Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The two of their bodies moved with electric, efficient energy that stood them on their feet. The villain was weakened, his body stumbling to the left as Izuku clocked his jaw with a right hook. Katsuki watched as his rival punched again. And again. Until the villain looked near unrecognizable. At first, Katsuki was eccentric. 

This patrol should be over anytime now. The villain was on the ground, practically Izuku’s punching bag. Plus, the green haired nerd didn’t look half-bad right now, sweaty and messy. His hand wrapped tightly around the villain’s forearm to secure him tightly to the floor. Katsuki walked towards his panting body, raising a fist towards Izuku, grinning like an idiot. Then, a laugh escaped from the distance.

His wrist froze mid-pump. Izuku, too, froze, his hand now limp on his side. It wasn’t Izuku’s or Katsuki’s laughs. Instead, it was the villain, laughing like a machine under the gaze of the dark clouds as if he wasn’t the color of a plum and didn’t just get beat beyond recognition permanently. 

Both of the hero’s faces fell. The laugh was eerie. Not manically. Not awkwardly. Just… laughing. It was like something was almost funny. What could possibly be funny?

The air suddenly twisted into something uneasy, something uncomfortable. The laugh only grew louder as the confusion on their faces deepened and they were now visibly getting freaked the f–k out. 

In a blink, Katsuki launched himself forward in a blast of heat and smoke, explosions cracking sharp against the concrete alley walls. The villain stumbled back, still laughing, palms glowing with a strange, pulsing violet light. What was wrong with this guy?

Izuku quickly followed, the thought unsaid in his head. Why was he laughing? What is going on in his head? How could he find anything remotely funny right now when he was defeated and now seen as a burden to the LOV? 

The questions lingered, floating in his head like fireflies in a jar. He paused in his step as he got lost in thought and an utter perturbing knot caught in his throat. It’s like this villain knew something that he didn’t. They didn’t. 

“Snap out of it, nerd!” Katsuki called to him, throwing large and dangerous sparks of scorching energy out of his hands in an attempt to knock the villain from his high. His eyes met Izuku’s now green glowing ones as he looked at him over his shoulder. His agitation only grew when Izuku stumbled on his way over.

Picking himself up, Izuku followed Katsuki. They’d cornered him between two abandoned buildings successfully, their bodies centimeters apart. Minor robberies, escalating property damage, erratic quirk usage.. This jerk had it coming. However, it was nothing they couldn’t handle. Nothing different. It was supposed to be routine field training under Aizawa’s supervision.

Katsuki lunged in, his burning palm reaching to pin the villain’s arm against the oddly cold brick wall that ended the slightly claustrophobic area.

And that was when it happened. The violet light flared as quickly as it disappeared. There was no explosion. No shockwave. Just complete unadulterated silence that made the tight atmosphere even more awkward. It lingered more intensely as Katsuki’s expression tightened with anger and confusion. 

Izuku’s breath caught itself. Why did it suddenly get so–

“Why did you stop moving, idiot?!”

He froze. That wasn’t his voice. Who was that? That? That wasn’t him. That wasn’t what he said. Did he just get interrupted in his own head? 

 It indeed wasn’t his voice. It was Katsuki’s. Izuku’s head turned slowly, the realization still processing in his head. The sight he was met with was an equally shocked, stiff Katsuki that couldn’t close his bugged-eyes to save his life. 

He looked stunned. Almost.. Horrified?

“Why the fuck can I hear you?” He growled . But Katsuki’s mouth didn’t move. His face was frozen in this shook, weirded-out expression, not even attempting to talk.

Izuku was officially flabbergasted, and right now, felt like he was naked in a public place. It felt invasive. It felt weird. It felt unnatural. His own rival could hear his thoughts. 

“I–” Izuku’s hands wrapped around his head, shaking it disbelievingly. “Kacchan, I–”

“Are you deranged? Don’t say it outloud, you idiot!”

“I’m not–!”

“And you’re panicking. Stop panicking.” 

Izuku froze slightly at the revelation. His heart pounded loudly in his ear, hard in his chest. This was a total nightmare. His own rival, his bound-to-be enemy could practically read his mind? Katsuki already knew enough about him. What more could he learn? 

“I’m not panicking!” He spoke half-heartedly. His head was still reeling from unmentioned thoughts in his head. What if he saw him remembering an embarrassing moment? Or if he was showering? Or if he was touching—

Katsuki looked in his eyes with a disbelieving look, his bulged out eyes softening slightly. Izuku’s eyes latched onto him at the realization that his thoughts were coming in and out of his head rapidly. Katsuki internally facepalmed at Izuku’s bluff. Even in situations like this, Izuku decides to be stubborn. His body language is practically screaming ‘I’m scared and confused’. 

“You’re definitely panicking, dipshit!”

“I am not!” 

Both flinched at that. Neither of them had spoken those last two phrases outloud. Instead, their thoughts were mingled into each other’s, now able to have conversations in their heads. This was nearly as similar as DMs, but instead of them being on their phones, it’s in their minds.

The villain, still looking like he’d gotten run over, takes advantage of their hesitation, wrenching his chest upwards. He pushed hard against Katsuki’s loosened grasp successfully and was trying to make a run to the left.

Katsuki reacted first on instinct, his arms pushed towards his back. His palms phased from his normal skintone to bright hues of oranges and yellows. Katsuki opened his hands wide, using the position to project himself towards the villain.

Izuku shook his head back to the real world. His legs tightened, preparing himself for the chase. Then, he took off, the turquoise energy from OFA floating menacingly around his torn hero costume. 

“Left flank Kacchan–he’s reaching—”

“—I know where he’s reaching! I have eyes!” 

It was too loud. Too overwhelming. Too uncomfortable. Too much. 

“He’s going to trigger it again—”

“—Then don’t let him!”

Using Katsuki’s words as mental elevation, Izuku ducked under the flying punch the villain attempted to swing at him. He swept the villain’s legs, black whip snapping tighter against the villain’s knees. Katsuki’s explosion detonated inches from the man’s hand before the violet glow could flare again.

The devastating blow left the villain unconscious on the floor, the violet glow now dimmed to a depressing and hollow black, pulsing weakly.

Time seemed to stop for a second. They stood in deafening silence, the only sound being their uncaught breath. Smoke drifted dangerously towards the seas. Concrete was crumbled, cracked, destroyed. Everything stilled abruptly. Except for one thing.

“Why is your heart beating that fast?”

Izuku’s breath hitched. He knew something was wrong. Definitely, whether that be the mess in his head or the uneasy urge to punch the villain to oblivion. And he sure wasn’t hiding it well.

“Something’s wrong”, he mouthed to himself.

“Something’s wrong.” 

The two staggered from each other like matching reflections. Of course he saw. Not only could he hear his thoughts, but apparently could see every small thing he thought he was slick with. It’s annoying, but honestly a little comforting that Katsuki could pay attention that well, considering his attention-span.

A gust of wind passed through the tense night, a figure dropping from the rooftop with a soft grunt. It was Aizawa, his scarf retracting and eyes holding an almost subtle red glow.

His mouth pressed into a thin line. Aizawa’s eyebrows furrowed at the confused and annoyed glances they were giving each other.

“What happened?” His gruff voice called out. 

Izuku opened his mouth to argue. So did Katsuki. The two glared at each other warningly, a silent ‘don’t fuckk this up’ following as understood between them.

“Don’t tell him I freaked out.”

“I didn’t freak out!” Izuku stammered uselessly, seeing Katsuki look at him as if he’s an idiot.

Aizawa raised an eyebrow at the outburst. He hadn’t said Izuku freaked out. In fact, he was previously thinking the opposite. Clearly, something is wrong.

“You’re making it fucking obvious. Now he knows something is up.”

“I did not–”

They stopped again, turning their heads to Aizawa’s intimidating stare. It was clear he knew something was totally wrong. And he definitely wouldn’t drop it until it’s been said.

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. “..Explain. Now.”

Izuku swallowed hard, another lump caught in his throat. He didn’t do anything bad. If anything he was doing the right thing. With a deep breath, he looked away sheepishly and opened his mouth. 

“Sir, I think the villain’s quirk—” He stopped, knowing damn well he was full of bull. Izuku knew something was wrong, and this quirk definitely did something. They can hear each other’s thoughts for goodness sake. “—definitely did something,” Izuku corrected weakly.

Katsuki looked like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin. Out of all people this could happen to. It just had to be him.

In an attempt to save both of them from embarrassment, he muttered, “I can hear him.” 

Izuku nodded helplessly. It was clear Katsuki was willing to do anything to get them out of this situation right now. “We can hear each other.”

Aizawa’s face twisted in confusion and light-hearted frustration. “You mean verbally.”

“No.” they said in unison. Their eyes hooked onto the ever-so-slightly softening expression of Aizawa, having nowhere else to look that wouldn’t make this situation any more awkward. A silence fell behind the synchronization. It spoke louder than any words could, all three understanding the confusing situation slowly. 

“This is a nightmare.” Katsuki muttered in his head.

“I wish it was.”

Katsuki’s expression turned outraged. His head turned to Izuku’s, a scowl deepening on his face as his neck tilted back to look at Izuku sharply. 

“STOP THINKING SO LOUD!”

Izuku jumped, his eyes meeting Katsuki’s, knowing it wouldn’t help. He put his hands up defensively and shook his head.

“I CANT HELP IT!” 

Aizawa sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose and putting his other hand on his hip . Years of doing this and the only thing that pushed him to his limits besides villains were the two strongest heroes being forced on a mission together. 

“Recovery girl. Now.”

____________________

The infirmary was too bright. It was messing with their heads, only adding to the terrible mixture of everything going on right now. 

The two were led to a room surrounded by needles and IV’s. The room had a faint chlorox smell that stung Izuku’s nose painfully. It had a white noise that was more terrifying than calming as Recovery girl came around to start the mandatory exams. 

Izuku sat on one bed and Katsuki sat on the other, their bodies only creating a distance of a few feet. They were angled away from each other like magnets forced into the same polarity.

After numerous scans and testing their physical vitals, she paused. Her eyes lingered on the neurological readings she conducted. They were… strange.

She looked up at the boys with an unreadable expression, but it sure had thoughtfulness in the mix. “The quirk appears to have created a temporary psychic tether,” she said. “A shared cognitive channel.”

“What?” Izuku groaned internally. 

Ignoring his audible (but shouldn’t be) groan, Katsuki glanced at Recovery girl with an interesting amount of attentiveness. “So we’re stuck in each other's heads?”

She facepalmed slightly, fixing the white-rimmed glasses on his eyes before continuing her analysis. “Yes,” Recovery Girl confirmed dryly. “You are, for lack of better phrasing, stuck in each other’s heads.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened. “For how long?” he demanded. It better not be fucking long.

She adjusted her glasses again as they swooped down to her nose. “Unknown. The villain’s quirk seems unstable. It may dissipate in hours. It may take days.”

“Days?!” Izuku slumped in his bed, making a small, distressed noise of defeat.

“Absolutely fucking not.” Katsuki crossed his arms over his chest.

He rolled his eyes in poorly chambered frustration. Katsuki caught onto the weird noise Izuku slipped out, shooting him a glare and causing his face to heat up with anger. 

“Quit spiraling.” He warned.

“I’m not–!”

“You’re thinking of every embarrassing interaction you’ve ever had.” A pause. “Pissing your pants? At eleven?”

Izuku’s face turned an impossible shade of pretty pink, his freckles sticking out even more over his flushed cheeks. This is indeed a nightmare. 

Katsuki’s eyes widened slightly at the new expression. He knew the nerd could get embarrassed. But it never got this bad. This? This is like an evolved middle-school Izuku who just got kissed by a girl. Did he really think he was that much of a total a–hole?

The green haired boy needed to say something. Something that would get him and Katsuki out of this embarrassing situation as quickly as possible.

“…You think about me that much?”

Another silence came over. Not only in real life, but now in their heads too. Izuku stopped breathing completely, watching Katsuki freeze. He hadn’t meant— He hadn’t meant for that to—

Katsuki turned sharply away, ears red and face flushed even more than Izuku’s.

Recovery Girl cleared her throat without noticing the tense interaction that just occurred mentally. “Until it fades, you’ll need monitoring. And proximity.”

They both snapped toward her.

“Proximity?” Katsuki repeated dangerously. This can’t be real. No way would he be anywhere near the nerd, especially if he could read his thoughts.

“Yes. If the tether stretches too far, it may cause neurological strain.”

Izuku felt his stomach drop. We have to stay near each other. And there’s no other option.

Katsuki’s thoughts suddenly turned very, very quiet. It was empty and lifeless in his head, his face falling. This wasn’t like him. It almost scared Izuku how silent he was.

And, somehow, that was much worse than it ever could’ve been

Chapter Text

Izuku woke up to the feeling of something exploding.

He jerked upright in bed, heart racing, breath caught halfway between panic and reality. The dorm room slowly came into focus around him: the dim morning light, the quiet hum of the building, the faint smell of smoke that didn’t actually exist. He sighs softly, eyes drifting across the room. Katsuki was sitting up too, palms faintly sparking on instinct.

“You were dreaming,” Katsuki’s voice cut through his head, sharp but edged with something else.

“I’m fine.” Izuku tried to dismiss it out loud.

“You were screaming.”

He paused at that. What? Since when could he..

“I wasn’t.”

“You were. Don’t try to bullshit the truth.”

The fragments returned whether he wanted them to or not. Izuku’s mind wanders to an unfortunate mission. The dust in his lungs, rubble collapsing, hands reaching for him that he couldn’t stop in time… The guilt hit first, then the helplessness. It bled straight through the tether.

Katsuki stiffened as he felt the emotion washed over him. “Cut it out,” he snapped outloud. It wasn’t even the feeling that’s annoying him. It’s the fact that Izuku would keep this a secret from him, as if he would judge him for it. 

“I’m not doing it on purpose!” Izuku stammered.

“I know that!”

The worst part wasn’t the words. It was the shared sensation of it. Fear didn’t stay contained anymore. It spread, echoed, doubled. There was no point in hiding it if the emotions spiked through their bodies uncomfortably.

Katsuki swung his legs off the bed and stood, feeling oddly guilty at the silent and unspoken reasoning before shrugging it off. “I’m showering.”

Izuku blinked, his mind going deep into the gutter. “Oh. Okay.”

The blonde turned his head to him. His cheeks were flushed pinker than they were before. Realization hit both of them like a brick, making them freeze in unison. 

“Don’t you dare—!”

“I can’t turn it off!”

Katsuki scowled and disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Unfortunately, it did absolutely nothing. The tether didn’t care about the walls. Izuku could hear every hum, every grunt, every scrub. He felt like he was invading something that wasn’t in his control. 

Izuku buried his face in his pillow and tried to focus on something neutral, as inappropriate images of his rival weren’t exactly calming. Hero rankings. Training schedules. The mechanics of blackwhip control. Anything that wasn’t—

“Stop chanting,” Katsuki’s irritation cut in. “It’s annoying as fuck.”

“I’m coping!” Izuku argued verbally, his head peaking out of his pillow.

“Cope quieter then.”

Izuku groaned. The running water turned on, and with it came a flare of embarrassment that wasn’t his. Instead, it hit Katsuki. He hated this. Hated the exposure. Hated the lack of control. Under the frustration was something sharper, something he’d rather keep hidden. It was an eerie amount of self-consciousness, the kind that came from being seen too clearly.

Izuku’s face softened in empathy as Katsuki’s emotions sent jolts to his body. He hadn’t realized why or how much Katsuki relied on walls until now.

“I don’t want to invade you.” The thought slipped before he could stop it.

Katsuki’s thoughts paused, his own body freezing under the sprinkling and steamy streams. After a few stiff moments, the water shut off.

There was a long pause before Katsuki’s response came through, quieter than before. 

“Then stop reacting to everything.”

“I’m trying,” Izuku said, unintentionally gentle, especially for how contrasting the emotions he was feeling battled with each other throughout his body.

The anger dulled after that, not gone but no longer blazing. Katsuki’s mind still fought uncomfortably against the weird feelings of vulnerability as he stepped out of the shower. 

———————————————————

By the time they made it to the faculty office, exhaustion clung to both of them. Their bodies were starting to limp from side to side dramatically as they reached for the doors. Aizawa took one dry look and sighed like he’d expected exactly this, clearly losing his hope for the two.

He turned his attention to Recovery girl, who was currently looking at more examinations and analysis she deducted from their first visit.

“It fluctuates with emotional stress,” he explained after Recovery Girl finished another round of scans. “The stronger the emotion, the stronger the connection spike.”

Izuku winced. That explained the overwhelming surges. It also explained why things felt loudest when neither of them was pretending. Why hadn’t she explained this earlier if she already figured out what was going on?

“So we just don’t feel anything?” Katsuki asked flatly, crossing his arms over his chest in an act of stubbornness and irritation.

“That would be ideal,” Aizawa replied.

Izuku almost laughed, and Katsuki’s annoyance flared sharply in response.

Recovery Girl adjusted her coat comfortably, taking a pen from her jacket’s front pocket and pointing to her research. “You’ll remain off regular classes. Light activity only. And you must stay within thirty feet of each other.”

Katsuki’s irritation sharpened instantly. 

“We’re stuck together.” He groaned internally.

“It’s temporary,” Izuku offered verbally in an attempt to lessen the blow.

“You don’t know that.”

Izuku was trapped. No. He didn’t. He didn’t know how much longer he could take either, or what it would take for him to break.

The two walked side by side through the crowded halls UA, clearly bored out of their minds. They swooped by the cafeteria after their restricting training to try and calm down. It only made it worse.

They tried sitting across from each other, but distance didn’t matter. Every stray observation overlapped. Izuku cataloged ingredients from worst to greatest without meaning to. Katsuki mentally criticized the seasoning. It bounced back and forth so often to the point where it was impossible to tell whose thought was whose. 

Kirishima stared at them with concern. “You guys okay?”

“No,” they answered in perfect unison.

Kaminari leaned forward, eyes wide. “So you can literally hear each other’s thoughts? That’s kinda cool.”

Both of them turned toward him immediately, sharing an expression of fury and pure disbelief.

“It is not cool.” Katsuki grunted. His hands hit the table sharply, causing everyone else to jump at the sudden noise.

“Extremely not cool.” Izuku followed, his eyes narrowing.

Katsuki stood first and left the cafeteria, his tray forgotten on the school’s poorly cleaned table. Izuku followed automatically, the tether tugging the moment the distance stretched.

They stopped in the hallway where it was quieter. Katsuki leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, staring at the floor. For once, his thoughts weren’t loud. They were layered, heavy.

“You don’t have to keep pushing me away,” Izuku said carefully.

Katsuki’s head snapped up. “I’m not—”

“If I don’t, you’ll see it.” The thought slipped through the lie on his lips.

Izuku stilled. “See what?” He murmured curiously, his eyes staring deeply into Katsuki’s, as if he was searching for answers instead of defense and self-deprecation that stood tall behind the blonde’s eyes.

Katsuki hadn’t meant to let that through. This quirk shit messed him up again. The memories hit before he could suppress them. Everything from middle school hallways and cruel words to smoke and sludge, his mind was filled with failures stacked on failures.

You’ll see that I was wrong.

Both of them froze. The admission hung between them with a bond stronger than a covalent one.

Izuku’s chest tightened. “Kacchan…”

“Don’t.” He snapped defensively, but the words on his tongue lacked its original bite. 

It sounded as though he was.. Vulnerable. Scared. Weak. Not the normal aggressive Katsuki Bakugo that Izuku was so used to seeing. Was it all a front?

“I never thought you were weak,” Izuku replied.

Katsuki flinched. That’s worse.

“What?” 

“You’re looking at me like I’m something to forgive.” His thought echoed between both their heads.

Izuku stepped closer without thinking, the distance between them shortening even farther. The tether hummed at the closer connection. It became steadier, less.. Weird. 

“I don’t forgive you because you’re weak, Kacchan.” Izuku whispered, almost inaudible to the blonde.

The vague response only deepened the overwhelming emotions he was already feeling. “Then why?”

The question wasn’t mocking. It was raw. Unfiltered. Katsuki never saw him like that, let alone any emotion that was less than calm or soft. 

Izuku hesitated only a second before the truth formed, unpolished and unavoidable, letting his mouth work around the phrase he pushed far for so many years.

Because I understand you.

Katsuki went still. The defensive anger wavered, cracked.

“You don’t,” he muttered aloud.

“You might,” the thought followed, softer.

Students rounded the corner, breaking the moment as they filled the soft silence with loud, dramatic conversations and chatter. Both of them (fixed) their expressions and postures to leave no evidence of the truth that only slipped out because of a simple quirk.

Katsuki straightened instantly, armor snapping back into place.

“Don’t get soft on me, nerd.”

“Maybe a little,” Izuku admitted before he could stop himself. A soft chuckle escaped his mouth, a sound that was like a symphony to the blonde’s ears. The sound was so original, so ordinary to Katsuki. 

He rolled his eyes, but he didn’t move away. Instead, his lips curved slightly upward.

That night, exhaustion stripped away what little control they had left. Izuku lay staring at the ceiling again while Katsuki paced. Izuku kicked his feet in the air mindlessly, twirling a green curl from his head with his pointer finger.

“You’re replaying everything,” Katsuki muttered internally.

Izuku pressed a hand to his chest. He hadn’t realized he was. But now that Katsuki pointed it out, he couldn’t stop.

It felt like a fever dream. Today was a blessing in disguise. Who knew how much closer someone could get to their rival just because of a mission?

Izuku’s mind wandered beyond what only occurred today. The thoughts drifted from the tether to Katsuki, the memories of the two flooding his head. No matter how much they made it seem, they do care for each other. At least Izuku did.

 And then it slipped. 

Unintentional. Unfiltered.

“I still look up to you.”

Katsuki stopped moving entirely, his crimson eyes darting to Izuku in an instant. What? He stammered internally. What did he just say?

The room suddenly felt too small. Yeah, the room was visibly big enough for them. Possibly three pairs of them. But it wasn’t physically smaller. It was mentally. The thoughts they shared, the emotions they unknowingly told each other, it all connected to the sudden tightness of it all. 

“Why?”

The question carried no bite, no harm, no harsh sting. Only a pinch of relief and a bundle of confusion. 

Izuku swallowed, staring into the dark. He already snitched himself on a little, might as well give him the whole picture while he’s at it. .Because you never stop trying. Even when you’re scared.

Silence swallowed the space between them like it has numerous times already. Katsuki hadn’t known that show, especially so obviously. He hadn’t known Izuku saw it either.

He felt exposed.

But beneath that was something warmer. Something steady. Similar to friendship. A connection deeper than friends, weaker than affection. 

Izuku felt it too and smiled faintly. He finally felt normal to let out his thoughts. He held these back for so long, being so scared to let them out and embarrassing them both. Izuku didn’t want to ruin anything they desperately wanted to fix. Their relationship wasn’t perfect anyway. It had its cracks, but was still sturdier than they intended it to be.

“Don’t smile like that,” Katsuki grumbled aloud.

“Like what?”

“Like you figured something out.”

“Maybe I did,” Izuku said softly. His smile widened unintentionally, his eyes lighting up slightly with something similar to arrogance and actually happiness that hasn’t been there for the last couple of days.

Katsuki exhaled dramatically, a long and slow breath escaping his mouth. His face visibly relaxed from letting that out. Sure, it was only a start. It would take it much longer to even try to get more out. However, it’s the farthest he’s ever gotten anyone past his tough facade he wanted to break so badly. 

He hated to admit it, but his rival was the first and most likely last person to see this side of him. The vulnerability, the self-hatred, the regret, everything. His mask was to break eventually, and he’s not even disappointed that it was Izuku who got to see through his front. Only shocked.

The tether pulsed strongly due to the ice-breaking interaction. Not sharp, not painful. Just present, letting the two know of its haunting presence. They didn’t react though. Both of them just let it pulse, let it shudder through their bodies.

Letting someone through after holding it back for so long has its positives.

And for the first time since the accident, the lack of privacy didn’t feel entirely unbearable.

It felt dangerous. Invasive. And, oddly enough, comforting. 

Because now, they couldn’t hide. They’re technically stuck in each other’s heads for god knows how long. All the issues, all the emotions, everything. They could read each other like a book beyond what they’ve already figured out previously. 

And, right now, neither of them knew what would happen if they stopped trying

Chapter Text

Letting each other see and feel everything the other was feeling without any restriction is obviously going to lead to disaster. So, they tried rules. Of course, it was Izuku’s idea.

“If we can’t stop the thoughts,” he said the next morning, notebook already open, “then maybe we can… manage them.” Izuku looked up at Katsuki knowingly, hoping he’d make this an easier discussion rather than another argument. 

Unfortunately, Katsuki stared at him like he’d suggested they start meditating under a waterfall. 

“Manage them how.” He grunted, his arms crossing over each other on his chest. He raised his eyebrow expectantly and impatiently. When no answer came, Katsuki’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Spill.”

“Boundaries,” Izuku said sheepishly despite the fact that he brought up the idea. “Like… if we notice something private, we don’t comment on it. And we try not to intentionally project.”

“You’re literally writing a guideline for thinking,”Katsuki thought flatly.

Izuku winced. “It makes sense in theory.” He buried his face in his notebook, already regretting the idea of bringing this up with Katsuki in the first place.

“Your whole life makes sense in theory.”

“Hey.” The green haired boy shot him a glare.

Katsuki looked away, but the edge in his irritation wasn’t as sharp as yesterday. It was pure, unfiltered exhaustion now. Frayed nerves. Too much awareness of the fact that his rival sees every thought, feels every emotion, knows everything he’s been insecure about. Or, at least, was close enough to.

They were sitting on the dorm floor, backs against opposite sides of the same bed. Close enough to avoid the tether’s strain. Far enough to pretend it was normal.

Izuku clicked his pen. “Rule one: no weaponizing overheard thoughts.” The pen’s ink floated gracefully along the damaged paper of his notebook, bracing himself for the comeback he knew Katsuki would mutter.

Katsuki huffed. “I don’t need ammo.”

“I already know where to hit you.”

Izuku felt that land and tried not to react. Despite his efforts, he flinched slightly. A wave of hurt crossed over his usual glee expression before he schooled it. Katsuki couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt at the change of expression, but it faded as soon as it came.

“Rule two,” he continued quickly, “if something slips out accidentally, we don’t overanalyze it.”

Katsuki barked a short laugh. “You not overanalyzing something? That’ll be the day.”

Izuku frowned down at the notebook. Every single comment that left his gruff mouth hit him like a blow to the jaw each time.

“You’re doing it right now.”

“I am not.” He grumbled helplessly.

“You’re wondering if I meant that in a mean way or a normal way.”

And, for the first time in a long time, Izuku stayed silent. His hand limply fell onto the notebook, the pen barely held by his suddenly loosened grip. The thoughts overwhelmed him as the comments continued to come and go. Despite the fact that there was no verbal answer, his silence answered louder than words ever could.

Katsuki rolled his eyes. “See? Hopeless.” He crossed his arms over his chest, a small, proud smile curving his lips upward. All of his straight teeth were showing through the wide space his thin lips left open.

But Izuku had other worries. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to it, yet it’s hurting his feelings more than intended. The problem was that every small thought created ripples. A glance lasted too long. A heartbeat skipped. A memory surfaced uninvited.

And then there were the things neither of them meant to think at all. However, the decision was no longer there. It hadn’t been ever since that jerk touched the two of them and connected their brains. Their emotions were now in the control of this tether and the fact that they’ve hidden so many things from either only made it fight fiercer. 

The clock striked 9:05am, signalling their scheduled training times that Aizawa scheduled for them that morning. The two quickly struck upwards, wiping their eyes and getting ready. They got ready in an awkward silence, refusing to acknowledge whatever thoughts and emotions bled through their bodies.

They sparred lightly in Training Ground Gamma under Aizawa’s supervision, minimal quirk use, controlled movements, routine tactics they learned earlier than morning. The tether hummed between them, steady but alert.

During the spar, Katsuki feinted left, causing Izuku to stumble slightly before he was able to catch himself.. Izuku reacted quickly before the movement fully formed and allowed his body to stand up on instinct.

The blonde moved his wrist at an angle, sending a right hook after the spin. Katsuki adjusted mid-motion, however. Due to the slight mess-up, Izuku ducked. They flowed around each other like they’d rehearsed it a hundred times, moving fluidly instead of roughly like they would’ve. Could’ve.

Aizawa’s gaze sharpened from the sidelines. Again. He analyzed the aggressive fighting-style of Katsuki and Izuku’s stronger form, the movements fitting together like a puzzle piece. It was perfect. Too perfect.

Katsuki launched forward, and Izuku moved with him instinctively, blackwhip snapping out to redirect momentum. Their timing was flawless. No hesitation. No verbal cues. Because they didn’t need them. The tether hummed as if it was complimenting them, sending shudders through their bodies from head to toe. 

They broke apart at the same second, breathing hard, hands on their knees, barely holding themselves together. There was a beat of charged silence. It was heavy and rough, despite the fact that nothing was said.

“You’re getting faster,” Katsuki thought.

Izuku smiled before he could stop himself. This was the first genuine compliment that he had received from Katsuki in days. Weeks. Months. Hell, he doesn’t remember the last time the two actually seemed like friends. It was always charged with something that was… more than friends. The feeling flew in their body, refusing to get out, but neither of them bringing it up 

“You’re thinking too loud again,” He added quickly, like he needed to cover it.

But the earlier thought lingered. Not criticism. Not rivalry. Recognition. 

This wasn’t like Katsuki. He was more arrogant and prideful. More stronger. He tried to save it like it was a bad thing, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. The efforts proved no solutions though.

Izuku’s chest unconsciously warmed at the awkward compliment. He didn’t know how he should take this. Was it a compliment? Was it genuine? He didn’t know. But damn, did it feel good.

“I have to keep up with you.” The thought slipped free in his mind, clearly lost in his own world, still thinking about the comment he made.

Katsuki froze. Why would he need to keep up with him if he was so far ahead already?

“You’re not behind me,” he shot back instantly.

Izuku blinked, clearly not expecting that response. Katsuki was competitive and arrogant. Why would he admit—

“If anything,” he continued. “You’re much more ahead than I’ll ever be.”

That hadn’t sounded competitive. It sounded defensive. As if he was the one offended. Did the nerd really think he was that far behind?

The words lingered in Izuku’s mind unintentionally. He finally gained the self composure to shake it. However, it left an invisible glow in his heart that only he could feel. The feeling was warm, comforting. And a little uneasy when he considered that it was Katsuki out of all people to bring it up.

They reset positions, holding their fists up in the air, their legs bouncing their torsos back and forth against the padded floors. Katsuki moved first this time, faster, sharper, more intensely. Izuku countered quickly  with a duck and a swoop in an attempt to trip him. Their palms collided briefly before separating.

Then, they heard it. “I’m scared of being left behind.”

The voice wasn’t Izuku’s. Its tone caused them both to pause, the fluid-motions dimming down to stiffer, slower movements that weren’t doing much. It was raw and sudden and so unlike Katsuki’s usual mental tone that Izuku physically stumbled. 

Katsuki froze too. Fuck.

The silence that followed was viscous and uncomfortable, like it’s been like every single time something so hidden deep in one of their mind’s slips. “Stop,” Katsuki said aloud.

“I didn’t—”

“I know you didn’t.”

Izuku’s heart hammered at the unsaid response. He hadn’t known. He hadn’t realized that fear ran parallel to his own. Why would keep this under his skin for so long? How much longer would it take for him to finally break? Was he his breaking point?

The admission hung there, the two realizing just how much more they didn’t know about each other. How long they’ve been hiding things beyond the things that they’ve already figured out. It’s impacting them too much. Too quickly. Too abrupt.

“You won’t be,” Izuku said quietly. Katsuki’s jaw tightened, but it lacked his usual aggressive and fuming twist to it. He hated how much the nerd wanted to make it better. He was always perfect, always trying to fix things he knew weren’t able to be fixed.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re promising something you can’t control.”

Izuku’s whole expression faltered. Because he couldn’t control it. He knew that. Izuku didn’t know how much longer the tether would stay connected to their thoughts. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Katsuki felt every ounce of hesitation. It was like a fracture in Izuku’s happy facade. A crack in his joyful mask. And he didn’t like it. Frustration surged throughout his entire body rapidly, the scowl on his face deepening even harsher..

See?

“I don’t want to leave you behind!” Izuku bursted outloud, causing everyone to turn to them in the crowded arena. He covered his mouth with both his hands and tried his best to compose himself under the intense gaze of Katsuki’s narrowed red eyes.

Aizawa’s voice cut across the field. “Keep it focused.” he scolded, turning his back to the two rivals in a swift motion. He made a gesture with his hands in order to get everyone back on track. They both muttered apologies, stepping apart again with harsher intensity than necessary.

But the rhythm was gone now. The fast, upbeat mood of their sparring died as the two began to back away from each other even farther. The tether pulsed harder, responding to the spike in emotion. Katuski turned away first, Izuku following more gently. The session finished in stiff, uncomfortable silence for the last twenty, but the thoughts and emotions never stopped its fluidity. If anything, it became worse, the rivals currently lost more in their thoughts than strategies like they should’ve been.

———————————————————

Back in the dorm room, the tension lingered. Izuku sat cross-legged on the floor again, staring at nothing, while Katsuki paced. The feelings, the emotions, the tether… Right now, it was too much for them to handle.

The thoughts only grew louder tonight. Less controlled, more frequent, more dangerous. They wandered back and forth between both of their minds as if they were inseparable. To the normal eye, they just looked stressed. However, mentally, it was a combination of external identities and internal dilemmas that created a bundle of chaos wanting to explode.

Izuku’s mind drifted back to childhood playgrounds, chasing after explosions and laughter, notebooks filled with admiration. Every happy memory of the two allowed the tether to pulse more softly and less restricting on their minds.

“You’re doing it again,” Katsuki muttered internally.

“I can’t help remembering.” Izuku replied outloud. It was the truth, he really couldn’t. They only intensified at Katsuki’s stressed grumbles. Unconsciously, his gaze on Katsuki faltered, a slight frown pointing the corners of his mouth downward.

“Stop looking at me like I’m still that person.” 

Izuku’s posture jolts up instantly, clearly not expecting that. 

“I’m not.” He argued.

“You do.”

The frustration wasn’t anger. It was fear of regression. Fear of being seen as the worst version of himself. Fear that the only person that actually gave a shit about him was the person he’d been treating the worst. 

Izuku’s thoughts softened without permission. He could read the self-depracation on his face. Every comment he made, every uncomfortable adjustment he made, the tears that slowly turned his eyes glassy. Even his posture lacked its proud stance. It was deflated and sad, like something was seriously bugging Katsuki that was out of his control. 

“I look at you and see someone who keeps choosing to be better.”

Katsuki’s pacing stopped, his eyes darting to meet Izuku’s, narrowed. The room felt suddenly smaller and strangling. “Don’t,” he said under his breath. 

Izuku caught onto the “pushing away” tactic he’s seen so often. “I’m not lying, Kacchan”

“You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not easy,” Izuku replied. “That’s why it matters so much.”

Katsuki didn’t respond. He couldn’t, causing the tether to buzz intensely yet not painfully. Instead, he stared at the wall like it personally offended him. Because beneath all of the irritation, the defensiveness, something was rising between the two. 

 A sense of understanding that had gradually gotten stronger. It was unavoidable. Shared. They both were feeling the tension of it growing increasingly, and decided to not bring it up.

Katsuki exhaled slowly, choosing his next words carefully. “If I fall behind, I won’t forgive you.”

The retaliation caused Izuku to pause briefly. He blinked. “That doesn’t even make sense.” He argued, placing his hands on his bouncing knees. 

“It does to me.”

Izuku hesitated, then let the truth surface without filtering it. “Then don’t fall behind. Run with me.”

He hadn’t even opened his mouth to utter the words. He didn’t need to. Izuku watched as Katsuki stopped his pacing, clearly conflicted. 

Katsuki’s breath caught before he could stop it. For a split second, neither of them thought anything at all. No noise. No overlap. Just awareness and an empty silence of white noise in their head. Then he scoffed, because of course he did.

“Like hell I’d trail you.” He grunted, an arrogant smirk hiding the realization that Izuku was genuinely taking this seriously and not making fun of him or pitying like he intended.

Izuku smiled softly at the smirk. Things were getting better. It was getting closer to how it was before, before any of this occurred. The smile was certain and genuine, one he’s given to numerous people, but mostly to Katsuki. 

The tether, for once, steadied into something. Not quiet, not peaceful. It was anything but calming, the tether pulsing to the steady beat of their hearts. Instead, it aligned. They hadn’t solved anything. The two knew this. They hadn’t fixed the past.

But the things they didn’t say anymore were getting harder to hide. And the more the link forced them to hear each other, the less distance there was to run.

Chapter Text

They learned quickly that the tether liked adrenaline and harder, more intense emotions. It wasn’t just emotional spikes, though. It was dangerous and urgent. It was the sharp edge of a fight.

By the end of the week, Aizawa cleared them for a supervised patrol. In a low-risk district, minor villain activity, nothing catastrophic. Calmer. “Controlled exposure,” he called it.

Katsuki commented, calling it “babysitting” in his head while Izuku just adjusted his gloves and tried not to think too loudly about how well they’d been syncing lately. It’s not like he could help it. They were both shocked at the absurd situation they were forced to be put in all because of a villain’s quirk, and thoughts were thoughts. There was no volume in one’s head.

“You’re doing it again,” Katsuki muttered internally, sending a warning glare to Izuku, who unfortunately sat right beside him.

“I didn’t say anything.” Izuku argued outloud, sending back a challenging glare more than threatening.

“You don’t have to.”

Izuku rolled his eyes at that. He fixed up his suit, the red knee pads strapped tightly to his knees and the red and black belt hanging low on his waist made it easy access for fluid motions.

They leapt across rooftops in near-perfect rhythm. The city stretched below them, evening air cool against their skin. Normally they would’ve argued about pace. About route, catching up since one of them was going too slow, or which villain looked the best and/or worst (if they could even find a good-looking villain).

But there were no arguments. Instead, their thoughts were either tough strategic moves that Izuku had been planning previously or Katsuki’s brutal ways of finishing them off. Both of them were slightly ticked off at the contrasting views.

“Two streets over. Alleyway.” Izuku nodded his head in the direction. 

Katsuki adjusted course before Izuku could point, ruffling his messy hair aggressively.

“I was going to say that.” He grunted out loud.

“Too slow.”

Izuku chuckled out loud at the childish remark, his smile lighting up his entire face while his mouth attempted to cover it in an attempt to keep professionalism. Katsuki rolled his eyes.

“So funny.” He scoffed. But even he was fighting back the urge to smile as they dropped down the alleyway in unison.

The sight was nothing out of the ordinary. Three petty thieves. One with a blade. One with a strength enhancer quirk. One already bolting.  Izuku moved first, blackwhip snapping out to block the exit, his hand outreached to stir the power into one distinct destination. Katsuki blasted forward without hesitation

They didn’t need words. They didn’t need to shout. Didn’t need to plan or waste time. All they needed was their thoughts and some sort of plan since it always eventually got through the both of them.

“Duck.”

Izuku ducked under the demand command.

“Now.” Izuku ordered.

Katsuki detonated an explosion overhead, scattering debris in a controlled arc that forced the enhanced villain off balance. Izuku pivoted on his left foot, sweeping his legs and pinning him cleanly. His other hand reached for the thief’s wrist, grasping tightly. 

And with that, the fight was over. It only lasted under thirty seconds, Katsuki silently remarked, not verbally or in his head.

When it ended, the silence that followed wasn’t awkward for once. It was electric and normal. The adrenaline was still pumping through their veins and had no intentions of dying down any time soon. In doing so, their breathing synced without meaning to. 

“You hesitated before the whip,” Katsuki noted.

Izuku glared at him sideways, his hand combing his messy green locked. “There was a civilian near the fire escape.”

“I saw.” A pause. “Good call.”

Izuku blinked as if he was shocked. He did this last time. It still felt foreign on Katsuki’s tongue, though, as the green haired boy struggled to find the right words to respond. Katsuki felt the warmth bloom instantly, starting from his chest.

“Don’t get weird about it.” He quickly muttered.

“I’m not getting weird!”

“You are.”

Izuku rolled his eyes. “Am not.” A pause. “Plus, it’s not my fault that I.. that I..” He paused again, struggling to find words yet again without “getting weird about it” according to Katsuki’s terms. The blonde only looked back at him with a challenging gaze.

“I love watching you fight.”

He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. At the same time, Katsuki froze.

The emotion behind it wasn’t romantic, at least not obviously. It was awe. Pangs of respect and familiarity gave it the “friendship” feeling that they just couldn’t get right. It was the kind that had been there since childhood, buried under rivalry and resentment. But, without context, it hit harder than either of them intended.

“You—” Katsuki started.

Izuku couldn’t help it, cutting him off both mentally and externally, scrambling with his hands and his eyes widening in a mix of embarrassment and horror. “I didn’t mean— I mean I did mean— not like—”

“You look alive when you fight,” Izuku’s thoughts rushed to fill the silence. “Focused. Certain.” All Izuku wants to do right now is bury himself in a grave and keep himself hidden from the world. 

His mind and mouth were telling Katsuki two different stories. One has the truth, the other… is concealed for a reason. It only caused Katsuki’s pulse to spike and cheeks to slowly flush into a light pink.

Because under Izuku’s admiration, there was fear. An awful amount of it. It wasn’t directed at Katsuki however. Instead, it was towards the memories. The guilt. The horror that if Katsuki ever got hurt again..

“Don’t get reckless,” Izuku thought, the tone sudden and sharp. “Don’t get hurt. I can’t—” A pause. Then, silence, cutting himself off now. Katsuki felt the unfinished thought hang there, heavy in his heart, reeling in his head.

“You can’t what?” he demanded quietly. Izuku swallowed hard, fiddling with his fingers as he desperately thought of a way to pick himself up from the hole he already dug himself in..

“I didn’t finish it.”

“Finish it.”

The order wasn’t loud. It wasn't rough. It was intense and raw, the phrase lingering in Izuku’s head causing his spine to shiver. Izuku looked away first, feeling uncomfortable under Katsuki’s unreadable expression.. The alley suddenly felt too small. 

“I can’t watch that again,” he admitted in a whisper. 

They both knew what he was referencing: Hosu City. The memory surged between them before either could stop it.

The two were on a long mission, the rain pouring onto their faces and the dirt from so much fighting making them feel disgusting. In a blink, it happened. Smoke. Fire. A broken body on the ground. But it wasn’t Izuku’s.

It was Katsuki’s, the explosions he’d worked so hard to perfect backfiring on his already weakened body. His legs were twisted unnaturally, face soaked in tears, blood, and sweat that all belonged to him. The image made them both shudder uncomfortable, Izuku had to turn his back to Katsuki just to compose his thoughts as Katsuki inhaled sharply.

He hadn’t realized how much that image lived in Izuku’s head. How often it replayed. How terrible it made him feel. The tether pulsed harder when the emotions only grew stronger. And something in Katsuki snapped. Not anger, not defensiveness, but frustration.

“You think I’m that fragile?” he shot back.

“No!”

“Yes,” the fear whispered underneath, barely audible.

Katsuki stepped closer, his strides long and aggressive. “You don’t get to decide I’m breakable.” They were now face to face, the tether buzzing uncontrollably yet not painfully. His eyes stared deeply into the green eyes ahead of his own, allowing his rival to see every emotion that caused the mess in his head.

Izuku’s breath hitched. That’s not what he was getting at. “I don’t think you’re breakable,” he said. But even as the words left his lips, they felt wrong to even have to be said aloud. “I think you’re important.”

The words settled between them. Unfiltered. Unshielded.

The words made Katsuki’s mind go momentarily blank. Important. Not strongest. Not rival. Not symbol. Not even useless. Important.

The tether hummed, softer now, reacting to the tension and adrenaline that remained from the intense fight from earlier. Beneath Katsuki’s instinct to argue, there was an undeniable emotion that leaned closer to relief than any other. After all he has done to him, he thinks he’s important.

You’re important too, he thought before he could stop himself. 

Izuku froze in shock and disbelief. Katsuki braced himself for any reaction but this. He felt the impact immediately, heat rushing up his neck and onto his face.

“I didn’t—”

“You did.”

They stood there in the alley far longer than necessary. The criminals were already secured. Sirens wailed faintly in the distance. But neither of them moved. They couldn’t. They were so lost in their own tension, their own desires to hide whatever is left to but can’t, the undying pang from the tether. It was too much, and it showed.

Izuku’s thoughts were quieter now. Not spiraling or loud like how Katsuki would complain they were. Just steady and soft, almost reassuring.

“When we fight like that… It feels right.” he admitted thoughtfully, his eyes slowly meeting Katsuki's again. This time, it lacked embarrassment. It lacked horror. His irises gave an insight of comfort and trust, emotions softer than a pillow.

Katsuki’s posture slumped, leaning on the brick wall of the alleyway’s end. “It did.” he agreed, crossing his leg over his knee sheepishly. There was no jealousy or scrambling to outpace each other. Just pure connection that lay under the relationship of rivals.

The sirens grew louder. Finally, reality began to return. Katsuki jumped off the wall first, shoving his hands into his pockets like that could hide the echo still lingering between them. His muscles contracted slightly from the earlier fight, but it didn’t phase him. The only thing that stuck was the heart-breaking facts he admitted today and the reassurances that he couldn’t have gotten from anyone else besides Izuku.

“Don’t start thinking this means we’re soft,” he muttered.

Izuku smiled faintly, covering his mouth with a hand.. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Liar.” Katsuki shot back.

The thought carried no bite, causing Izuku to laugh at the softer-than-usual  remark. His smile lit up his entire freckled face, eyes squinted against his raised cheeks. The two started to pick a comfortable pace to walk in, feet matching each other in rhythm.

As they vaulted back onto the rooftops, the city lights flickering below, the tether felt different. It was no longer awkward and weird like it was essentially. It was less like an intrusion. more like an exposed wire humming between them.

The tether was dangerous, powerful, remarkably bright despite the fact that it wasn’t visible, and undoubtedly impossible to ignore.

Chapter Text

The nightmare didn’t start as a nightmare. It started as a quiet hum, a simple dream that Izuku couldn’t remember. Something about the silence made him uneasy even in sleep. 

Izuku stood alone in the ruins of a city that was beyond existence, yet somehow stood stable. The sky was a dark and husky gray due to its heavy containment being ash. It was thick in his lungs, the lack of oxygen fueling his anxiety beyond what he could bring himself to admit.

There's no sound. No voices. No explosions. No movement. Just an uncomfortable absence of everything he relied on.

He took a step forward, slowly and cautiously. The ground cracked beneath his feet made him flinch back. The thick air swallowed his body as his footsteps grew anxious. It swirled with a cold air, striking Izuku in the face as he shivered under the breeze.

“Too slow.”

Izuku froze, utterly terrified now. That voice wasn’t his. It wasn’t external either. It was a memory. A troubling, destroying memory that he just wanted to keep in the back of his head permanently. On instinct, he turned to where the sound was coming from. There’s where he saw it.

He saw everyone behind him. Class A. Pro heroes. Civilians. All bundled into a large, spectating group whose eyes made Izuku shudder slightly. They were all watching expectantly, keeping track of his every move. Waiting for him. 

His arms felt heavy, his head reeling with words he would never utter outloud.. One For All pulsed painfully under his skin like a countdown. He tried to move, tried to move his mouth in order to speak. But, his body wouldn’t respond.

Izuku’s mouth made a useless, inaudible noise that didn't sound like any word of the alphabet. His body felt weak. How could he feel weak? He’s trained himself so long for this. Why did his muscles refuse to work? Why couldn’t he use his quirk? Was this a—

“If you were stronger—”

The whisper sharpened drastically, the phrases overlapping.

“If you were faster—”

The ash began to fall thicker, causing Izuku to cough uncontrollably. His breath stuttered from the scent and turn of events. 

“And somewhere far away—”

Then, Katsuki felt it. He jerked awake in the dark, heart slamming against his ribs as he tried to regain his breath. Because, right now,  the ash was in his lungs too. The suffocating pressure of the dark sky, the weight of expectation crushing against his chest like a cannonball, it was insufferable and unreal.

It wasn’t his dream. He was only half-asleep earlier anyway. But, it felt like it was happening to him. This felt too real to be a nightmare if he could feel every drop of pain that Izuku must have endured more than once. 

“Deku,” he snapped aloud, turning to try and reach towards Izuku with one arm roughly. “Deku!”

Izuku thrashed in his bed, fists clenched in the sheets. “I—I can still— I just need—”

The words weren’t coherent. Instead, the fear was. It poured through the tether like a flood, as if the waves were thrashing on the shore packed of sand.

This fear wasn’t directed towards villains. Not even fear of death, no. Izuku crossed death so many times that he no longer needed to be afraid of even the possibility.

The truth? Fear of failing. It was a kind of fear that made his stomach turn at the idea of not being enough to carry something that was never meant to be carried alone. It was something that everyone had. At his high position as a pro-hero, it was his biggest. 

Katsuki watched in pure frustration and horror as Izuku’s body began to shake under the nonexistent weight of ash and the very real weight of responsibility. Katsuki was on his feet before he fully registered moving after a few agonizing seconds. He crossed the room in three strides and grabbed Izuku by the shoulders.

“Wake up!” he screamed.

Izuku gasped, eyes flying open. The ash vanished, the suffocating feeling leaving him to catch his breath. The dorm ceiling replaced the gray sky, and it was no longer cold and uneasy. It was back to normal.

Besides the panic that still lingered in both of their bodies. They were too close. Close enough that Katsuki could see the tremor in Izuku’s hands. Close enough that Izuku could feel Katsuki’s heartbeat racing just as hard. 

They make eye contact eventually. It was so short, so abrupt, so… horrifying. The nightmare may have felt mentally, but the two were still shocked and reliefed, practically panting after processing what had just happened.

“You were spiraling,” Katsuki said roughly. His calloused hands lingered on Izuku’s scarred shoulders.

Izuku swallowed, his heart still racing. “You felt that.”

It wasn’t a question. They both knew the answer: Yeah. He definitely did if he had the urge to get up himself and wake Izuku up from his crazy daze. Katsuki’s jaw clenched.

“Yeah. I felt it.”

Izuku’s heart sank. Not only had his mind ultimately betrayed him, but he hurt Katsuki in the process. Now he knew about the burden of being a failure. Being something that isn’t needed or not enough. Pushing the thoughts to the side, he tried to sit up, but his hands were still shaking.

“I’m fine.” He whispered as Katsuki’s eyes narrowed in frustration and… something that looked oddly similar to concern. Izuku tried to sit up again, yet Katsuki reached him first, planting his hands onto the bed with an oddly gentle push by his wrists.

The blonde rolled his eyes. “You’re not fine.”

“I handle it.”

That did it. Katsuki’s temper flared, not explosive or wild. It was more controlled, as sharp as a knife. His eyebrows furrowed in agitation, letting go of Izuku’s wrists roughly.

“You ‘handle’ it by crushing yourself under it,” he snapped, looking directly into Izuku’s. “That’s not handling it. That’s making it worse.”

Izuku froze. He was officially stumped.  “You don’t understand,” Izuku said, voice tight. “It’s my responsibility.”

“I know it is!” The words ripped out of Katsuki before he could stop them. He took a large deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. But damn did it agitate him. Here he is, learning that his rival has actually self-worth issues and insecurities even he deals with and yet Izuku continues to be stubborn about it. Why can he never admit that he needs help?

“I know what it is,” he continued, breath harsh and unsteady. “I know what it means. You think I don’t see it?”

Izuku froze. The realization that he saw and knew actually what he meant brought a surge of horror and vulnerability over his face. Katsuki saw the way One For All weighed on him. The way he trained until his body failed. The way he never let himself rest.

The frustration that surged through Katsuki wasn’t jealousy. It was fury at the burden itself. The fact that Izuku just works under the burden of feeling worthless and offers help to everyone when in reality he's the one who needs it made his blood boil.

“You don’t get to disappear under it,” Katsuki said, voice dropping lower. “You don’t get to decide that’s the only way.”

Izuku's thoughts fractured. There were no remnants of the self-deprecation or the embarrassment of such a heavy burden that he was worried about. Instead, it was purely on his words and the passionate way Katsuki’s red eyes met his larger green ones.

“If I don’t give everything—”

“You already do!” Katsuki barked. He didn’t care about his volume anymore, or the fact that Izuku was getting visibly uncomfortable at the fact that he officially knew about his burden. The outburst caused the tether to burn. 

Behind his dimmed, green eyes, Izuku hid something. It was small. His eyes always said a lot, and the fact that they were as dimmed as they were right now really told Katsuki something about how he’s doing mentally. Katsuki tilted his chin upward, not affectionately, but to catch his attention.

His eyes told a story. He was terrified. Not of Katsuki of course, he already had his rounds with that. He was still scared of being a failure. Being a person who couldn’t provide as much as the people want for him.

“What if it’s still not enough?”

The admission wasn’t loud. It barely existed. The ‘loud’ thoughts were now silenced to a centimeter above a whisper. But Katsuki felt it like a knife. Who knew one of the strongest heroes of Japan was genuinely this careless about himself?

His grip tightened slightly on Izuku’s shoulders.“Then we get stronger,” he said, eyes locked onto his.

The green haired boy shook his head. “You don’t have to carry it.” He reassured him. “Really–”

Katsuki laughed once, sharp and humorless. His chest rumbled slightly due to the harsh and forced sequence of noise. “You think I’m not already?”

Silence. The words hung between them, dangling between their bodies. It was unavoidable. They’ve already said and learned enough about each other from the tether. This silence wasn’t new either, it still kept it’s uncomfortable charm however

Bakugo inhaled slowly, breaking the awkward silence.

“You don’t get to do this alone,” he said, quieter now. “Not while I’m here.”

Izuku’s breath hitched. Not because of the nightmare. It’s because, through the tether, he could feel it. Not obligation. Not rivalry. Not even a drop of fabrication. Instead, choice.

Katsuki wasn’t standing here because he felt guilty. He was standing here because he wanted to. He wanted to be there for Izuku when he needed it most, without even needing to be asked. The realization hit harder than the nightmare, Izuku’s face falling. 

“Why?” his voice wavered.

This time, it was Katsuki’s turn to freeze. That was honestly a good question. The question wasn’t about strategy. It wasn’t about hero work. It was personal, an area neither of them wanted to put themselves into.

It was valid. Why would he stay? Why care? Why fight this hard for someone he ‘hated’?

Katsuki’s thoughts tangled for half a second. They fought against each other, overwhelming themselves between how he wanted to answer and the truth. And then, the truth broke through.

“Because I can’t stand the idea of a world without you in it.”

Izuku stopped breathing. In fact, they both did. Katsuki’s eyes widened. He hadn’t meant for that to slip. Out of all the things he could’ve said, that. He buried his face in his palms, feeling frustrated with himself and the situation rather than Izuku. The better question was, though, why did it feel so natural to say out loud?

The silence that followed was deafening and thick. Izuku let the words replay in his head like a broken record player. He felt the sincerity behind it. The fear. The stubborn, unwavering certainty that Katsuki never showed. It didn’t feel like a facade for once. Only real.

“You..” Izuku started, the words softer than cotton. “Really..?”

The fact that Izuku could be in disbelief right now kind of broke Katsuki’s heart a little. Yeah, he had his moments. He was a piece of shit to him 24/7. Honestly, he couldn’t blame him. After the bullying, the ‘Deku’ nickname that stuck through the years, he had every right to be shocked. But now, he was serious. No more hiding, no point anyway.

“Yeah.” It trailed off his tongue naturally. “I mean it.”

A shaky, relieved laugh escaped Izuku before he could stop it. The tension shifted as Katsuki decided to join in, the genuine laugh sounding no different to how it sounded when they were kids except for the deeper, warmer tone to it. Sure, the tension wasn’t completely gone, but softer around the edges.

Katsuki let go of his shoulders but didn’t step back. “You’re not allowed to burn yourself out,” he said. “If you’re carrying that power, fine. But you’re not carrying it alone.”

Izuku nodded. He knew better than to argue with Katsuki right now, considering the emotional turmoil that just went on.  However, Izuku’s chest felt tight for a completely different reason now.

“You’re really stubborn,” he thought faintly.

“Damn right.” Katsuki replied, not an ounce of hurt on his face. Instead, it looked more like pride and triumphancy rather than something sad. A small smile escaped onto Izuku’s lips.

They stood there in the dim room, inches apart, the tether humming between them. The nightmare’s weight had faded, but the memory still stuck. In its place was something steadier.

Izuku exhaled slowly, hugging himself slightly as the shivers started to intensify.

“I don’t hate you,” Bakugo added abruptly. He tossed a blanket towards Izuku, slightly less rough than he usually would. 

Izuku blinked, clearly caught off guard as he instinctively caught the blanket with an arm. “I know.” He clearly didn’t believe him, pushing the comment aside. He threw the blanket over his body and snuggled into his bed. “Why would you say—”

Katsuki scowled. “No. I mean— I don’t.”

The green haired boy raised an eyebrow, the blanket lying limply on his legs. The words were rough. Unpolished, just like they’ve been. There was no point in filtering now. But that doesn’t mean that they lacked clarity. Every word was clear as ever, despite the hesitation.

“I know,” he repeated, softer this time.

Katsuki hesitated. He wasn’t expecting that, considering all that he’s done to him over the years. He grumbled, muttering something about the cold and how his pillow was too hot.

The two sat in a relaxing silence. Izuku was starting to get cozy, the nightmare and how everything came to this revolving in his head. After a loud groan, he turned back to Izuku, apparently unconvinced at Izuku’s lack of response.

So, quickly, he whispered. “I haven’t. Not for a long time.”

The confession lingered in the space between them. Izuku froze. There were no explosions. No shouting or argument. Just pure, beautiful honesty that he always believed Katsuki lacked. The tether didn’t flare this time. It steadied to a slow, deep heartbeat moreso to calm than worry.

For the first time in a while, he felt a warmth in his chest that didn’t come from the sun. It felt natural. Like he was supposed to be like this around Katsuki. As if the connection itself was approved.

Katsuki turned his back to Izuku, pulling the covers over his shoulders with a ‘hmph’. Running a hand through his hair, he called out to him, “Go back to sleep.” The tone wasn’t grumpy anymore. It was an odd combination of gruff and soft, the mess making Izuku hum. 

As he adjusted his sleeping position again, the dark didn’t feel as suffocating. And when sleep came this time, it wasn’t silent. It was shared. But it wasn’t overwhelming anymore. Instead, it was trusting and soothing. Just two steady heartbeats in the quiet bedroom, refusing to let the other disappear

Chapter Text

The first thing Izuku noticed when he woke up was the quiet. Not silence, that was impossible. But the sharpness of the tether had dulled.

It no longer snapped between them with every stray feeling. It no longer flared painfully when one of them spiraled. It stopped pulsing harder when their distance exceeded the circumstance of thirty feet. Instead, it hummed. The tether was steady. Present. Controlled.

Not even the absence of thoughts that was impossible now, but the absence of noise as a whole. The jagged, invasive edge of the tether had dulled into something smoother. It didn’t shove images or impulses across the link without warning.

It was simply there, pulsing weakly under their veins. The tether changed. Like it had… adjusted. It sent a chill through Izuku’s spine. That means that it’s working. That means that the tether is starting to die off. Wasn’t he supposed to be relieved?

Izuku sat up straight, scrolling on his phone mindlessly as his mind raced with thoughts and questions. Recovery girl mentions that it would last hours, days, even weeks. But it’s only been three days. Three days of letting his rival feel what he feels and think what he thinks.

They were sitting on the floor of the dorm again, textbooks open between them. Aizawa ordered them to study for their exam to serve as an alternative to training due to their close-range restriction. Neither was actually reading as their minds were occupied with something else: The tether.

The door was closed. The lights were dim, just the desk lamp casting a soft circle over open textbooks and unwritten notes created a cozy and safe-space for the two heroes.

Katsuki leaned back against the bed frame, one knee bent, pen tapping idly against his notebook. Izuku sat cross-legged across from him, close enough that their white socks nearly touched with every tap of Izuku’s foot.

Katsuki looked over towards Izuku. “You’ve read that same page three times,” he thought.

Izuku rolled his eyes, waving a hand dismissively as he moved the textbook in a more comfortable position on his knee. “I’m thinking.”

“That’s the problem.”

Izuku huffed softly but didn’t argue, his mind latched onto the pungent missing pulse of the tether he was already used to.

The difference now was subtle but undeniable: they weren’t flinching from every shared thought anymore. They weren’t scrambling to shut each other out. Instead, they were letting it happen. This tether brought them closer together than they had expected. 

Izuku closed his notebook slowly, looking up at Katsuki thoughtfully. “Do you feel it?” He asked, hinting at the lack of fierceness from the pulse.

Katsuki didn’t pretend not to understand. “Yeah.” They both knew this was weird. The tether was always stronger when feeling the more extreme emotions. But the weakness of the slow pulse that used to be so much quicker and rapid made the two feel.. Uneasy. Like something is wrong.

The tether pulsed faintly in agreement.

It wasn’t as volatile as before. It wasn’t feeding on their worst fears or nightmares like it was previously. It felt almost synchronized. Izuku shifted slightly closer without consciously deciding to, easing in slowly and trying to adapt to the tether’s new pattern.

Of course, Katsuki noticed. He didn’t move away, however. Katsuki allowed Izuku to lean on him, providing warmth for the colder boy. 

“You’re not shaking anymore,” Katsuki observed.

Izuku paused. He wasn’t. If anything, he felt calmer and at ease rather than under pressure. The nightmares hadn’t returned since the other night. Not with the same intensity, at least.

“That’s your fault,” Izuku said quietly.

Katsuki frowned, looking mockingly outraged. “Excuse me? How is your nightmare my fault?”

“You’re louder than my anxiety.” He argued.

Katsuki barked out a short laugh before he could stop himself. The sound surprised both of them. It was so natural coming out of him, despite the fact that that exact sound was completely foreign to both their ears.

The tether warmed at his laugh. Izuku felt it: that flicker of pride Katsuki never showed openly. The faint satisfaction of being useful in a way that wasn’t explosive or competitive. The way it made his smile wider and laugh deepen like dark chocolate didn’t fail to shock him though.

“Don’t get used to it.” Katsuki warned, catching onto Izuku’s shocked and mischievous expression on his face.

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Liar.”

Izuku smiled again, wider and more open. He didn’t hide it this time. He didn’t have to. This felt like home, like something natural, like something that could’ve been from the very beginning. Like friends.

The space between them felt smaller lately. Not physically, the room hadn’t changed at all in fact, but something else had. The need to brace. To defend. This tether was dying off, and though they didn’t want to admit it, they didn’t want that happening.

Katsuki dropped his pen onto the notebook and looked at him directly, crossing his legs over each other on the bed. “You’re doing it again.

“Doing what?” He questioned.

“Thinking too much about me.”

Izuku’s ears went red, his expression turning sheepish. He turned his head away awkwardly as his cheeks began to flush. “I can’t help it.”

The honesty landed heavier than either expected. When Katsuki hadn’t responded, he turned back to the blonde with eyes that only told him that he was being completely honest. Katsuki held his gaze dangerously.

The tether sharpened. It didn't hurt, though. It hasn’t hurt in a while actually. The tether simply wanted to make its presence known, the pulse weakening even as they spoke..

Izuku swallowed. “You feel safer,” he thought before he could overthink it. “Since this started.”

Katsuki’s breath hitched. Safer wasn’t even the word to describe the way he’s felt about Izuku. The feeling was more like ‘closer’ or ‘friends-like’. Deep down though, it felt intimate, no longer invasive or embarrassing like it had been intentionally. Sharing feelings and memories with only each other had to make them something closer than friends.

“Safer?” he repeated, softer.

Izuku nodded, eyes steady as the two continued to hold eye-contact. “When you’re… there. I know what you’re thinking. I know you’re not going anywhere.”

The vulnerability of that statement settled between them. It wasn’t fighting or tense or swallowing. Katsuki felt it. Not as pressure, not as obligation. Instead, as trust.

It scared him a little to be honest. He knew that the link wouldn’t last forever. They both knew that. It would wear off eventually, and it’s time is clearly coming closer and closer between every calm ‘silence’.

As if summoned by the thought, the tether flickered faintly. A reminder of its weakened presence, the boys shivered under its pulse. They both felt the shift of the tether’s power. It made them uneasy. 

“It’s fading,” he whispered, fidgeting with his textbook’s pages as if it would lessen the blow.

Katsuki’s jaw tightened. “Yeah.”

The word carried more weight than he meant it to. Beneath the curiosity and harsh truth, there was something neither of them had said out loud yet: What happens when it’s gone?

No more shared instinct. No more accidental confessions. No more feeling the other’s presence like a second pulse. No more figuring out and reading each other. Just distance again with verbal conversations instead of internal, like normal people.

Izuku’s chest tightened, clearly not liking the outcome of this. Katsuki felt it all over his body.

“Don’t start,” he muttered.

“I’m not.” Izuku mumbled back, still fidgeting.

“You are.”

Izuku exhaled slowly. He bundled his thoughts into a sentence, his fidgeting coming to a stop. Izuku paused briefly, choosing his next words carefully without spilling something out accidentally. “I don’t want it to disappear.”

The admission stood out like the sun over them. Katsuki stared at the floor for a long second. So it was mutual. They both didn’t want it to go, after treating it like a nightmare for days on end.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I know.” The tether warmed again. It wasn't spiking, not burning, just steady agreement. The tether seemed to no longer be capable of inflicting any kind of pain at this rate.

Izuku shifted closer until their feet touched. The contact was small and intentional, shooting warmth through each other’s bodies from head to toe. Katsuki didn’t pull away. In fact, he didn’t mind the contact. 

They sat there like that, shoulder to shoulder now, textbooks forgotten. This felt safe. It felt like an environment where anyone could say anything and not be judged for it. For once, neither of them was scrambling to filter their thoughts.They let them drift. Let each other see what the other is thinking about as the ideas migrated from mind to mind, drifting fluidly.

The two hummed together, cherishing the (somewhat) calming silence that echoed in their headspaces. Izuku’s thoughts trailed off to life as a pro hero, achievements, while Katsuki’s thoughts drifted to Izuku himself. However, they shared one thought.

The tether.

“Even if it goes,” Izuku thought quietly, “I don’t want to go back to before.”

A silence came over the small dorm room. It was the truth. They were both thinking of this too. Sure, it may have seemed like a pain in the a– before, but now that it's starting to go away, they started to miss it.

Katsuki’s fingers curled slightly against the floor, his expression determined sprinkled with a barely noticeable ping of disappointment. “We won’t.” It sounded like a promise. Something that was ensured to happen. 

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It was certain. That was a promise that Katsuki would keep. And they both knew Katsuki doesn’t go against his promises. Izuku turned his head slightly to look at him.

“You promise?” He asked reassuringly. 

Katsuki met his eyes. Out of pure honesty, he replied with, “No.” No sugarcoating, no lying his way out of it. Pure honesty and disappointment schooled his expression entirely.

In all honesty, there was nothing they could do about the tether. All they can do is feel as it weakens. Feel as the thoughts that they strongly shared start to get grainy and confusing. And, better yet, why would Katsuki out of all people be able to do something about it?

The word startled Izuku. He couldn’t believe this was about to end. Katsuki, however, continued his explanation.

“I don’t promise things I can’t control.” 

Izuku’s heart dipped. All this time they’ve been together. The three days where they learned more about each other than they ever had, it would all be over and forgotten. Like this never even happened. 

Katsuki leaned in just slightly. “But I choose to keep things this way.”

The tether weakly flared warm at the word, making them both shudder. Choice, he said. The word rang like an echo in Izuku’s head. Not ‘quirk’. Not ‘accident’. Not obligation. Choice.

Izuku’s breath hitched softly. The air between them felt charged now, but not volatile. Deliberate and slow. If the room was a food, it would be something rich yet soft, something pillowly and comforting that had a spicy or salty twist to it when it’s bitten into.

Katsuki held his gaze for a long moment longer than necessary. Somehow, he wasn’t uncomfortable under Izuku’s gander. He didn’t quite mind it actually. But Izuku was clearly lost in thought about something beyond his control, and if Katsuki didn’t snap him out of it now, he'd have been stuck staring at a wall like an idiot for god knows how much longer.

“You’re staring.” he thought, somehow maintaining a gruff voice despite having been in his head. “You’re not looking away.”

Neither moved. Izuku kept his eyes locked onto Katsuki’s as his mind reeled about the future. Nothing would be the same after this. Not after practically reading each other’s minds and figuring out how messed up their heads were.

The space between them felt like the edge of something new , something that had nothing to do with psychic links or villain accidents. Something entirely theirs.

And when the tether pulsed again, it was softer this time. Thinner. The two both felt the weak pulse of the tether and knew what was happening: Time was running out.

But, for the first time since this started, neither of them was afraid of what would be left behind.

Chapter Text

Izuku didn’t realize the tether was gone at first. 

He realized something was missing, though, even in his deep sleep. The missing aspect seemed to take a toll on his entire body as it started to apply a wash of uneasiness over his body.

He woke slowly, drifting up from sleep with the faint expectation of warmth behind his thoughts. For days, consciousness had meant two layers: his own mind stretching awake and another presence rising with it. Katuki’s. It lingered with emotions. Sometimes irritated. Sometimes quiet. But, it was always there.

This morning,  there was only him.

He lay still, staring at the ceiling as awareness settled fully into place. The quiet felt wide. Expansive. Untouched. His thoughts didn’t bump into anyone else’s. 

They didn’t echo. They didn’t soften against another pulse. Instead, they were overwhelming. It was his voice, his actions, his emotions. No remnants of Katsuki’s earlier presence in his head were left. Only an empty space Izuku hadn’t liked or was familiar with.

He reached towards his heart instinctively, like testing a sore tooth with his tongue. Yet, nothing answered. The tether’s usual pulse was gone entirely. Now, it was only him and his heartbeat roaming in his head. 

Then, Izuku realized it. The realization didn’t hit like lightning. It sank, like a brick falling from a cliff. Slow, heavy, and recognizable. His entire face dropped, heart sinking to his toes. “Oh,” he whispered to the empty room.

The word stayed contained in his own head. No flicker of irritation or aggression in response. No sleepy mental shove telling him to shut up. No second consciousness stirring. No more accidental confession. Nothing. It was over.

Izuku sat up carefully, as if sudden movement might bring it back. His heartbeat felt louder without the faint overlapping rhythm he’d grown used to. His face kept its miserable facade, his movements slower and less energetic than usual.

Hadn’t he wanted this? Days of Katsuki’s nagging, weird dreams, uncomfortable thoughts… he thought he would be happy considering how’d he been acting and complaining whenever Katsuki snored too loud or made an inappropriate comment. He waited patiently for a few minutes, awaiting for at least a pang of happiness.

But none came.

He pressed his hand flat against his chest again, trying to be as patient as he could. It was still  just one. He waited for panic. Waited for the rush of spiraling thoughts. What if it changes things? What if he pulls away? What if we go back?

But the spiral didn’t catch. It was eerily quiet instead. Underneath his palm was a racing beat. The steady, erratic beat of the tether never registered as his hopes were now gone. For once, he was actually awaiting for the pang of pain or a screaming whisper in his ear from his rival. It felt boring now that it was just him in his head.

He got dressed slower than usual. Each movement felt deliberate, grounded in his own body. His thoughts were entirely private again.

It should have felt relieving. But it wasn’t. It felt… vulnerable. Not because Katsuki wasn’t there, but because Izuku now had to trust that he would stay without being forced. He had to brace himself for when Katsuki decided to force things back to normal. If he ever did, of course. That thought lingered as he stepped into the suffocating hallway, padding softly to the wooden door of Katsuki’s room.

The sight he was met with was Katsuki’s closed door. For a second, Izuku just stood there, the thoughts starting to pick up in quantity. If the tether had ended while they were apart, neither of them had felt the exact moment it snapped. No shared awareness of the loss. Just separate awakenings.

That felt significant somehow. Pushing it aside (somewhat), he knocked on the door. Not too loud. Not tentative either, knowing it would’ve provoked Katsuki.

There was movement inside almost immediately, as if whoever was in there was awaiting for that soft, almost inaudible noise. The door opened sharply in response. Katsuki stood there, already dressed, expression set in something that wasn’t irritation and wasn’t calm either.

It was awareness of it all. The missing thoughts, the single emotions that only they knew and felt. The missing pang that the tether always left after an intense emotion. It was gone, and it didn’t feel right.

“You noticed,” Izuku said softly, his eyes meeting Katsuki’s.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Obviously.” He muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets while leaning on the doorframe. His voice was steady. Controlled. Nothing like the agitated tone he so well kept all the time. But there was nothing there to tell Izuku if that was the truth.

Izuku had to read him the old way now. Eye contact, gestures, speech… There was no longer a connection between the two, at least not mentally.

He stepped inside without waiting to be invited, his shoulders slumped upwards as if it was truly troubling him. Katsuki didn’t stop him as his eyes drifted to look over with a gaze that held confusion, discomfort, and even concern.

The room felt different now. For days, this space had carried the low hum of shared presence. Even when they weren’t speaking, it had felt occupied in a deeper way. Now it was just a dorm room again.

Air. Furniture. Silence.

Izuku turned slowly in place, as if expecting to see remnants of the tether floating in the air. “When?” he asked. Katsuki didn’t need context. He knew what the green haired boy was talking about: When it stopped. When the tether died off.

“About five minutes before you knocked.” He replied. His hand wrapped around the door knob, closing the door behind him.

Izuku blinked. “You were awake?”

“Yeah.”

Katsuki didn’t elaborate. He didn’t say ‘I felt it disappear.’ He didn’t say ‘I was waiting to see if you’d show up.’ But Izuku understood anyway. Even without the tether, he knew he felt it. It left such an impact on the two that they could read each other like a book.

They stood a few feet apart, Izuku having his legs crossed as he sat on Katsuki’s bed while the blonde stood upright. The distance felt noticeable. Not unbearable. Just there, and oddly weird.

Izuku took a cautious step forward, testing the waters. Nothing sparked. No warmth flared. No pulse acknowledged the shift. It was just physical proximity, the only thing changing was Katsuki’s deepening scowl.

He stopped. “You okay?” he asked.

Katsuki scoffed lightly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Izuku tilted his head. “Because it’s been days of constant connection and now it’s just… gone.” He argued. “Does it not feel weird?”

Katsuki didn’t respond immediately. His gaze shifted slightly. Calculating, assessing, as if he’d be able to find a way to revert things back to how they were.

“It was temporary,” he said finally. “We knew that.”

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel strange.”

A beat passed. He hated to admit it, but Katsuki hated this. He was so used to hearing Izuku’s mumbling and curious thoughts. It was starting to feel normal, despite the fact that this was nothing relatively close to ‘normal’. His jaw flexed.

“…It’s quiet,” he admitted.

The honesty landed harder without the tether softening it. One beat turned into five, the silence bouncing around the internal emotions that they were having.

Izuku nodded after a few. “Yeah.” He said quietly.

That was softer. Too soft. Like stepping out of a storm and realizing he’s gotten used to the noise, and then the sky clears up before having a chance to adapt.

Katsuki shoved his hands into his pockets, his face softening to something gentler, but maintaining his gruff and hard facial expressions.

“You look like you’re waiting for something.” He brought up. Katsuki’s head fell slightly towards the ground, kicking his feet onto the ground with an intensity that felt like a feather. Usually, he’d stomp. But right now, his feet tapped against the fluffy grey carpet like a metronome at a low volume, only needing to be reminded of its presence instead of the noise’s source.

Izuku flushed faintly. “I keep expecting to feel it again.”

“Same.”

The word slipped out before Katsuki could stop it. They both froze slightly at that. Same. The admission hung in the space between them, like a heavy ragdoll that was lifeless. 

The two were sharing and learning more about themselves than intended. It was consensual. No tether that connected their minds and told one another the things buried deep in their heads. They actually meant to do this.

Izuku exhaled slowly, breaking the uncomfortable yet understanding silence the admission held. “It doesn’t feel wrong,” he said.

Katsuki’s gaze flicked up. “No,” he agreed.

It didn’t feel like something had been torn away violently. It felt like something had completed its purpose. And, to be fair, it did. They learned so much about themselves. The best part is, it was only between them two. No one else knew about Katsuki’s guilt or Izuku’s self-worth issues. 

It was completely isolated in their brains, and their brains only.

They left the room together without deciding to audibly. Walking down the hall felt different too. More comfortable. More close. More intimate. 

Izuku noticed how aware he was of the space between their shoulders. Before, even if they weren’t touching, he’d always felt connected. Despite the rocky road they've come from, he always knew when Katsuki needed help. Whenever he had something troubling on his mind and it couldn’t be formed in words.

Katsuki knew a lot about Izuku too. It was more observant. More listening. Every small detail that Izuku mindlessly let out during a rant stayed in a folder in his head. He had a pretty good memory, yeah. But when it comes to Izuku, it breaks the barrier of just ‘remembering’. 

Right now, there was nothing bridging that gap. The only thing that could is communication, and even that is hard for them at this moment.

Halfway to the stairs, Katsuki bumped his shoulder into Izuku’s. Not hard. Just enough to close the distance that was troubling them both.

Izuku glanced sideways, trying to get at the purpose. Katsuki didn’t look at him though. He kept his face straight, face schooled from any emotion that he could be feeling right now. There was no purpose in looking back anyway.

The message was clear.

‘I’m still here.’

Izuku’s chest tightened briefly as he realized, then eased. He thought Katsuki would try and make things go back to normal. How ordinary it was when they would just fight villains and spar together with verbal outbursts instead of softer, quieter thoughts.

Breakfast was loud in the school’s cafeteria. Too loud and consuming. It wasn’t just Izuku now. They both felt the discomfort of the bundles of people talking like they were supposed to be. Audibly. Not in their heads.

Without the tether subtly narrowing his focus, the cafeteria noise felt chaotic. Conversations overlapped. Dishes clattered. Chairs scraped. Food was somehow getting on the white brick walls and the messy tiled floors the custodians had already cleaned previously due to a similar reason. 

Izuku stiffened without meaning to. He’d gotten used to filtering everything through shared awareness. Katsuki’s thoughts other than his own. Now that reality struck, it made him feel out of place.

Katsuki noticed instantly. Of course he did. He didn’t comment or make an insensitive joke like it was known for. He just pulled a chair slightly closer than usual when they sat down. He made sure the distance wasn’t too far, wanting his presence to comfort instead of intimidate Izuku for once. Their knees brushed under the table as Izuku blinked out of his thoughts.

Izuku steadied without meaning to. The absence of psychic reassurance was noticeable, but it wasn’t debilitating. Because he didn’t need to feel Katsuki’s thoughts to know what they were. He simply could read the look on his face and know what he was thinking about, due to the perks of the tether.

Later, when the day wound down and the dorm quieted, they ended up back in Katsuki’s room. Not because of monitoring. Not because someone told them to. But because neither of them drifted away. They wanted to be this close to each other. It felt natural and safe next to one another.

Izuku sat on the floor again out of habit, his knees pulled to his chest. Katsuki hesitated for only a second before lowering himself beside him. Their shoulders pressed together lightly as Katsuki purposefully shifted. The contact was warmer without the tether amplifying it. More deliberate.

Picking up his head from his knees, he stared at the opposite wall. “It’s strange,” he murmured thoughtfully.

“What is?” Katsuki questioned, intrigued. 

“I thought when it ended, we’d snap back.” 

Katsuki frowned slightly. “Snap back?” 

“To before.”

The blonde knew what he meant. Before the honesty. Before the exposed fears. Before understanding came without effort. Before learning about everything they hid from each other. Katsuki’s shoulder shifted slightly against his. “You want to?”

He hoped the answer would be no. Katsuki didn’t like the thought of things reverting back to how they were. He didn’t even think that would be possible at this point, considering everything they figured out about each other in the span of three days.

Izuku turned his head immediately. “No.” He muttered, his voice laced with complete certainty and a little fear at the possibility of that even happening.

Katsuki studied him carefully, searching for any depiction or cracks in his loyal exterior. His eyes dug into Izuku’s like a sharp dagger. When he found none, his face softened as the slight worry drained from his face. “Then we won’t.”

It was that simple. No psychic pulse backing it. No emotional surge transmitted automatically. Nothing that was out of the norm. Just choice.

Izuku swallowed. “It wasn’t the tether,” he said slowly.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow. “What wasn’t?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely between them. “The understanding.” He admitted, his face turning to the side slightly as a slight flush covered his face.

Katsuki leaned back slightly against the bed frame, nodding in approval. “No,” he agreed.

The tether had forced proximity. It had stripped away walls. But it hadn’t invented anything new. It empathized with their relationship. It had just made them confront what was already there. Sort of like a blessing in disguise that hid itself pretty well.

Izuku inhaled. “I don’t miss it,” he admitted carefully.

Katsuki blinked at him. “You don’t?”

“I miss the closeness,” Izuku clarified. “But not because it was forced. I don’t want something that only exists because we had no choice.”

The air shifted slightly as they both thought about the confession. It was raw. Unfiltered. Exactly what all their confessions have been sounding. But right now, it wasn’t forced. He genuinely trusted Katsuki enough to tell him this. Katsuki’s expression softened. Barely.

“You think I’d let something like that disappear if I didn’t want it?” he asked.

Izuku’s pulse jumped. “No.” He replied immediately. “I don’t.”

Katsuki reached out suddenly, grabbing a loose thread on Izuku’s sleeve and twisting it between his fingers in a swirling motion. It was grounding, intentional. “Good.”

The word carried weight. Too much weight. It plummeted in Izuku’s heart, making it swell in all the right places as his cheeks flushed at Katsuki’s dangerous yet pretty attractive tone.

Izuku leaned his head back lightly against the mattress behind them. The quiet no longer felt hollow. It felt open. There was space now: For words, for hesitation, for decision. 

He tilted his head slightly until it rested against Katsuki’s shoulder. The contact was careful. Testing. There was a period of time long enough for the blonde to push him off or tell him to get away. However, Katsuki stiffened for half a second, then relaxed.

He didn’t move away. Didn’t complain. Didn’t shove him off. He let the green haired boy relax, the confession clearly draining the both of them both physically and emotionally.

Minutes passed like that. No tether humming or pulsing painfully. No forced intimacy or confessions. Just breathing. Just warmth. Just them.

Izuku closed his eyes briefly. In a matter of seconds, he drifted to sleep on the blonde’s shoulder, his head carrying dead weight. The silence wasn’t empty anymore. It was earned. And this time, they were choosing to stay in it together.

Chapter Text

The quiet between them had changed again. It wasn’t the hollow absence from when the tether first broke. It wasn’t the heavy tension from when everything was still unsaid. This was something sharper. Intentional.

Izuku felt it the moment Katsuki shut the dorm room door behind them. The click echoed louder than it should have. Neither of them moved immediately, as they really couldn’t.

The training had run later than intended. Muscles were sore. Tempers were short and snappy. The adrenaline from the multiple spar sessions still hummed faintly under their skin. Considering their disheveled states, a disaster was bound to happen between the two if they even tried to talk.

But that wasn’t what made the air feel charged. That’s not what filled the air with something more intense, more intimate. It was the way Katsuki looked at him. Not through him. At him.

It was a look that brought shivers through his body in a good way. It made his chest feel warmth yet protected at the same time. Every time their eyes locked, Izuku endures a jolt of affection through his body. The tether may have left, but its effects of exposed feelings left a scar through both of them. It was the only one Izuku wasn’t insecure of.

“You’ve been staring all night,” Katsuki said.

Izuku swallowed, being broken out of his subtly obsessive daze. “You noticed.”

“Obviously.”

There was no psychic tether now to betray Izuku’s thoughts. No automatic spill of emotion that they could mutually feel. If Katsuki wanted to know what he was thinking, Izuku had to say it out loud. And that terrified him more than any quirk mishap ever had.

“You kept getting too close during drills,” Izuku said as quietly and unintendingly sheepishly as he could.

Katsuki’s eyebrow twitched, carding his hair with his sweaty fingers as his muscle contracted in response. “We work better close.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Silence stretched between the arms-worth distance the two held between each other. It wasn’t empty or uncomfortable or awkward. It was waiting. Waiting for Katsuki to do something. Respond. Make a move.

After a moment of held, tight silence, Katsuki stepped forward. One step. Then another. Every step was deliberating, but it held meaning and pushed down feelings that he wanted to admit for badly. The suspensefully steps continued at their pace until the space between them shrank to almost nothing

Izuku’s breath hitched despite himself.

“No tether,” Katsuki muttered. “No forced proximity. Just us, nerd.”

His hand came up, slow and deliberate, catching in the front of Izuku’s shirt. Izuku stopped breathing for a moment as the slow motion processed in his broken head. His face and ears suddenly felt hot, the heat only rising against his body as Katsuki let out a breath he hadn’t even realized was held.

“Still here.” The words were low and choked. Certain and positive. Izuku’s heart pounded hard enough he was sure Katsuki could see it as he leaned closer.

“You are..” he breathed out. Katsuki’s grip tightened slightly as he continued, rougher than intended. “You’re not backing up.”

Izuku realized he wasn’t. He wasn’t shaking like he expected he would be, especially being this close to Katsuki and his open mouth. Wasn’t spiraling. Wasn’t overthinking. He was just… choosing.

His green eyes met with Katsuki’s gently, face still flushed a shade of pink Katsuki loved under his freckles. “I don’t want to,” Izuku admitted, 

That was it. That was the spark.

Katsuki closed the distance fully, pulling him forward until their chests brushed. Heat bled through the fabric instantly. Izuku’s hands hovered for half a second before settling at Katsuki’s sides.

It was solid. Grounding. Real. No psychic echo to cushion it. No tether to force any other thoughts that were quickly turning explicit as their minds reeled. Just body on body contact that stung beautifully like a slap.

Katsuki searched his face one last time.“You sure?” he asked, voice rougher with desire now. He didn’t even want to ask. He just wanted his hands on his, his body on his, his mouth on every part of Izuku he wanted.

Izuku nodded. “Yeah.”

The kiss wasn’t soft. It wasn’t hesitant. It crashed into existence like everything else between them always had. Fierce, unfiltered, long overdue. Katsuki’s aggressive tongue mingled with Izuku’s gentle movements as he let the blonde overpower his mouth and explore. 

Izuku’s breath left him in a quiet sound as Izuku’s hand slid from his shirt to his waist, pulling him closer. There was nothing tentative in it. No uncertainty. Katsuki wanted this boy, and now that he had him, he clearly wasn’t letting him go.

Days of forced honesty had stripped them bare of their secrets. Their insecurities. Their thoughts. The fact that they’ve hid this tension from each other for so long. Now there were no excuses left.

Izuku kissed him back with equal force, fingers gripping fabric at Katsuki’s shoulders with desire and arousal. Heat flared between them, sharp and consuming, their movements guided by the tents in their pants.

Katsuki tilted his head slightly, deepening it. And Izuku felt it.  Not through a tether. Through skin. Through breath. Through the way Katsuki’s hand pressed firmly at the small curve of his back like he was making sure Izuku couldn’t disappear.

After a few heated movements of tongues on tongues, they broke apart only long enough to breathe. Their foreheads pressed together as they made eye contact. It wasn’t an uncomfortable, awkward stare. It was safe. Desired. Hungry. The close distance between them let the air linger, letting them share the gas.

“This isn’t because of the quirk,” Izuku said, voice unsteady but determined.

Katsuki’s thumb brushed lightly against his hip. “I know.” A beat of charged, intimate silence passed.. “I’d still be here,” The blonde added, licking his lips.

The confession landed heavy. It did exactly what he wanted it to do with Izuku, seeing his cheeks flush even more and movements turn more determined.

Izuku didn’t hesitate this time. He kissed him again, slower now. Less collision or force like Katsuki demonstrated before. More intention and passion was able to float around them as Katsuki deepened it without hesitation. 

His hands slid upward, fingers threading briefly into Katsuki’s hair. Katsuki inhaled sharply at that, grip tightening reflexively, the desire in his heart to please Izuku and now tenting erection only growing

The shift from rivalry to this felt almost dizzying. It was shocking. How could a simple quirk mishap lead them to expressing their feelings in such an odd way? It wasn’t wrong though. It felt earned. The two were waiting for a moment anyway, and the fact that it was happening felt like a fever dream.

Katsuki’s mouth trailed from Izuku’s lips to his jaw, then lower, leaving heat in its wake. Izuku’s fingers flexed against his shoulders as his head tipped back slightly.

A soft, elongated moan escaped Izuku’s mouth, his eyebrows curving upward towards the center of his forehead.  Every touch felt amplified without the psychic connection. Because now, they had to feel it directly. They didn’t need the thoughts anymore, as their bodies were already talking for them.

Katsuki  pulled back just enough to look at him again. His green eyes were wide and filled with desire. His face was flushed like a plum, the shade beautiful as it empathized his tan freckles. It all told Katsuki he was certain. “Last chance,” Katsuki muttered.

Izuku smiled softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

That was all Katsuki needed.

He pulled Izuku toward the bed, movements less frantic now. Still intense, but deliberate. Clothes shifted under wandering hands, fabric tugged and bunched, heat building steadily between them.

Izuku’s laughter slipped out breathlessly when they nearly lost balance, too busy trying to strip one another and touch whatever they could.

Katsuki smirked faintly. “Shut up.” But his hands were gentler now. Careful. Intentional.

They fell back onto the mattress together, breath mingling, fingers tracing lines they had memorized through battle but never like this.

The room was filled with warmth. With quiet sounds. With the steady rhythm of two heartbeats choosing to sync on their own as their clothes were finally off.

And as the last of the distance between them disappeared. The silence didn’t feel empty anymore. It felt complete. The rest was just them.

And for once, nothing was forcing them closer. They simply didn’t want to be apart.

In an instant, Izuku’s mouth dipped down towards Katsuki’s length, licking the tip teasingly. Katsuki groaned despite his efforts to hold it back. The sensation was heavenly. It was surreal. As soon as Izuku took it all in one go, he was done for.

Izuku expertly hollowed his cheeks as Katsuki went deeper and deeper into his throat. His hands rested on the toned thighs of his rival, bobbing up and down at a pace influenced by the fact that he wanted to do this for long and now he finally had the chance.

Katsuki’s hands flew to Izuku’s messy green locks, gripping it tightly. “F-fuck..” He groaned, his head falling back. Izuku moaned softly under the gaze of Katsuki.

For once, he let Izuku overpower him. The nerd was doing a pretty fucking good job right now anyway. His groans continued to grow louder, Izuku’s efforts slowly doubling while he felt Katsuki starting to lose control. His cock stood tall and wet in his throat. Izuku let it stick up, conintuing with messy, passionate sucks and tongue flicks meant to drive him nuts.

It was driving him nuts.

When Izuku took it all in one go, Katsuki thrusted in his throat, hitting the back. Izuku looked up at him with a mix of shock and intensity, gagging slightly while his cock hit the back of his throat at a rapid, unsustained pace. He quickly got accustomed to it.

He knew Katsuki was on the brink of releasing. He could feel as his balls tightened under his chin, as his movements became more animalistic in his mouth, as his head stayed resting on the headboard. So, he hollowed his cheeks tightly, looking up at Katsuki with watery, innocent eyes.

That was all he needed. 

As soon as their eyes met, Katsuki’s load exploded in Izuku’s mouth, his eyes rolled back in his head, a loud moan escaping his mouth roughly.

Izuku swallowed it all. Katsuki panted heavily under him, his cock still latched onto his mouth. His grip on Izuku’s already messy hair loosened instantly. His breath hitched as Izuku teasingly slipped off, licking a deliberate stripe down his shaft before finally getting off.

Katsuki’s eyes met with Izuku’s, feeling utterly pleased with more than Izuku’s legendary BJ. Izuku panted softly as he caught his breath. The sight of Izuku’s panting, sweaty, scarred, and toned body mixed with his plumped lips and pink face made Katsuki’s cock stand back up almost immediately. 

“You o–” Izuku began, but was cut off by Katsuki’s crashing lips diving straight for his. The blonde’s hands roamed possessively, each scar making everything more intense for both of them.

He grunted stubbornly as Izuku made an attempt to overpower, tilting his head in a snapping motion in order to explore his mouth thoroughly. The turn of events made Izuku back off, panting even harder now.

Katsuki smirked. “Who knew you had a mouth like that?”

Izuku’s face flushed at the approval. “I-I’ve.. I don’t–”

Suddenly, Katsuki turned Izuku onto his back in one swift motion. Izuku, now on all fours, bent over instinctively to catch him. The blonde’s hands wrapped around his hips perfectly, bending him over more so his face was implanted directly into the pillow.

The blonde grabbed his dick, stroking it quickly as Izuku’s hole opened wide for him. “You ready, nerd?”

Before Izuku could respond, Katsuki slammed into him with one rough, overpowering thrust. Izuku cried out in the pillow as the quick rhythm was embedded into his tight hole. 

“K-Kacchan..!” He choked out, gripping the pillow. That only seemed to turn Katsuki on even more, his thrusts only growing more animalistic and merciless. He positioned his leg on the bed itself, hitting Izuku’s prostate with every crushing thrust.

“Gonna fuck this shit so hard.. You’ll only know my name by the end of this.. Fuck..” Katsuki panted between his own set of groans and moans.

This felt amazing. Inside of the person he wanted ever since they shared that mission. Touching every place he could. Seeing how Izuku was completely at his mercy, completely helpless and screaming incoherent words. He always wanted to overpower Izuku. Hadn’t intended it would be like this though.

The room was filled with wet, squishy sounds, the sounds of skin slapping against skin and labored breathing, their releases coming by quickly. Izuku panted, his toned arms wrapped around the pillow helpless in an attempt to muffle his noises as Katsuki only went harder. Deeper. 

“K-Kacchan.. P-pl..” That’s all he was able to get out before Katsuki slammed into him one last time, the power causing the entire bed to shift slightly. He bent down, biting Izuku’s shoulder as another load came inside his body. 

Izuku screamed Katsuki’s name as he felt his own release coming. He arched his back against Katsuki’s chest as he came, the blonde groaning in awe at the sensation. His hips weakly pressed against his, his body finally giving out and falling onto the bed with no energy.

Katsuki smirked. 

Their breathing is still uneven, slowly settling back into rhythm, Katsuki reluctantly slipping out of Izuku in order to make sure he’s still alive. Sheets were twisted around their legs, drenched with their fluids. Skin was still flushed and touching. The air was thick with the kind of silence that only comes after something irreversible.

It didn’t feel real. But, they knew it was. And they were happy that this wasn’t just an erotic dream where they could feel everything.

Katsuki lets out a quiet laugh first. It was soft, disbelieving. “That happened,” he murmurs.

There’s a low hum of agreement against his shoulder. Neither of them rushes to move though. The aftermath of it all was overwhelming and shocking. A week ago, they were fighting villains and acting like they hated each other. Now, they were in one another’s pants.

A hand traces idle patterns along bare skin, not heated anymore, just grounding. Making sure Izuku is still there. Still real and living.

“You okay?” Katsuki asks quietly, admiring the way Izuku’s hair framed his flushed and tear-streaked. There was a brief pause as the two started to catch their breath again, letting the silence calm instead of bringing discomfort.

Izuku turned his back slowly and cautiously. His voice was tired and sleepy already, inner thighs already beginning to hurt due to the pounding.“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

It feels different now. Not awkward. Not distant. Closer. The kind of closeness that doesn’t rely on adrenaline or tension. Just presence.

He presses a kiss to his temple. It is softer than before. Nothing like the rough, passionate Katsuki just was.  It was gentle and soft. Simply there to reassure the half-asleep boy.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says. It isn’t a question. The answer comes without hesitation.

“No.” Izuku weakly murmured, drifting off to sleep only seconds after. Katsuki felt his body go limp in his arms and smiled softly.

Outside, the world keeps moving. The city hums. Lights flicker on and off. The cars continue to honk and stop despite it being two in the morning.

But, in the quiet room, tangled together under dim light, there’s no psychic tether. All of its remnants were completely gone. No forced proximity. Just two steady heartbeats choosing to stay.

And that was enough for the both of them.

Chapter Text

The city never really sleeps.

Even this late, long past the rush of dinner crowds and evening commuters, lights still burn in high rise windows. Somewhere above them, someone is finishing a report. Somewhere below, a couple argues softly on a balcony. Traffic hums in a constant, distant rhythm that never fully disappears, like the city’s own heartbeat. Wind slides between buildings and whips around corners, tugging at fabric and catching in hair as two figures move across rooftops with the kind of ease that only comes from years of practice.

They don’t need to look at each other to know where the other is.

There is no psychic tether guiding them now. No shared pulse humming under their skin. No intrusive thoughts brushing against the edges of their minds.

Just instinct.

It feels almost strange to call it that, because instinct sounds accidental. This is not accidental. This is built. It is layered with history and rivalry and stubborn pride. It is forged from late nights, broken bones, shouted arguments, and the quiet apologies that came after. It is routine for them to move this way, so in sync that it almost feels unfair to anyone watching.

Izuku lands first. His boots hit the concrete in a controlled crouch, one hand brushing the rooftop for balance before he straightens. His eyes sweep the streets below immediately, cataloguing exits, blind spots, potential hazards. His head tilts slightly to the right.

The second his head turns, Katsuki drops down to his left without being told. Perfect spacing. Not too close. Not too far.

They don’t comment on it. They never do. Plus, it’s just unnecessary. It would be like pointing out that the sky is dark at night. It just is.

There is no formal plan tonight. There rarely is at this hour. Patrol is about presence and prevention more than strategy. Still, they move like there is a script written somewhere that only they have memorized.

“Movement, three blocks east,” Izuku says quietly, his voice carried off by the wind.

“Got it.”

That is all the communication they need.

Katsuki didn’t ask how Izuku knew he would take the high route. Izuku does not ask why Katsuki has already adjusted his gauntlets for close range detonation control. The trust between them is not loud or flashy. It sits steady in their chests, heavier than pride and stronger than competition.

Izuku vaults over the edge of the building, catching the side of the next with practiced precision. Katsuki launches himself upward with a controlled blast that lights the night for half a second before fading. Anyone looking up might mistake it for fireworks.

Below, a minor villain bolts down an alley, panic written in every frantic step. He never sees Izuku drop in front of him until it is too late.

“Evening,” Izuku says, almost politely, as he blocks the path.

The villain skids to a stop, swears, pivots toward the opposite end of the alley.

A controlled explosion flares there, bright and sharp but measured. Sparks scatter against brick, but the walls remain intact.

Katsuki stands at the exit, smoke curling from his palms, expression unimpressed.

The whole thing lasts seconds.

There were no dramatic speeches. No unnecessary destruction. Just efficient movement and a clean takedown. By the time the police arrive, the villain is restrained and complaining loudly while Izuku fills in the details with an apologetic smile.

When the scene is handed off, they return to the rooftop they started from. The air feels cooler up here, less cluttered. The city stretches endlessly in every direction, glittering and alive.

They stood side by side as they let the adrenaline rush through their veins, every pant and breath feeling ecstatic and usual.

Izuku exhales slowly, hands settling on his hips as the adrenaline fades. His thoughts drift despite himself. Not to the fight. That was routine. Easy.

He thinks about the week before everything changed. Before the accident. Before the forced connection that shoved every guarded thought into the open and left them with nowhere to hide.

Before it became possible to stand like this without tension sitting sharp between them.

Katsuki watches him from the corner of his eye. There it is. There’s that look.

Izuku gets it whenever he is thinking too hard about something sentimental. His gaze softens. His shoulders drop. His eyebrows do this strange little tilt that Katsuki refuses to describe as cute even in his own head.

Katsuki smirks. “You’re doing it again.”

Izuku blinks and looks over. “Doing what?”

“That face.”

“I don’t have a face.”

“You absolutely do.”

Izuku turns toward him fully now, offended in a way that is more reflex than real. “What face?”

Katsuki steps closer, boots scraping lightly against gravel. “The ‘wow, isn’t it amazing how far we have come’ face.”

Izuku freezes for half a second. It is subtle, but Katsuki sees it. “…I was not thinking that,” Izuku argues, but there is already a faint flush creeping up his cheeks.

“You were.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You get quiet. Your eyebrows tilt.”

“My eyebrows do not tilt.”

“They tilt.”

Izuku crosses his arms defensively, which only makes the blush worse. The wind gusts between them, loud and sharp, but the silence underneath it is not awkward. It is familiar. Playful.

Katsuki shrugs one shoulder. “You were thinking about how we don’t need the link anymore.”

Izuku opens his mouth. Then closes it. Then opens it again, but nothing came out this time. He sighs heavily in defeat.

“…Maybe,” he admits finally.

“Knew it.”

Izuku sighs, the defensive edge melting away. “It’s just… we move the same. We adjust without talking. It’s like the tether never left.”

For a second, Katsuki’s expression shifts. It is quick, almost invisible, but Izuku catches it. The bond had not been gentle. It had not been romantic or poetic. It had been invasive and raw. Every insecurity, every doubt, every ugly thought dragged into the light.

“It did,” Katsuki says.

His tone is firm, but there is something under it. A reminder. A reassurance. Maybe to Izuku. Maybe to himself.

“I know,” Izuku says quietly. The wind presses against them again. “But we didn’t.” That lands heavier than anything else they have said.

The psychic bond forced understanding. Forced proximity. It ripped down walls they had spent years building. It didn’t create feelings out of nothing. It exposed what was already there and made it impossible to ignore.

What stayed after it broke wasn’tforce. It was choice.

They chose to keep talking. Chose to keep meeting up outside of patrol hours. Chose to sit with the discomfort and sort through it instead of pretending it hadn’t happened. They chose to learn each other with more than just words without being shoved into each other’s heads.

Katsuki steps closer until their shoulders brush, purposefully shrugging to catch Izuku off-balance for a slight second before Izuku caught himself and glared at Katsuki. 

“No quirk,” he says.

“No quirk,” Izuku echoes.

Katsuki bumps him lightly. “You still think too loud.”

Izuku laughs under his breath. “You just know me.”

“Same thing.”

Izuku shakes his head, smiling. It is easy now. The rivalry still exists. It probably always will. But it has shifted. It is no longer about proving who is better by standing alone. It is about pushing forward and seeing who can drag the other higher.

A siren wails faintly in the distance. They both hear it. Neither moves yet. Izuku glances sideways, ready to ask if they should head out. Katsuki is already looking at him. Not assessing. Not checking for injuries. Just looking.

“You gonna get sappy again?” Katsuki asks.

“…Maybe.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, but he does not step away. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love it.”

The words slip out before Izuku can stop them. His eyes widened instantly at the realization that those words came out of his mouth instead of staying in his head. He brings a hand up to his mouth like he can shove the sentence back inside.

Katsuki goes still for half a second. Then he smirks. “Yeah,” he says simply.

No dramatic pause. No flustered denial. It was almost weird how honest it was. To be fair, nothing was weird at this point. The typical Katsuki Bakugo was doing what he does best: being blunt.

zuku feels something settle in his chest. The feeling was steady and warm. They don’t need the tether anymore. They don’t want it anyway. They’ve already learned enough about each other anyway. 

Izuku opens his mouth again, because apparently he has learned nothing about thinking before speaking.

Katsuki cuts him off immediately. “You were about to say something about destiny, weren’t you?”

Izuku freezes slightly. “I was not.”

“You were.”

“…Okay, maybe a little.”

Katsuki laughs, the sound unrestrained and bright in the open air. “Still loud,” he says. “And a dork.”

Izuku glares at him, but it lacks heat. “You’re one to talk.”

“I never claimed I wasn’t.”

Despite his attempt to look outraged, Izuku ends up smiling anyway. It feels good. Normal, but not in the old way. Not in the tense, competitive way where everything sat on a knife’s edge. This normal feels earned. Like it was developed.

Below them, the city continues moving. Lights flicker. A train rattles across distant tracks. Somewhere, someone cheers at a late night bar. Life goes on around them, loud and constant.

They stand in their own pocket of quiet above it all. Katsuki steps toward the edge of the rooftop, glancing back once. Izuku joins him immediately. No signal. No countdown.

They leap at the same time after the shared glance, somehow matching each other's moves, unconsciously ruffling their hairs at the same exact time while still mid-air .

Air rushes past them as they drop, then adjust, boots hitting a lower ledge before pushing off again. Izuku shifts to correct his angle around a billboard. Katsuki matches it without looking, causing Izuku to roll his eyes.

They land on the street together this time, the impact light and controlled. A small crowd nearby recognizes them almost instantly. A few people wave. Someone calls out their names.

Izuku smiles automatically, raising a hand in greeting. Katsuki pretends to be annoyed, but he does not pull away when a kid runs up asking for a picture.

They walk down the street side by side, slower now. Not chasing anyone. Not racing. Every so often, their shoulders brush. Every so often one of them starts to speak at the exact same time as the other and they both stop, then laugh.

It is still loud. Izuku’s thoughts spill into his expressions before he can stop them. Katsuki’s reactions are written all over his face no matter how much he insists otherwise.

But there is no echo in their heads anymore. No forced overlap or accidental confessions with a pang of pain of a throbbing pulse. Just two people who learned each other so thoroughly that it sometimes feels like mind reading.

As they turn down the next street, the wind catches them again. The city stretches ahead, endless and alive. They fall into step without thinking about it. Side by side. And this time, that is more than enough