ heavy. Dipshit.”

“Well, you’re the one who couldn’t wait another week, so.”

“Please. I’m doing you a fuckin’ favor. As if I like waking up with your morning wood trying to stab me to death.”

“Mm, I kinda think you do.” His feet slide against their bedding, arms and core doing most of the work at this point. They’re starting to find a workable rhythm, though, Kacchan rocking back against him and granting some momentum. His pubes grind against Kacchan’s tailbone, balls slapping wetly against his asscheeks. “H-hah, I’d let you. Um. L-let you fuck me in my sleep, that’d be—” He groans. “Pretty hot.”

“Fucking weird-ass kinky bastard,” Kacchan spits, arching against him. “You got a million fetishes in that skull of yours.”

“N-no, it’s all pretty much…just—mm—variations on non-con fetish. I told you.”

“Ugh, can we not? Talk about this right the fuck now?”

“Roger.” He puts a little more power behind his thrusts, slipping his arms around Kacchan’s shoulders and linking his hands by his clavicle. “Shit, you’re so tight today, Kacchan. S-so perfect. The prettiest person ever. Ah, I love you, Kacchan. You’re the best.”

“Fucking embarrassing.”

“’S true! Kacchan’s the best… B-best hero, best husband, best ass…”

“Super fucking embarrassing.”

“Love you!” he chirps, kissing the side of his neck. “Love my Kacchan sooo much!” He sniffles, pressing his face into his shoulder, hips losing rhythm for a few thrusts. 

“Are you fucking crying?”

“I always cry a little! You know that! Kacchan’s so perfect and I’m so lucky!”

“Ugh, stop talking like that! You always say weird shit when we fuck!”

“You want me to talk about work instead?”

“No, I want you to shut the fuck up! You never shut up!”

“Then Kacchan’s gonna have to deal with me telling him much I love his perfect body! Love, love, love my cute Kacchan!”

“Izuku, shut up!”

He startles at the loud yell, muscles tightening. His thigh burns, then fades into a bone-deep ache. 

“Izuku?”

He blinks. “U-um. Sorry.” His fingers splay over Kacchan’s pecs, feeling the warmth of his body. Here. He’s here. “Y-you’re right, I’m a bit short, ha. Um. Lemme try to find the angle again, sorry.”

Kacchan grumbles, shifting. “Useless little…”

He curls over Kacchan’s back, pressing his cheek to his sweat-tacky skin. Deep breath. Out. In, then out. Kacchan doesn’t mean stuff like that; he just says mean things because he gets embarrassed. And it was Kacchan who said that; nobody else said that. Nobody else. Nobody else is here. Just him and Kacchan.

Him and Kacchan.

Useless little hole.

He sniffles, nuzzling against the nobs of Kacchan’s spine. 

“Are you gonna move?” Kacchan grouses. “You fall asleep? The hell’s going on back there?”

He lifts his head, hips shifting and— Oh. Um. 

“You’re fucking like a dead fish, the hell?”

He trembles against Kacchan’s back, hips twitching. “F-feels weird.” 

Kacchan twists to give him a befuddled look. “What do you mean?”

“M-my…” He swallows. “I. I’m thirty-two. It’s July seventh.”

Kacchan frowns.

His body’s only felt kind of like this when Papa does that bad thing that he really hates. When he rips him open. It always hurts so bad, it burns and he cries really hard. This doesn’t feel bad at all—it feels really good, actually—but it’s still disorienting. He wonders how Kacchan learned this version. “Chichi never made me do it this way before. H-how’d you fit my thingie in your butt, Kacchan?”

“Izuku, what the fuck?”

He yelps at the tightening, clinging to Kacchan’s shoulders. “Kacchan!”

“Get the fuck off of me!”

“What? What? I’m sorry!”

Kacchan shoves him, dislodging him. 

He lands heavily on the edge of the bed, elbow slipping over the side. The rest of him follows, the ground slamming into his upper back. The world spins over him, peering at him with curious eyes. He groans.

His head hurts. He sniffles. He’s not allowed to cry. His head hurts and his arm hurts and his leg hurts and his penis hurts and it’s just not a good time. Even worse, it’s his fault, somehow. 

Kacchan’s footsteps slap against the floor, the door to the bathroom swinging open and slamming behind him. After a few moments, the shower nozzle sounds.

Izuku sobs.

Kacchan lets him have ice cream for dinner. He usually only does that when Izuku’s broken a bone, but Izuku doesn’t have any broken bones anymore, so he gets to enjoy ice cream without any owies. It’s the best! Kacchan is the best of the best. 

He swings his legs in his seat while he hums around another mouthful, squeezing Bunmight against his chest. Kacchan sits across the table from him, staring into space. 

He continues to eat, bouncing slightly. His throat and eyes feel sore from crying earlier. He did some bad stuff and made Kacchan feel really upset earlier, but he isn’t grounded, right now. When he asked Kacchan if he’d burn him, Kacchan had said, ‘We don’t do that here.’

Weird, but okay! He thinks he’d feel better if Kacchan had hit him. Papa’ll burn him when he gets home, though, once he tells him that he did bad things that made Kacchan sad, so that placates him. Mama is coming to pick him up after dinner, probably. He’s too shy to ask Kacchan, right now. 

Still, he got ice cream for dinner, so he must not be in trouble. Kacchan seems kind of tired and weird, though. He finishes his ice cream in one, two bites before hopping out of his chair and padding over, considering the right way to fix his sad face. 

Hm… Usually Kacchan is pretty open about how he feels. That’s annoying, Izuku or I don’t feel like playing right now, Izuku or I can’t deal with you like this right now, I’m sorry okay? I’m sorry, please go play with your…your action figures or whatever in the corner. Sorry. Fuck.

He opens his arms.

Kacchan gives him a blank look.

“Do you want a hug, Kacchan?” he prompts.

Kacchan blinks, eyes unfocused. “…Huh?”

“You seem sad,” he says. “When I’m sad and Kacchan hugs me, I feel lots better. So if Kacchan wants a hug, I’d like to give him one and help him feel better.”

Kacchan stares at him for a moment. He’s been weird tonight, probably because of…

Ah. Izuku isn’t supposed to think about stuff like that. It’s grown-up problems. Something he only thinks about in a whisper. It’s fine. Papa will punish him when he gets home and then he’ll be square again.

Kacchan leans forward, his head knocking into Izuku’s chest. He closes his arms around his shoulders, hands curling along Kacchan’s back. Bunmight ends up pressed against Kacchan’s neck, its arm clenched in Izuku’s fist. He leans down to nuzzle against them both, Kacchan’s wheezy breaths curling against his ear.

“There there,” he says, patting at Kacchan’s back. 

“Izuku,” Kacchan chokes.

“Kacchan,” he replies, rubbing his nose against Kacchan’s temple. 

Kacchan’s fingers curl into his oversized t-shirt, trembling. 

He hums, squeezing Kacchan tighter. Kacchan is bigger than him, but he feels nice to hold. Izuku likes snuggling against him in bed best. Kacchan’s always so warm and solid. 

“Let’s… Let’s play action figures,” Kacchan croaks.

Izuku blinks. “Really?”

Kacchan’s back shudders under his palms. “Yeah. Really.”

“And then All Might soars all the way over the building,” Izuku narrates, the action figure landing on the kotatsu. “And schhhhhoooo he ends up at the parking garage where the hostages are.”

“And then what?”

“And then he frees them,” he says. “Um.” He slides Bunmight across the table. “Bunmight can play the hostages.”

Kacchan grabs Bunmight in a loose hold. “Okay. How many hostages are there?”

“Mm. I think I said forty-six, before? —Ah, I’m sorry I don’t have another hero or bad guy for you to play, Kacchan.”

“That’s fine,” Kacchan says. “I had fun playing as The Unknown before All Might knocked him out. What happens next?”

“He frees the hostages,” Izuku says. “And then he… He gives them all a big hug. Each and every one.” He shifts the toy around, miming the closest approximation of a hug that a stationary plastic figure can give to a stuffed rabbit that is twice its size. He smiles at the thought, though—All Might giving each hostage a hug. He’s so big and strong, so a hug would feel great from All Might. He wishes All Might would hug him, someday! 

“I’m going to kill your dad.”

Izuku blinks. When he looks at Kacchan, his face is composed. His eyes are dry. He looks as measured as he sounded when he spoke. “Huh?”

“Your dad. He’s coming back to Japan to discuss a company expansion.”

He frowns. “Chichi?”

“He didn’t tell you he’s coming.”

“A surprise visit from Chichi?” Oh, that’s nice! He missed his dad so much.

“I’ve been tracking his company for the past year. He’ll be in Harajuku on the fourteenth. I can blow up his car, make it look like an accident.”

Izuku cocks his head. “Why do you want to kill Chichi, Kacchan?”

Kacchan fixes him with a dull stare. Izuku fidgets under its weight.

“Um,” he starts. “Kacchan’s a hero, right?”

He sighs.

“Heroes don’t kill people. So…Kacchan shouldn’t kill anybody. Especially not Chichi. Chichi’s my dad and that would make me sad.”

“Heroes do kill people,” Kacchan replies, voice raspy. “They kill bad guys.”

Izuku blinks. “Kacchan, what are you talking about? Killing my dad? My dad isn’t a… Not only is that highly illegal, it’s come out of…of nowhere. What…”

“Oh. Oh, so now you’re back with me. Okay.”

He frowns. “Why do you want to murder my dad?”

Kacchan rubs his face. “Izuku. He fucked you up.”

“I— No? What? My dad’s always been great, Kacchan.”

Kacchan gives him this look that’s… Izuku isn’t sure how to describe it. Tired. Frustrated. At the end of his rope.

“Is this just because he gave me owies sometimes? Because that’s just… Dads do that, Kacchan. Especially Chichi, ‘cause I’m a bad kid. Was, I mean. Um.”

Kacchan sighs again, heavily.

“…Is it because of me?” he ventures, timid. “I’m sorry, Kacchan. I was fine with continuing, earlier. Really.”

“Do you fucking hear yourself? I’m not—” Kacchan grits his teeth. “I’m not fucking a kid, Izuku.”

“You’re not. I’m thirty-two, Kacchan, almost thirty-three.”

“Yeah? Then what’s all this shit, then?” He gestures at the All Might figure still in Izuku’s grip. “No, yeah, you’ve been totally mentally, emotionally, and sexually competent as a thirty-two-year-old all night.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, strained. His voice creaks under the weight of his own frustration. “Okay? If this isn’t working, just tell me. You wanna divorce?”

“No. I want to fucking kill your dad!”

“Chichi’s in America, Kacchan! You can’t! And I don’t want you to; I like Chichi! Chichi is my daddy and if you killed my daddy, I’d be really sad. Okay?”

Kacchan laughs humorlessly. “Do you even hear yourself, right now?”

“Fuck you!”

He shoves Bunmight across the kotatsu. Izuku grabs him, holding him against his chest. “Your brain is fucking busted, Izuku.”

His heart beats hard in his chest. “You’re not respecting me, right now,” he says quietly.

Kacchan shakes his head. “You remember when we got those CAT scans done? ‘Inconclusive,’ my ass. You insisted it was a concussion the first time you thought I noticed. How long did it take you to come clean, when we dated? Six, seven fucking weeks?”

He hugs the All Might figure and Bunmight, shoulders curling. 

“Well, guess what? I noticed you doing this shit long before that.”

What?

Kacchan points at him. “Junior high. You’d run up to me, act like we were cool when we were anything but. Always with that damn bunny. You’d get that dopey-ass look on your face in class. Saw it in high school, too. Been seeing it on your face for forever, Izuku.”

“No,” he replies, baffled. “No, it… I don’t…”

“It’s worse now,” Kacchan continues. “Well. Worst was after the war. You were in a perpetual state. Everybody else said you were finally going through your immature era. Making up for lost time. I guess you were.”

His lower lip shudders. No. No way. “It’s not…” he says weakly. “Nuh-uh.”

“You remember what you said when we were…were fuckin’ earlier?”

He ducks his head against Bunmight. 

“You asked me how I fit your thingie in my butt. That’s what you asked. So yeah. It was a fuckin’ boner killer, Izuku. If you wanna say some bullshit about that being ‘dirty talk,’ go ahead. Or let’s see what other fucked up lie you can come up with.”

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles weakly.

“I’m going to kill your deadbeat dad.”

He closes his eyes. “Please don’t, Kacchan.”

“I seriously don’t understand how you can be okay with that sick fuck—”

“It’s not about him!” Tears burn his clenched eyelids. “It’s about you! I don’t want you to— To— Kacchan, that’s not you! You’re not a killer!”

It’s quiet, for a moment. Then Kacchan says, “We both are. You know that.”

Izuku curls tightly, the plastic of All Might’s arms digging into his chest as he pressing his forehead into his knees. The terrified look on Tenko’s face when he’d forced One For All into his body. Prying his jaw open and slotting his own arm into the trap of his teeth. Don’t cry, Tenko-chan. Sensei gave you his gift. Here’s mine. 

Tenko couldn’t give it back fast enough. There was no way to do so, of course; a body unprepared for One For All breaks down almost immediately once it activates. All his ligaments bursting, the confused, startled look. Uncomprehending at first, then recognition. Then terror. That was Tenko, he knew. He saw a little boy trapped inside that monster and he pried him out at the cost of everything. 

He is a killer. He has been a killer for almost two decades.

“I’ve been planning this for the last seven months,” Kacchan continues. “No one is going to catch me. And even if they do, I’ll have an alibi.”

Izuku shudders, lifting his head to look at him with bleary eyes. “Alibi?”

Kacchan nods. “You.”

“Me?”

“You’ll cover for me.”

He sniffles, rubbing his cheek against Bunmight. 

“You’ll cover for me,” Kacchan repeats. “Right, Izuku?”

“I…”

“Izuku.”

“I’ll always help Kacchan,” he whispers, defeated. “Please, Kacchan. Please. Don’t.”

“How the fuck are you so defensive of him? He’s never done a single nice thing for you. He’s a sicko.”

That’s not true. Papa’s done lots of nice things for Izuku, over the years. He fed him food and took care of him when he was sick and they’d watch movies together, sometimes. They still talk on the phone, now. Just about daily life, this and that. Nothing major. Papa always ends his calls with It was so great to talk, Izuku and it fills Izuku’s chest with buzzing. The father that lives in his phone has never done anything to him except tell him about work projects and ask how his mother is. He sends him nice texts, too. I’m thinking of you, Izuku.

“He’s not a sicko,” Izuku says softly. “Kacchan, please.”

“He’s an absolute fucking sicko,” Kacchan says. “You freaked out when I asked if you were vers, back when we were dating. You remember that?”

His heart sinks. 

“I accidentally fingered you that one time when we were fucking and you punched me in the face,” Kacchan says, voice still even. “I’ve had theories. Shit you’ve said, over the years. But it’s obvious.”

“Kacchan, please,” he says.

“Your dad raped you, Izuku.”

He grits his teeth, bones creaking. 

Kacchan watches him. He’s waiting for a reaction. He wants a reaction.

“Don’t bully me,” he says, plaintive. “Please, Kacchan.”

“I’m not bullying you—”

“You want me to act out. Y-you want me to get mad or sad or. Or something. But I don’t feel like that, okay? Chichi hurt me. I know Chichi hurt me. I still care about him.”

“Do you fucking hear yourself right now?”

“Of course!” His voice cracks. “He’s my otouchan, Kacchan!”

“You wanna have a conversation, man-to-man, Izuku? You talk a big game about being thirty-two but you’re crying over your otouchan who used to rape you up the ass when you were barely out of diapers.”

He tightens his grip on the All Might toy and Bunmight, popping to his feet. “Stop it!” he cries. 

Kacchan looks up at him. 

“You can’t talk to me like this,” he says. “You’re trying to hurt me and I know it’s prob’ly because you care, but it’s not going to get you what you want. It just makes me feel bad. It’s mean.”

Kacchan says nothing. 

Izuku sniffles, turning away. 

“Where’re you going?”

He slips into his shoes and grabs his keys off the hook. “I’m leaving,” he says, “so I can go calm down and not be so sad anymore. I’ll be back later.”

“Izuku, wait—”

He opens the door and shuts Kacchan behind him.