Archive of Our Own ^beta

Katsuki’s anger wasn’t slow and quiet like a smoldering ember. It was abrupt and angry and unpredictable; it shocked even him at times.

He wasn’t always angry, contrary to what everyone seemed to think. He wasn’t an angry person at his core, but with his violent quirk and more confidence than he knew what to do with, it had always been easier to yell and shout and snarl out things with hatred than actually waste time sorting through his emotions or, he shudders just at the thought, let others see his weaknesses. Because, admittedly, he did have many.

Maybe the largest one was that “confidence” was never quite what he had too much of. It presented itself as such. He certainly perceived it as such when he was little and bossing around the other kids on the playground. But perhaps it could be better described as overcompensation.

Katsuki was angry because his Mother was angry, and she was angry because Katsuki never knew when to shut up. Katsuki never shut up because if he did, he was afraid all the hurt and fear and weakness would tumble out instead.

Next to someone like Izuku, Katsuki felt like a pathetic lost cause. How could Izuku wear his emotions on his sleeve, cry half his body weight each day, and still walk around with that stupidly happy smile as if everyone didn’t look down on him? Because they did. They always had.

They had when he was diagnosed quirkless, and they had when he saved the goddamn world (the ungrateful fucks). He would never be enough for some people. But then…that was the explanation, wasn’t it? It was only some people.

Some saw Izuku as a beacon of hope, a fucking persistent ray of light that somehow never went out, not even when it dimmed to near nonexistence. It was always there, somewhere, whether that was inside Izuku or in his actions or in his words. Some people took Izuku, all his tears and smiles and laughs and awful optimistic lines, and worshiped him like the sun.

Katsuki would be lying if he said he didn’t do the same. How couldn’t he? Really? Katsuki, with his unpredictable anger, could envy and hate Izuku as much as he’d like, but the fact was, Izuku would still be that beacon, and still give Katsuki those stupid smiles, and he would never stop, because that's not who Izuku was, and Katsuki wasn’t the kind of person to ignore that.

Maybe that's why he loved him. He hated him, he wanted to strangle him, he wanted to tell him to shut his mouth before both of them did something stupid, but he loved him. And it made perfect sense. For Katsuki, for Izuku, for the whole damn universe. There was no world in which Izuku would come into Katsuki’s life and Katsuki wouldn’t love him, no matter how long it took him to get there.

Maybe he wishes, in this world, he had realized it before he died.

He was alive now, of course–though sometimes he had to lie down when his heart started acting up, and his eyesight has never been quite the same in his right eye. Izuku was alive. The world kept spinning. But what before was complicated–when had Katsuki’s feelings not been?–was now seemingly cosmic.

Telling Izuku “I love you” when they had still been exchanging little taunts and dancing around each other with those too-familiar nicknames would have been daunting, of course, but seemed like nothing in comparison to those words in a war-heavy atmosphere where Izuku’s smiles didn’t always reach his eyes.

Katsuki had bottled up his feelings–for Izuku, for the world, for himself–for his whole life. This was no different.

── .✦

Izuku's father had just come back from overseas. Katsuki only knows this because his own mother had called him to complain the other day. Apparently, she had never liked him. No one really did. He was handsome and tall, but cold even to the people he’d known his whole life.

Katsuki only vaguely remembers him from his childhood. He had moved to America when he and Izuku were only four, but even before then, he was always working and never had the time to play with two hyperactive toddlers. Katsuki doubts he ever held Izuku at all.

How Inko, the sweetest woman Katsuki had probably ever met, had ended up with Hisashi was a mystery to him. Why Hisashi had come back thirteen years later was an even bigger mystery.

Izuku seemed…unaffected. Or at least purposely indifferent. Honestly, Katsuki had forgotten of Hisashi's existence the second he stopped being at Izuku’s house during their play dates, and the blonde has a feeling Izuku did too. There…wasn’t much to miss. Only the vague memory of cold, black eyes and a clean, crisp suit.

They’d been back in classes for a while, their lives a mix of pushing forward and thinking about the past: the war. And Izuku had, honestly, been taking things better than most in the class. Katsuki knew he had nightmares, and he’d seen the panic attacks first-hand, too, but Izuku had always been stupidly fucking optimistic, and the last thing he’d want to do is seem down when he knew everyone in the class was watching him.

He’d probably never get away from getting watched. Paparazzi, cameras, tabloids. And, of course, the millions that looked up to him.

Izuku was smiling and laughing and comforting like usual, and when Katsuki had heard about his father, he honestly hadn’t known what to think. He felt somewhat protective, in a weird way, at the thought of Izuku’s father seeing the boy after being gone for the entire war, acting like he could just step in and that would count for fuck all. As if he could come back now and possibly ever come close to everyone who had been inches from death at Izuku’s side, or had come back from it.

But Izuku was indifferent, and Katsuki wouldn’t be surprised if he and his father had only talked a few times since he was home. Though it seems textbook Izuku, he also had a feeling the man wasn’t met with tears and a tight hug.

And, anyway, Izuku hadn’t gone home today. It was Sunday. He always went home.

Katsuki only went to see his own parents on the rare occasion that he actually wanted to, or when they basically forced him to come over. It was just for the day, so, luckily, he could never be dragged into anything too elaborate, but he found it a hassle to get on the train and go all the way over to his neighborhood. Izuku didn’t, though. He never missed a weekend.

His mom would probably wring his neck if he did, but Izuku was just as desperate to see her each week, and it was honestly still a mystery to Katsuki how UA even convinced Inko to let Izuku move into the dorms. Now, with his dad…Katsuki couldn’t blame him for skipping. It would be weird, undoubtedly. And, anyway, they had quizzes next week to study for, and some days of training to make up since Izuku had been out with a cold just recently.

Katsuki would miss a visit to his parents in a heartbeat, but Izuku probably wouldn’t, and that was only a little alarming. He was never really one to avoid issues–no, he was usually the one to start them (though he did always end them too, to be fair).

Katsuki was only a tiny bit concerned, really. But he was trying to get better at acknowledging his emotions–or whatever bullshit this therapist said–so maybe that concern was just a bit more…prominent.

When Izuku walks into the common room, more empty than usual, with most of its inhabitants away for the day, Katsuki’s heart lurches uncomfortably. Being concerned about people felt gross.

The nerd was looking down at his phone, and had paused right behind the couch, seemingly not noticing Katsuki sprawled across it, looking over some old calculus notes in vain.

“Why aren’t you going home?”

Izuku startles, looking up from his phone with wide eyes but a tentative smile.

“Um- my parents. They have a dinner reservation,” he fusses with the hem of his shirt, pulling it down nervously, “my mom wanted me to come but…I thought they’d want some time by themselves.”

Katsuki survey’s Izuku’s nervous air. He can’t tell if it's because of him or the talk of his father.

“...your dads back.” It's not really a question, though it's not necessarily a statement either. More…an invitation.

Izuku nods, smile faltering, but just slightly. It's the tiny tells that Katsuki can recognize: the way the flesh of his cheeks no longer buries his eyes, or his dimples no longer show.

“Yep,” he pops the P, “he…uh…asked about you, haha.”

His hand goes up to the back of his neck when Katsuki raises a brow, “It's just, he remembered you. From when we were kids. And…not much else, I guess.”

If Izuku was hurt over the fact that the one thing his father remembered wasn’t even about him, but rather one of his friends, he didn’t show it. He was passive, overly so, though his whole demeanor overall seemed sort of down. It could be because of his father’s lack of care, or just the general presence of him. Katsuki sits up properly on the couch, his notes slipping onto the cushion next to him.

“Oh,” Katsuki feels dumb for not thinking of another response, but within moments, Izuku is speaking again.

“Actually, my Mom wanted me to ask if you could come over for dinner next weekend? I mean, your Mom already is, but, you never really come over when our families have dinner and-” the rambles are self-soothing, and Izuku looks a little hopeful as he cuts himself off and says the next statement more clearly: “I thought it would make things less awkward with my- with Hisashi, maybe, if you were there.”

Ah. So Katsuki was a scapegoat. He nods before he has time to think about it, and Izuku’s real smile comes back.

“Really? Thank you, Kacchan.”

“Yeah. Your mom will love to see me,” and that gets a small chuckle out of Izuku.

It doesn’t miss him the way Izuku is tentative to even call Hisashi his dad–and he doesn't blame him–so he could only imagine the teen was dealing with a lot of personal internal emotional shit, and though Katsuki knew he’d probably be useless helping Izuku talk it out, or something, he could at least do this. Give Izuku a little indirect support, at least a distraction.

Izuku looks back to his phone, frowning and furrowing his brow, and hurries off, but not before calling out another little “thank you” towards Katsuki. He's out the front door of the dorms before Katsuki can respond.

Katsuki feels a mix of trepidation and, oddly, excitement, as he waits for the following Sunday. He hadn’t been to Izuku’s house since they were kids. He still remembers the last time he came over, the last time he left.

They were five. Katsuki had fought his mom hard about even going to the Midoriya apartment, but she still hadn’t grasped that Izuku and Katsuki weren’t friends anymore. Katsuki hadn’t seen him as a friend since Izuku was diagnosed Quirkless.

Katsuki had walked into the apartment, scowl on his face, and he hadn’t even brought any toys because he most certainly didn’t want to play with weak, quirkless little Deku. Izuku’s face had done a sad little thing when he saw Katsuki, pushed through the door by his mother, and they’d sat in the living room together, almost silent, for hours. Izuku reorganized his binder of All Might trading cards once, twice, then three times. Katsuki watched the television.

When Inko had come to bring them a snack, Izuku was crying softly, tears dripping onto the laminated sheets of his binder, and Katsuki hadn’t even noticed. He still didn’t know how long he’d been crying for.

Katsuki yelled at him for being a baby, and Izuku yelled back–a shocker, back then–about how Katsuki was a bully. His mom was called to take him home and defuse the situation. Neither Mitsuki nor Inko ever prompted them to play again.

Eleven years changed a lot.

The Midoriya’s still lived in the same apartment. Izuku’s room was probably the same All Might shrine it’s always been. Inko would probably welcome Katsuki with a familiar hug, a warm smile, still smelling of green tea and cinnamon. That's what Katsuki wanted to remember about his childhood with Izuku–not how they had been messy and mean and complicated to the very end.

When Katsuki saw Izuku in class on Monday, he looked like he hadn’t slept a wink. He dutifully did his notes, checking his phone every time Aizawa turned back to the board. Katsuki just watched.

He didn’t really mean to, but he couldn’t help it. When Izuku was in his sight, he was simply drawn to stare, like it was the natural order of things.

When he really thought about it, Katsuki realized it had always been like that. Even if his stares were full of malice and jealousy for a majority of their life (though, really, those feelings were turned inward more than they were ever actually felt for Izuku. Projection had a funny way of twisting and turning thoughts into something horrible), they were still present, of course, and it seemed Katsuki had just gotten used to resting his eyes on the other boy.

He’d grown a lot. Katsuki had seen him at every age, every stage of his life, and this was certainly his favorite. Despite the countless staring, each moment was different. It almost amazed Katsuki how Izuku now held himself with such confidence, like he could finally see how fucking good he was, in every sense of the word. Even when he was running off of two hours of sleep, or stuck in his own head about the war, or the vestiges, or Tenko’s death, his resting posture was tall and…well…full.

He filled the space he was in. He didn’t cower into the corner of the very air he breathed. It was a bit of a miracle to Katsuki, especially since, here he was, staring at Izuku, and, for once, he wasn’t making him cower.

Izuku did fret, though, with each glance at his phone, the biting of his nails, the picking of his skin. He mutters more than usual, the steady rise and fall of the noise almost lulling Katsuki to sleep. What was Aizawa even lecturing about? The consideration of ethics in heroic…something.

He fidgeted all week. Wednesday morning, Katsuki heard him awake and pacing the hall at three in the morning (and oh how Katsuki wished to go see him, anything, still in a cold sweat over the terror that woke him up).

By Sunday, he was clearly drudged down by studying, whatever kept him glued to his phone, and just a general…slump. But he still smiled at Katsuki when he approached him at the door, bright and earnest, thankfully, and Katsuki’s body felt warm.

They walk to the train station together. It was a bit odd to think, just a year ago today, Katsuki would try to sit as far away as possible from Izuku on the train, but then again, Izuku would probably be avoiding him just the same. He’d even do something stupid like try to stagger their rides.

But now, Izuku was sat right next to him. They had squeezed into two sets (though, it seemed more like one-and-a-half with the grocery bags of the woman next to Katsuki pushing him closer to Izuku) on the crowded train, and Katsuki didn’t know how to feel about all the parts of them now pressed together. Every time Izuku shifted his leg or fidgeted with something, Katsuki could feel his warm skin move against his own, even through the layers of clothing.

He was talking a mile a minute, trying to keep his voice relatively hushed and therefore talking right into Katsuki’s ear.

“-and, well, my mom was going to make tempura, but then she remembered how much you loved spicy food when we were kids, so I hope you’ll like her curry,” Katsuki nods along, “does your mom like curry?”

“Yeah.”

Izuku smiles, but there's layers to it, and Katsuki doesn't pretend not to recognize how Izuku is still surprised each time Katsuki gives him a civil response. A friendly one, even.

Katsuki was surprised as well. Someone would speak to him, and he wouldn’t have that nagging, persistent urge in the back of his head to yell and shout and put himself back on top. That didn’t seem quite as important now, after the war, after seeing Izuku’s face when he first woke up in the hospital. The nurses said he’d been waiting there for hours. He still had his own IVs in.

“I’m really happy you’re coming, Kacchan. I know- I know it's sort of weird. Us…talking, like this, I guess.”

“Don’t be gross.”

Izuku laughs, face a healthy shade of pink, and pulls his sleeves further over his hands. “I’m really glad, though. That we can be like this again. I’m sorry it took…everything that happened, you know, for us to get here.”

“It's my fault, don’t apologize.” It comes out before Katsuki can stop it.

Izuku shakes his head, the finality of it telling Katsuki there was no way he’d win this argument. “I’m just happy, Kacchan. I really missed you.”

Katsuki’s face is pink now too, though it's significantly more noticeable because Katsuki never fucking blushed.

“Yeah, well, you weren’t the only one.”

Izuku’s eyes grow wide, his pupil’s honest to God dilating, and he beams.

“Kacchan-”

“I’ll beat your ass, what are you smiling for?”

He laughs again, bowing his head, and his hands curl up in his lap, “guess I just felt like it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And then, the whole thing was way too vulnerable, and though Katsuki was willing to think about his mushy, gross, stupid feelings for Izuku, he wasn’t willing to show them. Not now. Not on the fucking train.

Not ever, probably, but if Izuku keeps looking at him like that, who knows what he’ll do.

When they got off at their stop, the walk to Izuku’s apartment was hardly a block. They can see it from the station, and a wave of nostalgia and memories flood back as they pass old playgrounds and the one konbini he and Izuku always ran to for A/C in the summer.

Katsuki forgot, however, how many flights of stairs they’d have to climb in the building. Evidently, the elevators still didn’t work. When they got to Izuku’s door– number 109, which Katsuki did remember–it was flung open within seconds and Inko, wide smile on her face, was quick to pull Izuku into her arms. You’d think they hadn’t seen each other in years, not two weeks.

“Izuku! I’m so happy you're here, Baby.”

Katsuki watches the two of them, fondly, until Inko’s attention is turned onto him. He’d interacted with her a few times in the hospital after the war, but…this was different. He was in control of all of his facilities, now, and not doped up on pain meds.

“Katsuki, you’ve gotten so big,” she says with a nostalgic tilt to her voice. She opens her arms for him, too, and who would Katsuki be to deny her a hug?

She squeezes him comfortingly, like she was soothing aches she couldn’t see but knew were there. Izuku had already toed into the apartment when Inko lets Katsuki go, ushering the blonde to follow.

He takes off his shoes, surveying the main room. It looked different from his last memories, for sure. It was neater, no toys or things strewn around, but that made sense with no kids in the house anymore. They’d gotten a new armchair, at some point, and there was tons of Izuku’s shit–medals, awards, printed out news articles, his cheesy middle school diploma–hung on the wall, no doubt by a proud Inko.

Izuku slides off his shoes next to him, looking up with a smile when Mitsuki and Masaru walk into the entryway, coming to greet the boys.

“Oh, Izuku!”

Mitsuki reaches him, squeezing his shoulders and looking him over proudly. Masaru gives Katsuki a soft smile, patting his shoulder in greeting. Katsuki can’t help but roll his eyes from beside Izuku and Mitsuki, but, eventually, her attention goes onto him instead.

“I’m glad you decided to come, Katsuki.” Her voice is a bit haughty, like she was expecting he wouldn’t, and honestly, Katsuki didn’t blame her. He never had in the past.

She ruffles his hair roughly, making him grumble, and grins before she’s called back to the kitchen by Inko to help bring out the food. Masaru follows after her, eager to help the two.

There was only one guest missing from attendance, Katsuki noticed, and Izuku seemed more than happy to ignore that fact as he trailed after Mitsuki and Masaru to join the two mothers in the kitchen.

It's almost as soon as he disappears into the other room that Hisashi comes down the hallway. He and Katsuki make eye contact, holding it for a few long moments. Surely he would recognize Katsuki. The entirety of 1-A had been on the news almost every day during the war, and even if Hisashi was in America, he was bound to be checking the Japanese news after he found out his son was fighting in a war. Hopefully.

“Bakugou. It's been a while.”

His voice was deep, and it vaguely brought up some old memories that Katsuki couldn’t break down in much detail. He looked…uninterested, to see Katsuki there. Maybe uninterested in the entire dinner.

All Katsuki says is “yeah,” keeping his voice casual, and Hisashi’s eyes trail off, looking towards the dining room. Katsuki is more than happy to give him an excuse to leave. He mutters something about the bathroom, walking past Hisashi into the hall.

He remembers where the bathroom was, and flicks on the light. His eyes scan over the pack of cigarettes on the counter–definitely Hisashi’s–and the curl cream on the shelf above the mirror–definitely Izuku’s.

He hears his mother’s shrill voice calling him just as he’s drying his hands on the hand towel. The dining room is nicely dressed, food laid out on the table–the curry Izuku promised, among other things–and Inko is fretting over the whole set-up.

The only open seat is next to Izuku, across from Hisashi, and Katsuki slips into his chair with a glance towards the other teen. He looks deep in thought, biting on the corner of his thumbnail, with his gaze zoning out somewhere near Hisashi’s left ear. If the man can feel his son staring, he ignores it.

“This is so nice,” Inko pipes up, clasping her hands together happily. Mitsuki hums in agreement, giving Katsuki a look as if telling him to behave today.

Masaru nods from next to her. “The food looks great, Inko.”

The dinner is awkward. Maybe that's only because Katsuki is watching Hisashi like a hawk, but the conversation seems to flow and move and change around him, yet he just sits there, stone faced, hardly even nodding along.

It's obvious everyone else notices, but they chose to ignore it. Hisashi had been back for two weeks; maybe they had just accepted this was how he’d be. Beside him, Izuku is oddly quiet, too. He answers when he’s spoken too, polite as ever, but when he falls silent again, he seems to keep zoning out and playing with his food.

He doesn't really seem there until Hisashi’s voice breaks through the chatter.

“Eat your food, Izuku. Don’t be ungrateful.”

His head snaps up, eyes slightly wide, and Inko’s expression turns slightly distressed.

“Hisashi, not now-”

“No. He should be eating. You took hours to make this.”

Izuku swallows, shoveling a bite of curry into his mouth. It looks like he’s chewing concrete. The room is quiet, Inko’s head moving between her son and her husband, brows furrowed.

Mitsuki tries to break the silence, but the second her mouth opens, Hisashi is speaking again.

“And sit up straight.” It's so needless. Izuku is hunched over, curling into his little shell, but Katsuki’s posture wasn’t much better, and Hisashi was ignoring his existence.

Izuku looks like he might cry. To be fair, he almost always looks like that, but now, his eyes are fluttering like they’re trying to push back the tears and his hand is trembling as he clutches onto his spoon.

The silence permeates the air for a few more moments, and when Masaru, this time, tries to rekindle the conversation, Hisashi stays quiet. His gaze is locked on Izuku, a deep crease in his forehead.

Despite how similar the man looked to Izuku on the surface, Katsuki couldn't help but think they really had nothing in common. A crease like that had probably never even touched Izuku’s face.

As the parents–minus Hisashi, of course, still glaring and examining and furrowing his brows–talk, Izuku looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Hisashi’s words themselves were nothing particularly cruel, but his tone was careless and the way he drew the entire attention of the room to Izuku’s actions didn’t help. Katsuki was sure, too, that this had been going on since he came back.

That's probably why Izuku had stayed at the dorms last Sunday.

Izuku doesn't really talk for the rest of dinner. He eats a bit, but spends more time zoning out. Katsuki nudges him under the table with his knee when his spoon begins slipping from his fingers, his mind in another galaxy entirely.

Hisashi is the first to rise from the table, leaving his dishes there, and doesn't even make a comment as he stalks off. Inko hardly pays him any mind, but Mitsuki and Masaru share a look. Izuku seems to relax once his father is gone, but he's still uncharacteristically quiet.

He and Katsuki help with the dishes after everyone's finished eating, and they can hear the familiar, comforting thrum of conversation from the living room as they scrub and dry plates. Hisashi’s voice is absent, and when Katsuki asks where he’d gotten off to, Izuku said he was probably smoking outside. Inko had gotten on his ass about doing it inside, especially when Izuku started developing a cough.

They mostly clean in silence, though, but it's more comfortable than before, and every once in a while, Katsuki’s hip bumps Izuku. The blonde does the washing, Izuku the drying, and it's routinely therapeutic in a way Katsuki’s therapist would approve of.

When they finish, Izuku doesn't look like he wants to be pulled back into their parent's conversation–they meant well, but fuck were they unaware of how low Izuku’s social batter got–so Katsuki suggests they go to Izukus room. They probably wouldn’t be getting back to UA for a while, since it wasn’t that late yet, and Aizawa was gentler with their curfew now after the war.

Izuku sits on the edge of his bed, Katsuki settling in next to him. They didn’t really hang out like this. They trained, did homework, and hung out in groups, but one on one…it was still a little weird. When one of them needed to break down about the war, or just cry about the ever-present fear of the future, it was fine, but when it came to just…this? Talking? Hanging out? It was still…unfamiliar.

It's not awkward, though, at least not in a way that made Katsuki cringe. It…worked. It was fine. Whatever “it” was, was, well, just fine.

A few moments tick by, Izuku’s door just a bit ajar and their parent's voices echoing down the hall.

“Your dad’s kinda an asshole,” Katsuki blurts out, and Izuku’s respondent laugh really sounds more like a sigh.

Katsuki doesn't know why he said that, but he had never been one to sugar coat things, and this was something that definitely needed to be discussed. Izuku would just disregard it, otherwise.

“My mom’s not happy with him either,” he says with resignation.

“Was he always like that?”

Izuku hums, looking at the ceiling thoughtfully, “maybe. I wouldn’t remember, but…my mom says he used to be…happier? She wouldn’t have married him if he wasn’t.”

His face turns towards Katsuki, who gives him a firm look.

“He was treating you like shit. Even I-” Katsuki stops himself. What had his therapist said? He wouldn’t get over his shit if he kept blaming himself for it. Compartmentalize. Don’t center unrelated conversations on yourself, no matter how good your intentions are. Redirect. “That's not normal, Izuku.”

He doesn't miss the way Izuku’s pupils fucking dilate when Katsuki says his given name. They always did, even after, well, fuck, however long it had been since he’d stopped with the “Deku” crap.

“He…he's just…adjusting. He hasn’t had to parent anyone in years, it's not like…it’ll all go back to normal right away.”

“That doesn't mean he can fucking bully you.”

Izuku bites his lip, picking at his nails. “It's just…it's because of my quirk.”

Honestly, Katsuki doesn't remember how Hisashi reacted when Izuku was diagnosed quirkless. It was before he and Izuku stopped being friends, so the little blonde was more preoccupied by the other boy than his father.

Maybe it hadn’t been a good reaction, judging by the way he still seemed to regard Izuku as the gum stuck under his shoe.

“He…he said he kept up on the war…and all that stuff. He watched me. He and my mom hardly talked the whole time he was overseas so I guess he found me on his own.” Izuku bites the inside of his cheek. “He said he was so happy to see me doing something ‘useful.’ And then I lost my quirk. The thing is, he didn’t know until he’d already gotten back. He thought I still had it just…just needed to recharge, or recover, or whatever.”

Katsuki tenses as he hears Izuku’s breath hitch and his voice sound wet.

“I don’t think he would have come back if he knew. He was so ang-r-y,” his voice breaks up on the last few syllables. That was so uncharacteristically Izuku. He took anger and pounded it into submission because he knew, at the root of it, there was always something more; fear, heartbreak, grief.

He didn’t do– this.

“It's stupid. I don’t even– why would I even care? He doesn't know anything about me.”

“He's still your dad.”

Izuku glances up at him, eyes wet. He sniffles. Katsuki thinks his face says it all; Katsuki's words were exactly true and that was the problem. At the end of the day, he could act as detached as he wanted, but there always was an attachment–blood–and a child-like craving to be loved and held and told that he made his parents proud.

He was still a child. They all were. Scars didn’t change that.

── .✦

Katsuki’s therapist said healing wasn’t linear. She described it like the ocean. There was high tide and low tide, but no matter which, waves were a constant. In this analogy, Katsuki supposes the waves were manifestations of trauma, PTSD, grief, and whatever other shit she talked about. It didn’t matter if things were great or the bottom of the bucket, the waves would always be there, lapping at the shore, and it was up to Katsuki not to get swept away.

People said you should never turn your back to the ocean; it was unpredictable. The same was to be said for trauma. Ignoring it will only get you hurt. Katsuki has…more or less internalized this. He's doing well, really– his therapist says so.

It was really quite easy to get the stick out of his ass and listen to other people for once after almost dying. When his friends hugged him or sat shoulder to shoulder, he no longer growled and snapped and threatened domestic abuse– though sometimes he thought it. When Aizawa praised him for his performance during training, he felt that warm fuzzy feeling in his chest and didn’t try to tamp it down.

When he turned around and Izuku was right there, like always, the haze of jealousy and guilt and anger had finally cleared, and he could just be happy that he somehow had someone in his life that would always, always be on his side no matter how god-awful he was.

Katsuki thought he was doing pretty good, really. But it seemed to be cursed, and it probably had been since birth, that when he was at his high tide, Izuku would be at his low. He had eye bags to rival Aizawa’s, and Katsuki had a feeling it wasn’t just nightmares keeping him up. He missed meals–though, now that Katsuki thought about it, he’d never really eaten a lot to begin with. Not since middle school.

His smiles still light up the room–because how could they not?–but are the opposite of self-serving; it's like each smile or laugh drains him of his life force, and makes everyone but him happy like some fucked-up selfcest vampire. Izuku is a roaring, cold ocean with waves so high Katsuki couldn’t see the peaks.

And Katsuki didn’t press–he didn’t feel like walking up to Izuku and asking if he was depressed or just stressed about finals–but Izuku defended himself anyways. The blonde would ask if he had eaten–not concern, not pressing, just a simple question, of course–and he would nod with that tired smile like he wasn’t lying straight to Katsuki’s face. He’d hear him pacing at three in the morning, and the next day in class hear Izuku bullshit about his eight hours to Uraraka.

He wasn’t eating and he wasn’t sleeping and he definitely wasn’t telling Katsuki–nor anyone else–the truth. He– well, he didn’t owe Katsuki anything, but the constant white lies were worrying and worry didn’t have to be reliant on reason.

It was something more than concern that Katsuki felt burning in the pit of his stomach. It was also a bloody war between obligation and resignation: should he help Izuku or stay out of his shit because, at the end of the day, was it really his business? Katsuki would think about the “swan dive” shit, and obligation started to win. He'd think about that one nightmare Izuku had where he said he’d held Katsuki’s corpse as it slowly drained of blood, and he’d feel a tugging in his gut to tuck in the idiot like a toddler and then force-feed him breakfast after 24 hours of rest.

Today, Izuku was late. Katsuki would like to hope that meant he overslept–maybe the only way Izuku would take care of himself is by accident–but the way he rushes into class an hour late says otherwise. He's trembling all over, just slightly, in the way Katsuki knew meant caffeine.

He sits down, rustles through his backpack for his notebook, and completely misses the look Aizawa gives him; all furrowed brows and frowns and soft, concerned sighs.

He and Izuku had planned to spar today. They walk to the small gym after classes are over, still in their training uniforms, and Katsuki can’t help but open his big mouth.

“Why were you late?”

Izuku startles a bit at his voice, head popping up, and a curl falls out of place from his little ponytail. “I overslept.”

Bullshit Katsuki groans internally. “You look tired.”

Izuku hums contemplatively, pushing open the door to the small gym.

He sets down his bag, glancing over his shoulder at the way Katsuki won’t stop staring. He cracks under the pressure– though it was hardly any pressure at all.

“It's just my arms. They-they do this thing sometimes. They just hurt.” He was wearing compression sleeves under his uniform, which he did more often than not nowadays. “It's hard to sleep. But I’m fine, Kacchan.”

Katsuki stills, looking down at where Izuku’s hand clutches the strap of his bag, trembling slightly. Not from nerves, no, from pain.

“You can ask people for help, you know?” Katsuki almost cringes at his own words–it would be very easy for Izuku to throw a ‘funny coming from you’ back at him right about now.

Izuku just smiles, soft and, to give him some credit, maybe a bit thankful. “There's not a lot I can do about it, so I don’t know how anyone else could help.”

Oh, Katsuki hates that excuse. Izuku thinks the conversation is over, there, because Katsuki is silent. He reaches down to scavenge through his bag, but Katsuki just continues to stare: “does heat help?”

“What?”

“Like on your arms and shit.”

The little nerd has the audacity to act like he doesn't know what Katsuki is implying, cocking his head in confusion. Though, really, Katsuki didn’t even know what he was implying either ‘till he blurted it out.

“My quirk could help.”

Izuku's eyes widen a fraction, and his brain moves at a mile a minute to understand what he meant. Izuku was smart, and one of his biggest areas of expertise had to be Katsuki's quirk. On a low caliber, and with very, very careful control, he could generate heat in his palms without the explosion to match. Katsuki was sure that Izuku had thought of that as a possibility before, something his quirk could potentially do; there had to be at least a paragraph about it in that notebook Izuku keeps just on Katsuki and Katsuki alone. “I do it on myself sometimes. Won’t fix it, but might make it better for a few hours.”

“Oh.”

Izuku keeps digging in his gym bag, though he's not paying attention. Just something to fill the silence, the stillness. “You don't have to do that, Kacchan.” He finally settles on, but it's weird, and pointless. If Izuku wanted to pull some “no, no, don’t worry about it” shit, then he should have said it sooner, not after Katsuki had already gotten to plead his case.

“I want to. You're sleeping like shit. How are we supposed to be a hero duo if you fall behind?”

Izuku glances at him, his face doing a funny thing. It's like preemptive grief. Katsuki doesn't think it's about the whole ‘not sleeping’ thing.

“I don’t want to be a bother. I know you're always busy-”

“I’m not,” Katsuki defends with exasperation, “and I’m already with you most of the day anyway.”

“Kacchan, its-”

“Why don’t you want me to help you? I thought we were-” he stops himself, because that's a very dangerous avenue to let himself go down (mentally, let alone verbally). Katsuki takes a breath. “Just let me help you. I want to. How could it be a burden to me if I’m fuckin’ begging you to let me?”

Izuku is stumped, there, because Katsuki was undoubtedly right, like always. He sighs, finally standing, and after all the fussing in his gym bag, he wasn’t even holding anything. He's resigned, and Katsuki knows that means victory.

“Ok, Kacchan.”

With a mental cheer, he grins sharply. “Don’t think I’m gonna go easy on you, though.”

Izuku’s brain lags for a second before he realizes what Katsuki was talking about–sparring, the whole reason they came here. He lets the previous conversation slip from his mind. Katsuki can tell–he always can–that no matter how tired he was, and no matter how much pain he was in, he's always excited to spar.

“I’d never dream of it,” Izuku replies with his own competitive smile.

When he and Izuku spar, it's like a dance. A passionate compilation of well-honed moves, flowing like water because the two of them had always been able to read each other's mind. The only thing more dangerous than getting in-between their sparring was getting on the opposite end of their joint attack.

There was something to be said about how, despite how much he’d changed and grown, Katsuki never failed to be competitive. He pinned Izuku about half of the time, lost the rest, but had at least grown enough to recognize, even if he wasn’t winning, he was still learning. It was still beneficial. Especially if the whole “hero partners” thing was going to happen.

A few hours later, they’re both sweaty and exhausted but thoroughly satisfied with the training. They go their separate ways in the dorms to shower, then Katsuki–towel wrapped around his neck and hair damp, pressed against his head–goes down to the kitchen to make food with whatever shit they had left in the fridge. He needed to send one of the idiots out to the store.

He settles on ramen, but it isn’t the crap from the cup. He makes his own broth and it's garnished like a cooking magazine. Izuku traipses down the stairs just as he's serving up two bowls.

Izuku’s gaze flicks over to the ramen, his wet curls dripping onto his baggy pajama shirt. It's a Bronze Age All Might one, half of the decal basically worn off from time.

“Your arms are fine?”

Izuku nods. His compression sleeves were back on after his shower. Katsuki assesses him for a minute before accepting the answer. Sometimes, training made his chronic pain flare up, but he seemed fine for now. Either way, there was bound to be an ever-present ache.

“Eat,” he practically demands, shoving the bowl onto the table. His own sits steaming across from it, the broth noticeably redder– Izuku had once suggested his high spice tolerance was because of his quirk, but Katsuki just thought everyone else were babies.

Izuku takes his seat, slouching in the chair from exhaustion. He looks soft, there, which is a word that seemed counterintuitive to the defined muscles and fighting spirit but, undeniably, fit. His baggy basketball shorts hung over toned thighs, but the hair on his legs was just a bit curly and a little scruffy, so it softened the image. His face is a bit pink from the hot shower, skin mostly clear save from the marks where he picked at it incessantly. His eyes were big and framed by thick eyelashes, downcast now as he prodded his ramen with his chopstick. His hands are big–massive, even–but he has at least two band-aids that Katsuki can see on his fingers and his nails are bitten and gross like a germy toddler.

He was a little bit cute. Katsuki had heard some 2-B nobody call Izuku “plain,” once, and it’d stuck with him since then. He guessed, maybe, he wasn’t a model, but never in his life would he call the boy “plain” (a nicer world for ugly). He was ugly-cute, like a weird dog-rabbit hybrid thing, and would probably be very attractive if he ditched the All Might merch, took better care of his hair, and actually took care of himself for once.

When he was in his hero suit, dirt smeared across his face and hair greasy from battle, pressed back against his forehead, Katsuki thought he was at his best. The fire in his eyes was what really set it all off.

But, still, even now, Katsuki thought Izuku was the opposite of an eyesore, and he shamelessly stares him down as he slurps his own ramen. Partly to admire him, but partly because he was just pushing around his food and moping.

“You don’t like my cooking?” He barks, pressing his chopsticks down onto the table with just a bit too much force.

Izuku jumps, face blooming pink as he rushes to defend himself. “Kacchan’s cooking is amazing!” He clasps his hands together in earnest, “I’m just…I’m kind of nauseous.”

He seems to be ditching his usual lies because Katsuki had already berated him earlier, and he had agreed to let the blonde help him.

“Is it the pain?” Katsuki asks, softer this time. Izuku nods, and Katsuki sees the way his hand cramps around the chopsticks. Maybe he should have made them something easier to eat.

“I can make you something else,” he hurriedly offers, but Izuku is just shaking his head.

“You don’t have to. I just…I just want to lay down. But- I’m fine!” He pushes back his chair, standing and taking the bowl in trembling hands. Katsuki rushes to his side of the table to grab it from him before he can drop it and make a mess.

“Go. I’ll come up when I’m done with this,” he says, gathering his own bowl. He levels Izuku with a look, feeling uncomfortable shyness creep up the back of his neck. “I can do the shit with my quirk.”

Izuku opens his mouth like he's going to give one last attempt at arguing, but he gives up halfway, and just nods with his mouth parted like an idiot.

Katsuki hurries with the dishes, though he's nothing if not thorough when it came to sanitization. When he's done, he finds Izuku’s door ajar upstairs. Almost everyone kept their doors open, or at least unlocked, after war after realizing how frequent nightmares would be in their lives, now, and how helpful it was to be able to reach someone else in seconds. Some did the opposite, getting anal about locking up, but Izuku was not one of them. Even before the shit that went down, he had no sense of personal security; his phone password was literally 1234 until Katsuki made him change it.

Even before the war, you could waltz into his room and kill him in his sleep with ease. As Katsuki slips into the dorm room and actually shuts the door behind him, he wonders when the last time it had been closed was.

Izuku was curled up on his bed, blanket thrown over him. Katsuki sits on the edge of his bed tentatively.

“Izuku.” Izuku’s answering whine is verging on pained. Well, it was pained; that was the whole reason he was here.

“Roll onto your back,” Katsuki urges, voice quieter than normal. It felt wrong to speak any louder in the quiet, tense atmosphere of the dorm room.

Izuku slowly complies, and Katsuki can see how his face is twisted in discomfort, even as the other teen tries to hide it. His head is back against his pillow, still damp hair splayed out across the dorky Eraserhead pillow case.

His arms are cradled to his chest in front of him, and the blanket tangles with his legs. Katsuki reaches out and slowly pulls off the boy’s compression sleeves, and Izuku lets him, mostly still but tracking Katsuki’s every move with his eyes.

This felt so damn intimate, Katsuki didn’t blame him for being so stiff.

He puts the sleeves to the side, then presses both palms to Izuku’s left upper arm. He cups the muscle and very carefully urges heat into his hands. It's direct and malleable, and surely feels like heaven based on the way Izuku lets out a relieved sigh, his eyes slipping closed.

Katsuki rubs his palms up and down the limb, keeping the heat consistent over his entire hand and focusing so carefully on not burning him that his brows are comically furrowed. Izuku doesn't see; his head has dropped to the side, his breaths deep and slow. He makes a happy little noise of appreciation when Katsuki switches to the other arm, and Katsuki absolutely does not blush.

He repeats the ministrations, then tentatively moves down to Izuku’s hands. He massages his palms gently, and Izuku’s whole body shudders just slightly. His hands are rough, the fingers calloused, and far bigger than Katsukis. The blonde sort of marvels at them–at their power–and how, now, they were nothing but obedient patients under him.

When Katsuki is done with Izuku’s hands, too, he glances up at Izuku’s face. He looks asleep, but Katsuki knows he's not because he knows the boy's breathing patterns better than his own.

“Did that help?” Katsuki asks, and it's like asking if the sun rises in the east.

Izuku nods against the pillow, letting out a content breath. “Thank you, Kacchan. I didn’t think it’d actually help.”

“What? ‘You doubting me?” He teases, grinning.

“Never,” Izuku responds, and it's so earnest–not even the slightest hint of a tease–that Katsuki has to rise from the bed right then and there before he explodes.

“It's late,” he plays it off, looking down at Izuku who was now open-eyed, staring back.

“Oh. Um…goodnight, Kacchan.”

Katsuki nods, stumbling and looking stupid as he turns to walk away without moving his gaze from Izuku. He leaves the door ajar behind him, power walking down the hallway to his room. It was just a few doors down from Izuku’s–after the war, students could choose to move to a different floor however they saw fit.

He still has some math homework. A heroics' history paper, he thinks, but he didn’t feel like working on it. It was a bit funny to think how he fought a whole war and now had to sit down in his classes and do homework. Almost ridiculous, though, in the end, understandable.

Their whole lives couldn’t stop just because of the war; otherwise, it would have all been for nothing. Katsuki sits down at his desk, mindlessly flipping through papers as his mind is elsewhere. He hoped Izuku was sleeping. He needed it. He only ate half the ramen Katsuki made, but at least he got something down, and he had made sure the broth had lots of protein.

He’d be fine, probably, and Katsuki’s algebra needed attention. Izuku wasn’t going to just drop dead out of nowhere, so the blonde’s worrying was near pointless. Sort of.

But, really, how could worrying about Izuku ever be anything but stupidly, unfortunately reasonable?

── .✦

“Kacchan, do you want to come with me tomorrow?”

Katsuki’s head pops up and his gaze lands on Izuku’s shy smile. “Like, come home?”

“Uh, yeah. My mom wants me to go again. As much as I don’t really want to, I feel bad leaving her alone there.” Katsuki quirks an eyebrow, and Izuku rushes to continue, “it's just, she said it's kind of lonely, still, since Hisashi doesn’t really…talk to her.”

He looks to the side, like he's ashamed of it. It wasn’t his fault his dad sucked.

Izuku continues, looking back towards him: “I know you never leave on Sundays but, um, when you came last time, he sort of left me alone…so…”

“I can come.”

Izuku’s face melts into something relieved, and he smiles. “Thank you, Kacchan. Really. I know it's a lot to ask, but I really appreciate it.”

And before Katsuki can embarrass himself with a shitty, cringy response–or maybe a really suave, clever one-liner–Izuku is rising from where he sat on the common room floor next to Katsuki. He gathers up his homework from on top of the kotatsu, rushing off like the floor was on fire.

The next morning, he and Izuku are back on the train to Izuku’s apartment. It's starting to get cold out–early October–so Izuku has a big scarf wrapped around him, half his face covered by the fluffy fabric. It's pink, so it must have been one of the girls who had gotten in for him, but Katsuki found that the color really complimented the boy’s hair.

Inko is surprised to see Katsuki when they reach the apartment door, but she ushers him in with a kind smile anyways, and offers both of them the mochi she had just made. It's strawberry, matching Izuku’s discarded scarf, and filled with jelly. They eat in the living room with Inko, and it makes Katsuki’s heart clench how easily he is wrapped into their conversation, like he was meant to be there all along. It was impossible to feel like an outsider in the Midoriya household– not with their bleeding hearts and big, kind eyes.

Inko pulls out an old photo album at some point. It's overflowing, cover to cover, with both him and Izuku as wrinkly newborns and, admittedly, cute toddlers.

“Oh, Katsuki, I’m so glad you're here! You're in most of these, I would be pestering Izuku to bring this back with him and show you anyways,” Inko exclaims, eyes fond as she looks up at the two teens in front of her.

Katsuki knows she doesn’t see them like that, though; to her, they’re probably both still sticky toddlers attached at the hip and getting up to mischief the second they were left alone.

“I brought it out with Hisashi, earlier, but I’m sure you two might remember some of these pictures better.”

Katsuki nods, but finds it telling. Inko undoubtedly had millions of pictures of Izuku since then, from when Hisashi was gone, but he guesses it was just a bit too guilt-provoking for him to see all that he had missed. It was easier like this; to just relive harmless memories. Though, Katsuki bets Hisashi is hardly in any of these pictures anyways.

Inko flips open the photo album, and Izuku coos over the four pictures on the first page–one of Inko and Hisashi in the hospital, Izuku cradled in their arms, two of Izuku in his crib, and one, very unflattering picture of days old Katsuki mid-cry and swaddled in a blanket on the floor.

“Kacchan!” Izuku squeaks, pointing to the photo, “you were so small.”

The blonde tries to hide his flushed cheeks, but he can’t help it, and Inko is already chuckling at his bashful expression.

“You’ve always been quite loud. I remember the first time I got to see you in the hospital, your mother couldn’t get a single word out without you screaming for her attention.”

Katsuki groans, looking away, but even with his face hidden, the tips of his ears are pink, too.

Inko continues, looking sympathetic to his embarrassment, “it was funny, seeing you and Izuku next to each other. You never stopped screaming, and he was quite the crier.”

“Mom!” Izuku whines, reaching out to flip the page of the photo album and change the subject.

The woman laughs, putting her hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. You two are big boys, I shouldn’t embarrass you too much.”

Looking through the photo album takes ten times longer than Katsuki would expect because, with each photo, Inko had a story. Katsuki didn’t mind it, though, and even if it was embarrassing, at least he and Izuku were being embarrassed together.

It's around twelve when Inko asks if they want lunch, and as she's working on the katsudon, Izuku and Katsuki put on an old All Might DVD they found in the TV console. It was a classic one where All Might had a dog sidekick with superpowers–called Dog-Might, of course–and the main villain was an octopus guy with extendable tentacles. Katsuki distinctly remembers watching this exact movie on this same exact couch about eleven years ago, wrapped up in a blanket with Izuku. Now, both of them were fairly muscly and fairly tall, so they had to squeeze onto the small love seat together, legs brushing where Izuku had them folded up on the cushion.

The rest of the day is, admittedly, nice. They eat, finish the shitty movie with Inko–who laughs about how the two boys still got sucked into the story–and then let themselves be roped into an interrogation about how school was going and if either of them had thought about looking for apartments after graduation.

Katsuki almost forgets that Hisashi was here–the whole reason he even came along–until he comes out into the living room with a foul look on his face and squared shoulders. His eyebrow was twitching.

“Izuku.”

The boy stills, his head turning slowly to meet his father’s gaze. Anger was radiating off him in waves. He doesn't even wait for Izuku to respond, instead leveling him with a cold glare.

“Come here.”

Inko’s soft voice pipes up–“Hisashi, we have a guest”–but he more or less ignores her, and Izuku tentatively rises from his seat anyway. He walks around to the other side of the couch, pressing against the back of it as Hisashi comes up right in front of him.

Izuku wasn’t short, but Hisashi was really tall and he towered over Izuku like a bad omen.

“Did you touch my cigarettes?”

Izuku stiffens, just slightly, and shakes his head firmly: “no.”

The man’s eye twitches, and he breathes deeply, reeking of agitation. “Well, then, did they grow legs and walk away?”

Izuku ducks his head, and Hisashi’s jaw clenches. “Where-”

“I don’t fucking have them!”

Katsuki can tell what's about to happen before Izuku, and he reaches out to grab the back of the boy's shirt. It's too late, though, as Hisashi’s hand is already raised and striking Izuku across the face.

Katsuki rises in an instant, shoving himself over the back of the couch and pushing Izuku out of the way. His fist bunches up the front of Hisashi’s shirt, shoving the man to the ground, just as he hears Inko hurry over to Izuku behind him.

The blonde looks down at Hisashi, who was glaring up at him, trying to rise to his feet, but slams his foot square in the middle of his chest to keep him down. The man may have been bigger than him, but only one of them had gone through years of relentless hero training. He was just a pathetic bug under Katsuki’s will.

For the first time since the war, Katsuki feels true rage flow through his veins, because who did this fucker think he was to so much as touch Izuku?

“Kacchan-” Izuku’s panicked voice rings in his ears, and he feels a hand on his arm- “you could actually hurt him!”

“He hurt you-”

Inko appears in front of him, gently pressing his arm down–Katsuki hadn’t even realized it, but he’d raised it, ready to use his quirk. “Katsuki, it's ok. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t blow up my apartment.”

Her voice is soft, reasonable, and it shakes Katsuki out of whatever was wrong with him. “Shit, sorry.”

Izuku pulls him backwards, away from Hisashi, who was now rising to his feet.

“Get out of my house,” he seethes, glaring at Katsuki, but Inko is quick to rush to his defense.

“You need to calm down,” she fumed, quiet fury simmering under the surface.

“You saw him attack me-”

“And I saw you hit my child!” Her voice trembles in anger, and she turns back to Izuku, her next words restrained. “Leave, Hisashi.”

He looks at her in disbelief, then snarls something under his breath and marches to the door. He’s outside the second his boots are shoved onto his feet, the door slammed shut behind him.

Inko’s demeanor instantly changes, softening as she cups Izuku’s cheek and runs her finger over the red mark. “Are you okay, Izuku?”

The boy nods– the mark itself would probably bruise, but it was nothing compared to his past injuries. Katsuki stands in front of him, eyes heavy with concern.

“Has he done that shit before?”

Inko’s breath hitches at the thought, the fact her husband might have hurt her boy without her knowing, and both she and Katsuki look at Izuku expectantly.

“No, I promise. I wasn’t expecting him to-” he glances over his shoulder at the door.

“Izuku, honey, I promise I’ll talk to him.”

The boy nods, leaning into his mother’s touch and letting her gently run her fingers through his hair. His hands are trembling slightly where he's gripping the hem of his shirt. It's the only tell that breaks his facade of composure.

“Go put some ice on that cheek,” she insists, patting his face gently one last time before padding off, muttering something about ‘calling Mitsuki.’

Izuku lags for a moment before he complies, walking into the kitchen. Katsuki presses him onto a seat at the kitchen island, fetching the ice himself. He wraps it in a floral patterned cloth napkin from a drawer, then positions it against the quickly forming bruise on Izuku’s left cheek. Izuku takes over, holding it there, not saying a single word the entire exchange.

“Can we go back to the dorms, Kacchan?” He finally pipes up, his voice delicate. It was earlier than they had planned to leave initially, but Katsuki nodded in an instant.

“I’ll find your mom. Go put on your coat.”

Izuku nods, a far away look in his eyes, and clambers off the stool. Katsuki walks briskly down the hall, trying to find where Inko had disappeared too. He hears her voice–and his mother’s–down the hall, and knocks on the door to what he thinks he remembers was her bedroom.

She peeks through a crack in the door after a few seconds, maybe worrying it was Hisashi, but her face softens when she sees Katsuki.

“One second, Mitsuki. Can I call you back?” Katsuki hears his mom affirm over the phone, then the line goes silent. Inko comes fully into the doorway, looking up at Katsuki.

“Me and Izuku are heading back,” he says quietly. He feels bad about cutting their visit to Inko short, but Izuku looked like he just wanted to pass out in his dark dorm and not deal with the world of the waking for a while.

“Alright…please make sure he takes care of that bruise.”

Katsuki nods, “of course,” and can see how Inko’s face twists sadly.

“...I’m sorry you had to see that, Katsuki. I don’t know what's wrong with him. He never used to be this– reactive.” Inko’s voice is mournful. Maybe, at some point, Hisashi had been actually likeable, but all that Katsuki had seen of him just made his blood boil.

The teen bows his head, “don’t apologize. It's not your fault.” And wow, if it wasn’t ironic that he had said those exact words to Izuku so many times before. Like mother, like son.

“It's my job to protect him. I should have–”

“What would Izuku say if you started blaming yourself?”

Inko frowns at that, then smiles softly. “You know that boy well.”

She sighs softly and smooths out invisible wrinkles in her shirt.

“You're a good kid, Katsuki. I know you’ll always take care of my Izuku.” The words were a bit out of nowhere, but, really, Katsuki can tell why she said them.

If she couldn’t protect Izuku herself, she knew at least Katsuki could.

“Always.” Katsuki bows his head lower, and it was a concrete promise.

“...I’ll walk you two out. It's cold, do you have a scarf?”

Katsuki nods as they walk down the hall. They find Izuku by the door, fussing with the laces of his boots. They were the same gaudy red he’d always been so drawn too–the color felt more familiar to Katsuki than air.

“I’ll see you next weekend, Izuku,” Inko mutters tenderly, straightening his scarf just as an excuse to keep him a moment longer.

Katsuki tugs on his shoes and the million layers he needs to not freeze to death.

“See you. I love you.” Izuku’s voice is dimmed, but he still looks at his mother with affection.

“I love you very much.”

They leave, and the second they get back to the dorms, Izuku disappears for the rest of the day.

…The next day, he comes into class a minute before the bell. His feet are dragging, his eyes half lidded, and the bruise on his cheek is…noticeable, to say the least.

After class ends, Katsuki packs up his bag as he watches Izuku stumble through an excuse to Aizawa. The hero levels him with a disbelieving look, but can see how the questioning is just distressing Izuku, and, eventually, lets him go.

Katsuki follows him out of the classroom, jogging to catch up with him and gently grabbing his forearm to get his attention. Izuku startles, but then meets his gaze with a passive smile.

“Hi Kacchan.”

“Did you eat last night?” The blonde asks bluntly, dropping his grip and shoving his hands in his pockets.

Izuku doesn't react for a moment, then nods.

“Bullshit.”

The teen sighs, giving Katsuki a side-long glance. “I was tired. My face was hurting, too.”

He's not defending himself with his normal fluster. He's more dim; overall, he just seems exhausted.

“Well-” he debates whether he should berate Izuku or give him a break because of all the shit that happened yesterday. He settles on the nicer of the two. “I’ll make you dinner today. We can watch a movie or some shit…if you want.”

Maybe it was the embarrassing shyness in Katsuki’s voice or the meaningful intent he hoped Izuku could feel, but the other teen eventually nods after a moment of thinking.

“Ok,” it comes out almost like a sigh, but Katsuki vows not to take it personally. Then, quieter: “thank you, Kacchan.”

“I swear, you say that shit ten times a day–” and that gets Izuku to laugh, which is enough to tide over Katsuki’s concern as they walk back to the dorms, and Katsuki gets started on the gyudon.

Izuku sits on the kitchen counter next to the stove, and normally Katsuki would yell at him to get his germy ass out of the kitchen, but he allows it just that once. The thought of yelling at Izuku right now–of doing anything to make him sad–made him nauseous. Not after yesterday.

Eijiro and Denki smell something cooking once they get back to the dorms and come to pester Katsuki. If they notice Izuku being quieter than normal, they don’t comment on it. Katsuki–because he, annoyingly, actually really liked his friends–ups the amount of food he was making so they two idiots could have some too.

They blab on about class, and slowly but surely, Izuku joins the conversation. It's all fine for a while, and the smell of absolutely perfectly cooked beef filled the kitchen, until Denki opened his big mouth.

“How’d you get that bruise, anyway?”

Izuku looks at the blonde, eyes widening a bit, like he had forgotten about that tiny detail. Right.

“Got his face while sparring-” Katsuki swoops in with, absently checking the rice cooker- “his fault for not dodging.”

“Not manly, Kats,” frowns Eijiro, looking at Izuku with his giant puppy eyes. Katsuki swears he and Izuku were two sides of the same coin.

“I’m fine!” Izuku pipes up, smiling. “Kacchan’s right, I was off my game.”

It was sort of an unspoken rule to avoid the face during training–knocked out teeth or scratched corneas were far more annoying, and took way longer to heal, than broken bones. But, sometimes it happened, and Katuski guessed he and Izuku were lucky such an easy excuse surfaced without any work on their part.

He highly doubts Izuku wanted to tell anyone about his father.

Izuku looks a lot less pale and shell-shocked once he's wrapped in a blanket on the couch, eating grateful bites of the gyudon under Katsuki’s watchful eye. When Katsuki puts on a movie–a really fucking good All Might documentary that had come out a few years ago–everyone else seems to assume it was movie night and piles onto the couches. Katsuki stays stuck to Izuku’s side to make sure he actually eats every bite, and also to deflect questions about the bruises.

It’s…nice, Katsuki has to admit. Having everyone here, the lights low, a movie on and soft conversation filling the room. Even if it was nothing special, it felt like a miracle after they all almost died. And Katsuki’s therapist would be happy to know he could sit here, surrounded by people on all sides, and not blow up about personal space. He could just enjoy it, for a bit, and he even cooked for his friends, no less.

Halfway through the movie, Katsuki feels a weight on his shoulder. Soft, curly hair tickles his cheek–just a little bit greasy and smelling of spearmint. The blonde gently takes the bowl from Izuku’s lap–empty, thank God–and puts it with his on the kotatsu in front of him.

He pulls up the blanket where it was slipping off of Izuku’s shoulders, shifting his body so the other boy wouldn’t get a crick in his neck. He looks back up at the movie, but can feel eyes on him from the floor. Mina and Hagakure sit on the floor up against the opposite couch, snuggled under the same fluffy blanket and sharing a bowl of soy-sauce popcorn–which Katsuki found revolting.

They’re grinning like they just won the lottery, gaze locked on he and Izuku. Tch.

Katsuki snaps his gaze away from them, ignoring their chuckles and the warmth in his cheeks. They could laugh at him all they wanted; his therapist said treason doth never prosper.

── .✦

Being close to Izuku was intoxicating. Being allowed this close to him was intoxicating, or more so, allowing himself that close. He wasn’t worried about burning Izuku anymore; physically and metaphorically.

He wasn’t worried Izuku would take one look too close and notice all of Katsuki’s cracks and flaws, all his mistakes, and decide he wasn’t worth it. Because Katsuki wasn’t, not really. Not compared to Izuku. No one was. There was probably no one in the whole entire world who deserved to see that smile, but Izuku gave it so freely to anyone, and it felt like a sin.

It felt like one day he’d get tainted by all the bad people in the world, but then again, Katsuki knew there wasn’t one bad bone in Izuku’s body. He’d fight tooth and nail for what he thought was right, was just, and fair, even if it killed him in the process. It almost had.

And Katsuki didn’t know how to handle that. He didn’t know how to hold Izuku’s gaze, his attention, without feeling so utterly full and overwhelmed. It wasn’t a bad overwhelmed, but it was near impossible to focus when Izuku’s emerald eyes were on him, and he had that slight tilt to his voice, edging on teasing, but it was all oh-so soft and oh-so caring. He looked at Katsuki like he was something to care for, to care about.

And that, more than anything, confused him. Because Bakugou Katsuki wasn’t precious, not like Izuku, and not something that needed caring for. He was rough on the exterior and a mess inside, but Izuku somehow wanted to see it all.

Whether or not Katsuki felt he deserved it was irrelevant, in the end. Even when the nasty feeling in his gut and the voice in his head drive him to nausea, Izuku was there to soothe what he doesn’t even know is wrong. His voice is like a balm on Katsuki’s senses, his gaze a shower of cold, cleansing rain. He takes all the bad, ugly parts of Katsuki and wraps them in care and love, because that's just who he is. He's always done that.

Even when he, above all else, needed caring for, he would never put that first when there was someone out there who needed it too. That's just who he is.

Katsuki takes in Izuku’s form, folded over the kotatsu in the common room, and his face does a funny thing. He can feel the crease between his brows–which was still there most of the time, out of habit–soften, and his lips quirk up. All the boy was doing was sleeping. He was supposed to be studying, and Katsuki should be angry with him for it, but the dark bags under Izuku’s eyes made him more and more anxious by the day so he lets him get away with it.

When Izuku stirs, it's with a sense of sluggish confusion. He lifts his head, blinking blearily, and his gaze flicks to his phone screen. It lights up as he clumsily taps the surface, letting out a little noise of surprise when he sees the time. How long had Katsuki been staring at him, just sleeping like that? It was almost nine, now.

“Kacchan,” Izuku says, his voice edging on a whine. He turns his head, rubbing at his eyes, and looks at Katsuki with a troubled expression.

The blonde startles for some reason when their eyes meet. Maybe he’d been too deep in his own head, but those deep green irises always managed to make him lose his breath.

Izuku sighs, “it's late. You're usually asleep by now.”

Katsuki nods, blinking himself back into full awareness, “sorry. I should have woken you up.”

“No…its…it's fine,” he looks back at the hardly finished English homework with a very un-fine expression.

“You can have my notes,” Katsuki offers, his voice tinged with guilt and, yes, a little bit of fatigue.

“No, no. Don’t worry. I’ll just stay up a little later. Go get some sleep.”

It's considerate to anyone else, but Katsuki can tell it's actually dismissive. Izuku is tired and maybe a little frustrated, and he wants to be alone. For some reason, most people think Izuku’s incapable of that. Being alone.

Maybe it's suffocating always having people around, expecting your smiles, your easy laughs. Katsuki wouldn’t know. That was suffocating in its own way.

“I can make you coffee,” Katsuki offers again, but he's already standing up and shoving his notebook under his arm. Out of Izuku’s hair.

Izuku just shakes his head, giving him a tight smile, and Katsuki can tell he just wants to pass out right there and not deal with the world for a few good millennia. Katsuki wouldn’t want people always expecting him to be happy. It sounded stuffy. Though, of course, anger wasn’t a great default either. At least people knew when to give up.

“Night,” Katsuki finally concedes, though his eyes trail over Izuku’s dropped shoulders and the way his eyelids tug lower after each blink. Izuku hums in response, scribbling something out on his paper, and Katsuki trails off to the stairs.

Katsuki wishes helping Izuku was as easy as Izuku made it seem for others. The teen would fight it tooth and nail, and Katsuki would just let his guilt consume him, because even after all these years, he couldn’t do anything but watch and wallow in self-pity.

He wonders if Izuku will be able to plaster on that smile forever.

── .✦

The repetitive motions of cooking are comforting to Katsuki. Chop, grate, stir, taste, repeat. There was also something to be said about how he could get his frustration out chopping vegetables instead of yelling at people like usual.

Plus, people liked his cooking. The idiots were always begging him to make shit. He helped Sato bake, sometimes, but savory was still his strong suit. And then there was Izuku. He’d been eating Katsuki’s cooking since he was a kid; it was near-identical to Mitsuki’s, who was always making them shit when Izuku was over at their house.

But ever since the war, Izuku didn’t eat a lot. The pain, of course, was part of it, but Katsuki had a feeling it was a whole big mix of things. Katsuki force-fed him when he could, and when he couldn’t, he was very persistent about him eating something else.

Since the war, Izuku had a lot of issues, and this was just one of them.

“Katsuki.”

The use of his full name sets him on edge. With Eijiro–who Katsuki can recognize the voice as–it’s always one stupid nickname or another.

“What?” He responds, shoving the freshly chopped chives to the side.

“Something's up with Izuku.”

He stills, looking over his shoulder at the red-head. “Something up how?”

“I- I don’t know. He just walked in and he's, like-” he looks over his shoulder, but can’t see Izuku from the kitchen “-freaking out or something.”

“Is he having a panic attack,” Katsuki asks a bit more frantically, quickly wiping off his knife and shoving it back in the block.

“Uh…maybe?”

Idiots. Katsuki quickly wipes his hands on the nearby hand towel and stomps out of the kitchen. Mina is standing next to Izuku by the door, who looks like he's about to pass out. He's pale and breathing a mile a minute.

“Hey, try to breathe-” Katsuki can hear Mina say softly, but Katsuki knows Izuku can hardly hear her. He knows what a panic attack feels like. Between the blood rushing in your ears and the sense of impending doom, trying to make sense of what people were gabbing at you was probably the least of your concerns.

Katsuki pushes past her and grasps both of Izuku’s trembling hands in his. He feels clammy–gross–but Katsuki chooses to ignore that.

The blonde pulls Izuku’s hands up to his chest, pressing them flat against where his heart was. He took deep, exaggerated breaths, locking eyes with Izuku to catch his attention.

Izuku’s eyes dart around frantically before focusing on Katsuki. His legs are shaking, just slightly, so Katsuki gently begins to crouch down, pulling Izuku with him. Izuku, thankfully, understands his intentions and follows. Katsuki situates the other teen with his back against the wall, keeping his hands on his chest.

Katsuki knew Izuku well enough by now to know if someone didn’t physically force him to calm down, he wouldn’t. In a way, that made things a lot easier.

Katsuki glances back at Mina and Eijiro–who hover behind the two nervously–and barks out a quiet command: “go put some ice cubes in a napkin and bring it here.”

They look confused at the command, but quickly rush to follow it anyway. Within moments, Mina is pressing the napkin into Katsuki’s hands and he places one cold ice cube into Izuku’s palm. His gaze flicks down to it, fingers trembling before gripping on the cube like a vice. He knew the drill.

He waits a few moments, letting Izuku feel the chill in his hands and slowly begin to match Katsuki’s breathing. Just the quiet, being with someone who knows what to do, is enough to slowly calm him.

“You with me, Izuku?”

The teen nods after a moment, rubbing his thumb over the slowly melting ice cube. Katsuki lets the cold water drip onto Izuku’s leg–another thing for him to focus on other than his spiraling emotions.

“Can you tell me five things you can see?”

Izuku levels him with a look that makes Katsuki crack a grin; he thought this was the most stupid exercise in the world. Still, he goes along with it, his voice still slightly shaky as he lets Katsuki replace the melting cube in his hands with a new one. “Kacchan. Eijiro. Mina. Napkin. Um- Kacchan’s apron.”

Katsuki huffs fondly. Good enough.

Before Katsuki can ask for four things he can feel, Izuku shifts towards him in a sort of half hug-half tackle. Katsuki holds his balance, keeping them from falling, and slowly wraps his arms around Izuku’s back.

“You good?”

Izuku nods, taking a breath. “I wish your therapist never told you about that exercise.”

Katsuki barks a laugh, relieved to see him sounding mostly normal, if not a little breathless.

Mina crouches down beside them, carefully taking the ice cubes away in the napkin before it can get too messy. “I’m glad you're okay!” She chirps, which makes Izuku smile weakly.

“What happened?” Katsuki tacks on, pulling back from the embrace to look at Izuku’s face. He still looked sort of pale.

“Nothing, I guess. Just- just thinking too much about stuff.”

“That's not nothing,” Katsuki grumbles, but he doesn't think Izuku even hears it because he's already rising from the floor.

“Hey- you're probably still dizzy-” he clambers up after him, grabbing both his arms.

“I’m fine. I just wanna lay down…”

Izuku’s excuses often sounded like that, because it was often too pitiful for people to argue with, even if they knew it was exactly that: an excuse.

“I was gonna make food.”

Izuku gently pulls his arms out of Katsuki’s grip, and the blonde knows better than to push when Izuku had literally just stopped freaking out. “It’s fine, Kacchan.”

And then he's walking off. And Katsuki? Katsuki keeps standing there, watching him leave with furrowed brows. Eijiro bumps his shoulder, he and Mina watching Izuku leave too.

“Should someone go check on him?”

“He’s just gonna make up more bullshit excuses.”

Mina hums thoughtfully. “Maybe, but not to you. You always get him to tell the truth, eventually.”

Katsuki knows that's true. But, he also knows when to back off. He’d at least give Izuku a few hours to cool down. Besides, he had to finish dinner.

As he chops the rest of the chives and makes enough okonomiyaki for the whole class, he wonders if Izuku actually laid down or just planned to bury himself in homework for the rest of the night.

Two hours later, he’s standing in front of Izuku’s door with a plate of reheated food. The door is closed. Weird.

He pushes it open–not even thinking for a minute Izuku would have something to hide–and steps into the dorm, only to be met with a smell that makes his nose scrunch. Izuku–who was perched on his windowsill, the pane wide open and letting in freezing cold air–jumps in surprise, nearly falling through the window as he whips around to see who it was.

Katsuki’s gaze whips from Izuku’s face–pink from the cold air, eyebrows raised–to his hand, where a lit cigarette was grasped in between crooked fingers.

“What the fuck.”

“Kacchan!” He fumbles to put out the cigarette, coughing obnoxiously as the smoke berates his lungs.

“What the fuck!?”

Katsuki storms over, his eyes narrowing in on the box of cigarettes next to the boy. He snatches them, sliding the plate of food onto Izuku’s desk so he can properly chew him out.

“Are you fucking stupid?” He pulls Izuku out of the windowsill, his grip on his arms bruising. “Your mom would fucking kill you if she saw this!”

Izuku’s mouth opens and closes, like he's desperately searching for another excuse.

“And-” Katsuki narrows his eyes at the box in his hands. It was the same brand he’d seen in the bathroom during dinner weeks ago. Hisashi’s. His gaze flits back up to the faint bruise on Izuku’s cheek–it had been a few weeks and was almost gone.

“You can’t tell my Mom,” Izuku begs desperately, his lower lip trembling, “I swear, I’ve only done it a few times, it's not like I’m-”

“Oh my fucking God, don’t finish that sentence.”

Izuku stills, cowed. Katsuki groans, scrubbing his face with his hands. “You're literally going to kill yourself with lung disease after all that fucking training?”

The boy’s head is bowed, and Katsuki should feel bad about yelling at him after his breakdown earlier, but he's just so disbelievingly angry that he can’t possibly manage to.

“How are you gonna graduate if your lungs disintegrate from this bullshit!?”

“Kacchan, that's not-”

“How are you gonna become my hero partner if you can’t even breath-”

“I’m already not so it doesn't matter-”

“How are you-” Katsuki freezes, narrowing his eyes. “What?”

Izuku swallows, gripping his shirt nervously. “Huh?”

Katsuki’s throat feels dry, watching Izuku’s eyes dart around his face in confusion.

“What do you mean, you're not gonna be my hero partner?” He hates how his voice breaks.

Izuku’s eyes flash with recognition, like he hadn’t even realized he had said that out loud.

“I just-” but his face crumbles before he can finish, and then he's crying.

Katsuki blanches, a mix between confusion and exasperation.

“Kacchan, I’m sorry, ok! I’m sorry!”

He sobs, going slack in Katsuki’s grip.

“Hey, come on,” Katsuki’s voice softens, and he feels guilt rise in his chest. Wow. Way to go, Katsuki; yelling at the boy who just had a panic attack.

“I don’t want you to freak out again,” he murmurs softly, tossing the pack of cigarettes onto Izuku’s bed and pulling the teen close. Izuku sobs into his shoulder, arms pressed up between them.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and Katsuki has a feeling he’s apologizing about more than just the smoking.

The blonde gets them to sit down on the edge of Izuku’s bed. Izuku’s tears are like acid on his skin and he wants nothing more than for them to stop.

“I’m sorry for yelling-” but I’m still angry, he wants to add “-so can you just tell me what's going on? Please?”

It's such a soft, desperate plea that Izuku seems surprised, his breath hitching as he looks up at Katsuki’s face. He mops his own face with his sleeve, sniffling.

“Kacchan…”

Katsuki listens. He watches him. Waits.

“My…my Mom. She called me while I was walking back to the dorms. Told me a lot of stuff, but I really only remember half of it. I started panicking and then ran in– Mina and Eijiro found me.”

“What kind of stuff?” Katsuki prods, trying to keep any reflexive emotion out of his voice. He did not want to escalate things again.

“She…she was talking with Hisashi. She told me.” His hands shift in his lap, and he turns his head to the side, away from Katsuki’s gaze. “He wants me to transfer to General Ed. You know, now that my quirk is…”

Katsuki stares at him, eyes wide, heart pounding. So this is what this was about? “It's not gone.”

Izuku just levels him with a tired look, “I can feel it fading. Every day…it just- it’s just-” Katsuki continues to stare in horror as Izuku’s eyes get glassy again and his voice catches, “it’s almost gone, Kacchan. I’m not gonna be a hero. I-I already did my part.”

Izuku’s dorm is quiet. Too quiet.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Kacchan-”

“They can’t make you transfer, can they? You’ve trained-” Izuku persists, ‘Kacchan…’ “-so much for this-”

“Katsuki!”

Katsuki stills.

Izuku’s shoulders are raised, tense, his fists clenched in his lap. One second, then five, then ten.

“I’m not gonna kid myself thinking nothing has changed.” His voice is warbling as he speaks, “but it's fine. It's fine. I’ve- I’ve done enough, haven’t I? I talked to Aizawa Sensei a few days ago…‘said I could intern with him.”

“As…a teacher?” Katsuki ignores the fact that Izuku must have been thinking about this before his mother even called. He didn’t like those implications. It was one thing for his parents to make him leave the hero course, and another for him to choose to do it himself.

Izuku nods. “At UA. It's almost…” he shakes the thought, lifting a hand to pull across his face, wiping the tears. “My Mom’s right. I’m just taking up space, here.”

Katsuki doesn’t know what to say; what to do. Does he grovel at Izuku’s feet, begging him to stay, or does he just keep his mouth shut and nod? Will this finally make Izuku happy? Make him feel like he’s doing something important? Isn’t that what heroics has always done for him?

No. Katsuki’s not going to let this happen. Any of this.

“You are anything but a waste of space,” he starts, feeling his stomach twist uncomfortably at all the sappiness he was getting ready to spew. If that’s what it took. “Izuku, you are the kindest, bravest, most fuckin’ selfless person I have ever met in my whole entire life. You embody what it means to be a hero. You’ve saved so many people. You’ll make yourself sick and take blow after blow just to see others smile because you're so fucking good. You always have been.”

Izuku’s eyes are glimmering, now, but not with hopeless tears. It's something else.

Katsuki swallows, grabbing one of Izuku’s hands. That's what people did in shitty drama movies, right? “If there's ever a world where you don’t become a hero, then they’re all utterly fucked. If you stopped being a hero now, in this one, I-” his brows furrow “-everyone, every single person you’ve ever saved or made smile would feel it. They’d feel the loss. People need you-” I need you “-so please, Izuku, please. You have to keep being a hero.”

Izuku’s eyes are wide, shining, his mouth ever-so-slightly parted. His hand is trembling in Katsuki’s grip.

“Kacchan-” he whimpers, lower lip trembling. “My quirk-”

“When have you ever needed your quirk to be good? Even when you were tiny and weak and you knew you couldn’t win, you stood up for all the kids smaller than you. You don’t need your quirk to be a hero, Izuku.” He feels a wave of guilt wash over him.

“I was such an asshole. And I was so, so wrong. You're more of a hero than I’ll ever be, quirk or not.”

Izuku’s breath hitches and the tears start again, but he's grinning like a madman. Like he’d just heard the one thing he needed to hear.

“So shut up about that transferring bullshit. You're staying right here. I’ll kick your ass,” he finishes ungracefully, and Izuku laughs wetly, nodding his head like an idiot.

“Ok Kacchan.”

Then, Katsuki starts to laugh too. It’s deep and loud, and Izuku is soft and high. And they’re both there, together, where Katsuki wanted them to be for the rest of their lives.

── .✦

Katsuki sort of felt like a pathetic attempt at his past self. He really couldn’t muster up anger at the snap of a finger anymore. He couldn’t keep that glare on his face when there was simply nothing to glare at.

His dad said it was good, his mom a relief. All Might has said Katsuki had gotten so “mature.” Katsuki didn’t mind it, really, because his calm demeanor made Izuku smile and made his friends slightly less scared of setting him off. But he was still pathetic, by definition, and sometimes wondered if he’d ever be able to feel that anger again, if he really needed to.

Maybe when Katsuki’s heart stopped, it let all the anger go with it. Katsuki was reborn a new man with a level head and admittedly sensitive side. But, Katsuki knew that wasn’t it, didn’t he?

Nothing about this was “new,” in a way, because, at his core, wasn’t this just who Katsuki was? Underneath the insecurities and stress and pressure, he was calm and soft and gentle. He didn’t want to hurt people–he didn’t want to hurt Izuku. He really had matured, enough to let go of that anger for the sake of someone other than himself, for once.

When Katsuki did need his anger, he got exhausted holding it for too long. He’d tossed Izuku’s cigarettes and force-fed him the okonomiyaki with nothing but guilt–for yelling, for threatening to tell his Mom, God–and relief that he had convinced him not to go through with Hisashi’s stupid request. But all the anger was gone from his body, and he decided he liked it that way.

Katsuki doesn't think Izuku has talked to his parents since then. He knows he’s been pointedly avoiding his mom’s calls.

How much agency did Hisashi really have in Izuku’s academic affairs? Legally, it didn’t matter if he was a shitty father or not, but surely Izuku–famous for saving the world, not to brag–would have a little bit more control over his own shit.

Still. Katsuki guessed Izuku found it smarter not to risk confrontation, so hopefully the whole thing would blow over. It mostly had. Izuku hadn’t been dragged out of the hero course yet, after all.

He hadn’t gone back home the past few weeks. Not seeing his mom was a drawback, but apart from that, he didn’t seem to miss it. No Hisashi, and he could instead spend all of Sunday working himself to the bone in training or doing non-stop homework. Katsuki tried to feed him and boss him to bed the best he could, but it seemed the more stressed Izuku got, the more he ramped up his shitty, self-damaging behavior.

He’d stopped with the smoking crap, though–at least as far as Katsuki knew. Izuku had told him it helped with the pain, the constant noise in his head, but after the blonde confiscated his only source, he’d given up trying to get more. He wasn’t gonna get slapped by his father again, and he certainly wasn't going to risk getting Katsuki more angry.

Still, Katsuki kept a close eye on him. The way he was always pale, always tired, always looking this close to snapping until he schooled his face back into a passive, agreeable front. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

When he could, Katsuki would keep Izuku glued to his side– like today. Sunday meant no actual responsibilities, despite the ones many people took up to get work out of the way for the rest of the week. Izuku could miss that work for a day, it wouldn’t kill him.

Katsuki wakes him with breakfast the second he stumbles sleepily into the common room, then keeps him roped into whatever activity Katsuki was sure he wouldn’t turn down. Sometimes it was a movie, or going out to the store, and sometimes, unfortunately, when all else failed, it was homework or training. But! In Katsuki’s defense, it was different than the homework and training Katsuki was trying to prevent. See, this homework and training was only for a few manageable hours and punctuated by plenty of water and food and breaks. And, really, that made it all not too bad in the end. If only Izuku thought of those things on his own.

Katsuki currently had Izuku at his side under the kotatsu. They were both sort of doing their own thing, Katsuki on his phone, Izuku on his beat up old laptop, but they were doing it together, which was all that mattered.

Katsuki’s growing worry about Izuku being alone felt honestly childish at times, and maybe a bit possessive or co-dependent, but it wasn’t hurting anyone. And he only got like this on the days when Izuku looked particularly like shit.

Today, he was tense from the pain in his arms, and his compression sleeves weren’t helping. It was the little tells–the clipped voice, trembling hands, hunched shoulders–that gave it away.

Katsuki glances side-long at the other teen, seeing some article pulled up on his laptop about a recent villain capture in the area. The blonde’s gaze only scans it briefly before his focus drifts back to his own thing. It's calm. It’s domestic. Katsuki wonders if this is what it would be like to live with Izuku.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Katsuki realizes he could just be rationalizing all this time he spent with Izuku as a sign of their friendship–rather than an over-compensating attempt to take care of him–but that sounded way too mushy and like a gateway drug into much, much grosser feelings.

“Izuku.”

The boy's head pops up with a soft hum.

“You want a snack?”

Izuku shakes his head, turning back to look at his computer, but Katsuki rises anyway. They hadn't eaten in a few hours. Izuku's gaze flits back to him, brows furrowed slightly.

“I’m washing some fruit.” Katsuki leaves no room or discussion.

He turns, hearing Izuku huff softly but ignoring it. Some people just didn’t know what was best for them. Katsuki cringes at the thought–his therapist would berate him for it–and busies himself with cutting up and washing some strawberries instead.

The dorms are warm, but as Katsuki looks out the window above the sink, he can practically see the chill in the air. It was late November, too early for snow, but the leaves were already bright, fiery colors.

When he sat back down next to Izuku, a bowl of strawberries in hand, the other teen was glued to his phone, furrowing his brow at a long string of messages. Katsuki glances up at the contact name, just to see an unsaved phone number.

He doesn’t want to pry. But…Izuku was looking at the messages right fuckin’ in front of him, so it was probably fine.

“Who’s that?”

Izuku sighs softly, putting the phone face down onto the kotatsu. When it annoyingly dinged three more times, he turned it to silent and tossed it to the ground in frustration.

“Hisashi.” Katsuki quirks an eyebrow. Inko must have given him Izuku’s number, which is why he wasn’t a saved contact.

“What does he want?”

Izuku shrugs–though he obviously did know–and turns back to his laptop. Katsuki drops it. He could already tell Izuku was having a bad day.

As the morning dips into afternoon, the common room fills. People sprawl out on the couches, in the kitchen, and Katsuki can hear a very passionate game of Mario Kart from one of the dorms upstairs.

Izuku keeps his gaze glued to his laptop like he had on blinders, he doesn’t touch the strawberries, and he doesn’t look Katsuki’s way more than a few times.

When he suddenly rises from the floor, it almost startles Katsuki, but he quickly looks up at him to try to assess the issue; he hated how quickly he jumped to the conclusion that something was wrong, even though it probably totally wasn't.

“What?”

Izuku looks down at him, fixing the leg of his pajama pants that had ridden up to his knee. “I’m gonna make food.”

Huh? Huh? Izuku was probably the worst cook Katsuki had ever had the misfortune of meeting, and here he was, next to near-sous chef Bakugou Katsuki. Why in the world would he be making his own food? And, anyways, the flare up in his arms would probably just make his hand-eye coordination worse than normal, not to mention the pain.

“What shit do you want? I’ll make it.”

Katsuki rises to his feet as well. Izuku gives him a look, and when he speaks, his voice is strained.

“It’s fine. I can do it.”

And Katsuki pushes–because, God, he never knew when to stop: “you're shit at cooking, at least let me help.”

Izuku’s eyebrows raise, just a fraction, and Katsuki can’t fathom why that would be his reaction to such mundane teasing, and then-

“I don’t need your help!” He snaps, and OFA surges through his limbs. It's gone as soon as it comes, and looks like it pains Izuku just as much as it had when he was still breaking bones in every battle.

“Why are you always acting like I can’t do shit for myself?! I’m not a child, and I’m not useless!”

Every head in the room turns to him. Izuku hardly notices.

“Is it because I don’t have a quirk? Are you gonna go back to calling me a quirkless Deku and push me around like- like-” his fists tremble where they’re clenched at his side, “don’t act like you know what I feel, Katsuki. You don’t know the half of it, and I just can’t deal with this shit right now!”

“Deku-”

The rest of Uraraka’s words are drowned out by Izuku’s voice, verging on sobs, and more hysterical than it is angry.

“I’ve tried so fucking hard to make everyone happy, but nothing’s gone right, and all anyone does is in the end is coddle me-”

Angry tears are streaming down his face now, and Katsuki can see his joints stiffening and trembling oh-so-slightly, it was like a low vibration throughout his body. That happened every time he used his quirk nowadays.

He draws a shaky breath, noticing the utter silence of the room, and lifts a now violently trembling hand to his mouth, eyes downcast in shame. He sniffles, brows furrowing, and looks like if he spends one more second getting stared at like this he’ll never recover. No one tries to stop him when he hurries to the door, walking out into the sub-zero temperatures with nothing but his old All Might pajamas.

A few more moments of silence pass before Eijiro pipes up: “you should go check on him.”

Katsuki knows it's directed at him without even looking his way. And fuck does he feel like an asshole.

“Give him a second to cool off,” Mina prompts, and suddenly she's at his side, hand on his arm. She probably noticed how Katsuki looked like he was about to cry. Humiliating.

“Yeah,” he responds, voice brittle.

Izuku’s outburst obviously wasn’t about the cooking. Katsuki just pressed too far and set him off. But, really, it was a surprise he hadn’t snapped already with all the shit he had to manage.

Katsuki stalks off to the bathroom before anyone else can try to talk to him.

He splashes cold water on himself, glaring up at his reflection in the mirror like that would solve something. His baby hairs–which have always been slightly curly–stick to his wet face, water beading on the tips of his pale eyelashes.

Katsuki thought he was handsome. Fuck, he was, but that scowl probably ruined some of the charm. He sighs, gripping the edge of the sink. He could tell, all day, that Izuku was about to snap, he just didn’t think he'd snap at him.

When he walks back into the common room a few minutes later, everyone has mostly started talking again, though they do all shoot Katsuki concerned looks. It made his stomach feel weird that they all looked at him, just expecting he knew what was wrong with Izuku. It was even worse because he did.

Katsuki pulls on his boots, grabbing a blanket from over the back of the couch, and toes outside, stiffening at the cold. Izuku is sitting on the steps outside, arms around his torso. He's shivering.

When he hears Katsuki, he looks up, face wet. He doesn't try to move away or speak as Katsuki sinks down next to him, pulling the blanket around them both. He just sniffles, leaning into Katsuki’s side. Fuck, he felt freezing even through his clothes.

After what was probably a minute or two, the teen clears his throat, and it sounds hoarse from all the crying.

“That was so embarrassing,” Izuku sniffles, hands on his cheeks like he was trying to stop the frustrated flush. “I shouldn’t blow up at everyone when all they do is try to help me. I’m a terrible friend.”

“You're not. You're just going through shit. Everyone has a breaking point.”

Izuku bites his lip, contemplating the sentiment. “I still shouldn’t have yelled. ‘Specially not at you. You do so much for me.”

“You're allowed to feel overwhelmed, though. If you don’t want me doing certain shit, just tell me. I’m not gonna push. I'm still figuring out…you know…taking care of you. Without it being too much.”

“It's not too much, that's the thing. I don’t even know why I said that.” Izuku tilts his head, gazing off into the forest surrounding UA. Katsuki had a feeling he did know why, he was just hesitant to say it.

“Hisashi got my number. He keeps asking me about– about the transferring thing. I tried to ignore it, but he was so persistent and I just…I just got tired of it. People trying to choose things for me. But that's not what you do.”

“I get it.” Katsuki says, sensing Izuku had more to say.

“Everything is just– too much. I can’t believe, after everything I’ve done, this is when I’m finally breaking. It's stupid.”

“It's not, shut up.”

Katsuki grabs Izuku’s hand tight, brows furrowed in exasperated frustration.

“This is perfectly normal, Izuku. It's fucking insane that we're even remotely normal after everything that happened to us; but obviously we're not gonna be perfect. We watched people die. We killed people. But even all that happened isn’t-” he growls, trying to find the right words to say what he needed to, what Izuku needed to hear “-just because you’ve gone through worse shit doesn’t mean this stuff is insignificant. Just proves how fuckin’ strong you are.”

Izuku laughs wetly: “you have a way with words, Kacchan.”

“Shut your mouth,” he grumbles, “i’m not done.”

“Ok, ok. The floor’s yours.”

Katsuki grins for a moment before putting his focus back into his extremely effective recon speech.

“I’m gonna help you fix shit. Everything that's going on, I’ll help you. But– but I won’t be overbearing, so…so tell me if I’m doing…yeah.” He clears his throat, ignoring Izuku’s half giggle/half sob. “Everything is gonna be fine. We're gonna graduate, and we're gonna be the best fuckin’ hero duo in the world. Quirk or not.”

“Kacchan!” Izuku cries, throwing his arms around Katsuki and burrowing his face in his neck.

“Hey- what? You didn’t like my speech?” He teases, squeezing Izuku back. He hides his smile in the fluffy green curls that were practically choking him.

“It was perfect, Kacchan.”

He breathes deeply against Katsuki’s shoulder. The tension seemed to have eased from his body, flowing out from his fingertips. When Izuku pulls away, he keeps his face close to Katsuki. Their hands tangle under the blanket.

“Izuku…” Katsuki murmurs, marveling at the way Izuku’s eyes looked otherworldly: jewel green and as deep as the ocean.

His gaze flits down to Izuku’s lips, chapped and pink from the cold. He surges forward before he can overthink it, almost holding his breath. Their lips are cold, but the kiss bleeds warmth into them. Izuku gasps softly against Katsuki, then pushes forward in return.

His nose slams against Katsuki’s, making them both laugh, pulling back just enough so that they were breathing the same air.

Izuku ducks his head bashfully, cheeks pink from something other than the cold. He's grinning, and squeezes Katsuki’s fingers. “Kacchan kissed me…” he wonders breathlessly.

Katsuki’s face is aflame, and he turns his head to the side, brows furrowed like he was angry at himself. He didn’t want their first kiss to be on some dirty stairs in the freezing cold. “Was that– was that…fine?”

Izuku nods his head frantically, dropping his grip on Katsuki’s hands so he could hug him again. Now, he was the one comforting Katsuki.

“...I love you.” Katsuki ventures, voice soft both out of fear and vulnerability.

Izuku presses his forehead against Katsuki’s, tears welling up in his eyes for the umpteenth time in the past hour.

“I keep making you cry,” Katsuki says softly, rubbing a thumb over his cheek.

Izuku chuckles wetly, leaning into the touch.

“I love you too. So, so much, Kacchan. You don’t even know.”

“You’ve almost died for me, like, five times. I think I know.”

“How come it took you so long to kiss me, then?” Izuku replies with a shit-eating grin. He looks way too smug for someone who didn’t, actually, initiate the kiss.

“Well, I’m not waiting anymore.” And before Izuku can respond, Katsuki is pressed back against him. It feels like all their problems were meaningless as long as they could do this.

── .✦

“Izuku?”

Katsuki shifts, looking down at the boy laying against his shoulder. They’re on the common room couch, Izuku scrolling mindlessly on his phone and Katsuki playing with his hair, only half paying attention to the movie Mina had put on.

The girl was talking louder than the movie anyways, so Katsuki didn’t think she’d care.

“Hm?” Izuku replies, and the soft little noise makes Katsuki's stomach swoop. It felt so entirely stupid that every little thing Izuku did now made him blush, but, to be fair, he blushed a fair amount before, just…metaphorically.

“We’re going to the support course lab at three.”

“Huh? What for?”

Izuku looks up at him, making that stupidly sappy face like he was hanging onto Katsuki’s every word.

“‘S a surprise,” he grins, shoving a hand in Izuku’s face when he hears the start of another question– “and I’m not telling you!” He barks with a laugh as Izuku tries to pry his hand away.

At 2:45, they leave the dorms. Both of them pretty frequently visited the support course labs. Most of the class did, really, because after the war, many of them needed new gear or costume adjustments to work with their injuries. Izuku’s own costume now had more braces and support, but no amount of gear could really fix the whole issue with his quirk; if Izuku didn’t use it sparingly, it was near excruciating, and left his limbs trembling for the rest of the day.

The labs are fairly empty, with only a few students mingling on their Sunday off. Luckily, Katsuki had planned this meeting in advance.

“Izuku!” The voice reaches the two boys before anything else, and then Mei Hatsume is barreling around the corner, hands flapping excitedly.

“Oi, I was the one who brought him here,” Katsuki grumbles at being ignored.

“I’m just so excited!”

“Hah…what's going on?” Izuku looks between them, floundering.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Mei berates, turning to Katsuki. He doesn't even get a chance to react before she's running off again, muttering excitedly as she hops about her work station. And there, in the middle of it, is Katsuki’s pride and joy (even if he didn’t actually make any of it himself).

“Come here, come here,” Mei beckons, and Izuku steps up beside her curiously. He looks over all the shit scattered around her work station in awe. Even Katsuki had to admit, she was pretty fucking good at what she did. That's why he entrusted his plan to her.

“Katsuki and I have been working on something,” she grins wildly, holding up the blueprints that covered most of the lab station. Some parts of them were just a jumble of scribbles and random side thoughts, but, in the middle, was the solid, tangible image that she had crafted.

She hovers over Izuku’s shoulder as she lets him take in the blueprints, vibrating with excitement.

“Is this…?”

“Yes!” She sticks her finger smack in the middle of the blueprints, eyes glimmering as she looks at Izuku.

“It was Katsuki’s idea, but I’ve been working on these blueprints. The suit would be able to mimic all the different abilities of One for All. Plus, it would have better braces and support than what you have now because it would be directly connected to the usage of said abilities,” Izuku follows along with her rambles like it was some secret language that only the two of them spoke. Katsuki was only half-fluent after years of being around Izuku.

“That's amazing,” Izuku mutters in awe, eyes flickering around the sheet.

“I only have the plans for it right now, since even building just a prototype would be insanely expensive and take a lot of time but–” she shoves a sheet of paper with phone numbers and other contact information scrawled across it “–principal Nezu has helped me get in contact with some people from I-Island, and-”

“Really?” Izuku giggles in wonder, running his fingers over the pen lines of the blueprint.

“Mhm!” Mei looks to Katsuki, who is watching the two of them fondly, then back at the awed Izuku. “It’s definitely going to take a lot of work, but with it, you’ll be able to be a hero even when One for All fades. And I’ll always be there to make improvements when you need!”

Izuku looks at her, gratefulness and relief coming off of him in waves. Then, Katsuki can sense some creeping doubt. Izuku looks back at the plans, then at Mei, gripping the hem of his shirt.

“Are…are you sure this isn’t too much? I don’t know what I did to deserve something like this.”

Katsuki furrows his brows, smacking the boy upside the head. He hadn’t given Izuku that whole sappy speech outside the dorms just for him to keep up with this self-deprecating bullshit. Izuku yelps, cradling his skull, and Mei laughs obnoxiously at the exchange.

“You’ve done more than enough, this is the least we can do.”

And, like Katsuki expected, the waterworks come next. He wraps Mei in a hug, sobbing as she pats him on the back in what was half comforting, half assault. Then he flings himself into Katsuki's arms, blubbering about how he felt like the luckiest person in the world, and other sappy shit like that.

Underneath the composed facade, Katsuki preens at the affection.

Later that week, Aizawa asks Izuku in passing if the suit blueprints were going well, and the teen looks surprised that he too was in on the plan. A lot of people were. Katsuki was very thorough about it, knowing if he wasn’t, it would probably never come to fruition.

Aizawa also leads a lesson about career planning. That leads everyone down a whole new spiral. Though they would still be going into their third years at UA, Aizawa was adamant that career (and life) planning should begin now. Some graduated from the hero course only to abandon their hero career. Others moved into other related fields, like support work, or management at hero agencies. Some went on to become top ranked pro heroes.

It was all up to them. Most of their classmates planned to get hired as interns and work their way up. Shoto and some of the other rich bastards could probably start up their own agency right away. Some of them had talked about studying abroad, but after the war, most of them wanted to keep close to each other; the biggest support system that they had.

Katsuki, of course, had planned his whole life out when he and Izuku were four. Though the murky years of middle school may have threatened that plan, it was stronger than ever now.

Hero duos tended to grow slower in popularity, and generally be less efficient. Honing yourself to be ‘number one hero worthy’ was hard enough, but adding a whole new level of trust and coordination was something else entirely. Though, he and Izuku had a bit of an advantage, saving Japan and what not.

There were details to work out–like a duo name that wasn’t written by two four-year-old All Might fanatics–but as of now, Katsuki was entirely more concerned with something else.

He and Izuku were dating. They had never explicitly said those words, but they’d kissed enough times since Katsuki’s embarrassing love confession. And Izuku was sleeping over in his dorm pretty much every night, which had dramatically decreased his nightmares. But, regardless; they were dating. Dating, and both in need of a place to live after graduation…so the only logical conclusion was that they should move in together. Which, admittedly, made Katsuki both giddy and terrified, though he knew, realistically, it probably wouldn’t be too different from living together in the UA dorms.

It was different in spirit, surely.

Katsuki assumed Izuku had landed at the same conclusion–living together–but didn’t want to overestimate his ability to overthink things. A few days after the career planning lesson, Katsuki waltzes into Izuku’s room as the boy vapidly looks over the example resumes Aizawa had given to them.

He looks up at the sound of Katsuki’s footsteps, smiling warmly.

“Hi Kacchan!” He seems more than happy to abandon the mundane work, pushing off of his office chair and standing in front of Katsuki happily. He bounces on the toes of his feet; he must have been really bored.

“Hey,” Katsuki hesitates for a second before looping his fingers around Izuku’s wrist. He leads them over to the bed, and Izuku settles back against his pillows, looking towards Katsuki patiently. He’d been around the blonde long enough to know when he was trying to spit something out. He waits for him to work up to it, thank God.

“So. After graduation.” He frowns, eyes flitting between a blank stretch of wall and Izuku’s open, waiting gaze. “We should get an apartment together.”

“Oh!” Izuku’s eyes widened, like he hadn’t been expecting this. “Ok, Kacchan.”

“Ok?” That's it?

“Uh, yeah. I sort of assumed that already.” And he says it like it was just– obvious. Like he hadn’t overthought about everything else in his life, and this was just another Tuesday.

“Ugh. You're so weird.”

“Huh- what?” Izuku looks genuinely distressed, brows furrowed. “What did I do?”

Katsuki huffs, playing it up because the look on Izuku’s face was kind of hilarious. And, because he knew Izuku would be quick to–

“Kacchan,” he whines, right on time, crawling across the bed to sling his arms around Katsuki’s waist, their faces inches apart.

“Seriously, what did I do?” He bonks their foreheads together, pouting.

Katsuki decides to give in. “Just thought you’d stress about this like you do everything else.”

Then, the other boy glares, pulling his arms back and crossing them indignantly. “Maybe I won’t move in with you. Maybe I won’t be your hero partner at all.” His nose is stuck up, tone only sort of seriously offended.

“I’m not gonna kiss your ass. It’s the truth.”

“How will you ever find another hero partner that can keep up with you?” He continues like he hadn’t even heard him, a smile growing on his lips.

“You're so weird,” Katsuki groans, slapping his hands against the boy's cheeks and turning his face back towards him. Izuku’s cheeks flush happily, his grin growing. He keeps the exaggerated furrowed brows, and Katsuki leans in and kisses the scrunch between them. Stupid. Making him sappy.

Katsuki hears him giggle, as light as a ray of sun, and his face smoothens into something unbearably soft.

“We’ll get a place with a nice kitchen. And three cats.”

“I thought you liked dogs,” Katsuki snorts, his fingers absently tangling with Izuku’s in their laps.

“I like cats too. And they’re Kacchan’s favorite.” He thinks for a second, tilting his head. “Plus, dogs aren’t very good for apartments, are they?”

“Guess not.”

Katsuki sighs, like he was conceding something. “We can get a two bedroom, use one of them for your hero merch shrine.”

Izuku grins, “I like the sound of that,” and looks around fondly at the honestly disgusting amount of merch already in his dorm. Katsuki imagines just how much worse it would be in a place they actually owned.

They’d figure out the location and other details later. It depended on where they decided to intern at first, and when the talk of actually building a hero agency began, that would need even more levels of planning. For now, it was simple. Simple, like the blueprints of Izuku’s mech suit, and all the things that they could put off worrying about till later.

All Might endorses their idea when Izuku begins pestering him about hero agency logistics during hero training the following week.

It almost gave Katsuki whiplash watching the two of them; the way they interacted compared to Izuku and his actual father. Unfortunately, for all his fame and glory, All Might wasn’t actually the brains behind his operation.

Ultimately, it's thrilling thinking about the future when they already had so much planned. Katsuki worried one day his bubble would burst, but he firmly believed nothing could get worse than dying and leaving Izuku alone, and since he’d already done that once, there was nowhere to go but up.

Izuku seemed optimistic. He was a flame that could never be snuffed out, and once Katsuki had added some fuel to the fire, he was revving to go again. Being boyfriends certainly helped (and it was very embarrassing for Aizawa to call both of them out on their sudden changes in attitude, asking what had happened. Katsuki did not want to tell his teacher about kissing the nerd).

Izuku was on cloud nine until he got an ominous text from his mother in the middle of the week. ‘We need to talk.’ And that was so unlike Inko, so Izuku obviously knew it was serious. They were in his dorm–had been wrestling on the bed for Izuku’s laptop to change the stupid movie he wanted to watch–when Izuku had glanced at his phone, gone pale, and rushed to call his mother.

He waits as the phone rings, then as soon as Inko picks up: “Mom?”

“Hi, honey.”

Katsuki can hear her voice through the phone, sitting just inches away from Izuku against the pillows.

“What's wrong?” Izuku holds the phone up to his ear with both hands, frowning.

Katsuki hears a soft sigh. “I wish we could talk about this in person, but I know you can’t come until Sunday…so this will have to do.”

Izuku worries his lip.

“...your father and I are getting a divorce.”

Katsuki is silent for a beat before his eyes go wide and he huffs, staring at the phone in relieved disbelief. Izuku looks shell-shocked.

“What?” He sounds distressed, but Katsuki wasn’t dumb, and he knew it probably wasn’t distress over the divorce itself. Most likely, it was an oncoming wave of self-blame. “Is this because of what he…what he did? Because it's really not-”

“Izuku!” She sounds more stern than Katsuki is used to. Izuku squeezes his phone nervously. “It is important. I just can’t live with myself, staying with him after he hurt you. I’m not going to try to make excuses for him.”

Izuku flounders, trying to summon up an excuse of his own: “it didn’t really hurt. I don’t want you to do all this just for me!”

Katsuki’s brows furrow at that. He knew how much Izuku hated Hisashi. Feared him, even. But he would grovel at his mom’s feet and make up lies just to try to keep them together because he thinks that's what his mom wants. He doesn't want to cause her any pain. But Katsuki knew Inko, too, and he knew what kind of mother she was. She couldn’t possibly want this anymore.

“Izuku…I may have loved him once, and I will never, ever regret marrying him, because then I never would have had you. But I won’t ever let him hurt you again, and I know this is the only way to do that.” Her voice is soft, vulnerable. But it's also strong. “He was never there for me, Izuku. And he was never there for you. He’s done nothing but make my home a horrible, hostile place, and…”

Izuku shifts his phone to his other ear, glancing at Katsuki with wild eyes. He didn’t know what to do. Katsuki just wanted to tell him to let it happen, that it would be best for everyone involved, but he knew it wasn’t that simple. Not to Izuku.

“I talked with Mitsuki. She said...she convinced me. This is what needs to happen.” Inko sniffles over the line. “And I know how your brain works, baby. Please don’t blame yourself. This may be…a lot…but I’m not sad because I’m leaving him. I’m sad that it took this long. That he had the chance to hurt you before I could open my eyes to reality.”

That makes Izuku’s breath hitch. The more his mother speaks–the more she soothes and comforts and crafts her words to meet every single argument that must be rising in Izuku's mind–the more his face shifts into something like relief.

“Mom…” he whimpers, staring down at his lap with conflicted emotions prancing about his face. “Are you…are you really ok?”

“Yes. I will be now. And so will you. I love you, Izuku. Please, just trust me on this.”

And Izuku can’t possibly deny a plea like that. He nods, as if Inko would be able to see it through the phone. After a few more reassurances from the woman, and some garbled apologies from Izuku, she hangs up. Izuku stares at his lap for a few minutes more, then leans into Katsuki’s side.

“You ok?” The blonde asks gruffly, wrapping his arms around him.

Izuku breathes, tears dripping down his cheeks, but when he looks up at Katsuki, there's a sense of calmness in his face. Peace.

“Yeah,” he sniffles, wiping at his nose.

Katsuki leans down, pecking him, and gives him a serious look. “Fuck that guy. I’m glad he’s gone.”

Izuku’s face is stoic for a moment before he bursts out in surprised laughter, leaning his forehead against Katsuki.

“Kacchan!”

“What!? It's true!” He protests, cracking a smile of his own. Laughter always had a way of fixing things when Katsuki’s words alone couldn’t.

“...you’re perfect, Kacchan.” Izuku breathes out once he gets his giggles under control. He sounded a little manic, but that was just fine with Katsuki.

“What in the world gave you that idea?” He says incredulously, and Izuku laughs again at how genuine the blonde sounded. But, Katsuki found it totally, absolutely, extremely reasonable. Because– ‘perfect?’

That was maybe the last word Katsuki would ever use to describe himself. Not even Izuku was perfect–he could really benefit from seeing Katsuki’s therapist about that whole self-doubt issue. The fact that most of that issue stemmed from Katsuki’s behavior as a dumb tween only further proved the point that Katsuki wasn’t perfect; far from it.

Izuku is just as earnest in his words as Katsuki is in his confusion. “No matter what happens to me, if you're there, I know I’ll always be okay. You're like…like a beacon. I can always come back to you, and I know I’ll be safe. I’ll get to try again.”

Katsuki's breath is knocked out of him at that. It was so simple…but…

“And…it’s not just that I love you,” he reaches up, planting his hands in Katsuki’s hair with a grin. “You're a part of me. You’ve literally saved my life. I’m only alive right now because of you. I’m only going to become a hero because of you. Everything…it’s always been you. Always.”

Katsuki ducks his head, trying to hide his flushed cheeks and that soft, dewy look in his eyes. He hated crying. He hated it. But…if he were to do it in front of anyone…it would be Izuku.

“I’m just really grateful. And…and all I want to do is this. All our lives.”

An overwhelming wave of something–guilt, anger, relief, sadness, joy, and an incredible level of fondness–rushes through his body. He can feel each cell alight with oxygen, each hair raised. Every nerve and sense was in tune with Izuku, in this moment.

“We never have to stop.” He rasps, and Izuku’s eyes gleam.

“Not ‘till we die.”