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***
They won, but it’s not something to celebrate.
Deku is–
No.
Izuku looks like he walked straight into hell, fought his way to the ninth circle of Dante's inferno, and took on Satan himself.
He’s all empty inside; hollow and sickly and wrong. Katsuki has seen this kid grit his teeth and smile through the shit n’ the mud n’ the rain, and this isn’t him. It’s just not.
Even as Uraraka manages to gently lead him into the dorms, Izuku still looks lost. The class hovers like they don’t know what the hell to do either, and Katsuki internally sighs.
The downpour makes everything feel stuffy and heavy. Katsuki could never stand the fuckin’ humidity.
It’s so quiet, you can hear the protests from outside the dorms. Most have retreated to their shelters, but a selfish few still picket like someone’s gonna’ give a damn. The teachers are trying to take control without causing a problem, but Katsuki would say a problem is officially caused. Katsuki would throttle each and every one of ‘em by hand, but it wouldn’t do much to improve the shitty atmosphere.
“We got to keep our dorms,” Denki says, trying to lighten the mood. “We uh – we left your room the same! All your stuff is still here.”
Izuku blinks at nothing. He’s so dirty, so covered in soot and blood and caked-on grime, that even the rain couldn’t wash the dark circles out from under his eyes.
“Thanks,” Izuku says flatly. His voice is soft and awkward. He looks like he can hardly stand. The rest of the class glances at each other like a lost litter of puppies, and Katsuki pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs in frustration.
“Oh my fucking g– the teachers will be back to get you fixed up. We might as well hose you off before they start poking you with shit. C’mon.”
Izuku looks at him. His eyes are so sunken into his head, Katsuki can’t even see the green anymore.
“Why?” Izuku wobbles. Kirishima holds him up by his shoulder, but Izuku doesn’t notice. “You don’t trust me to shower alone?”
“Midoriya…” Uraraka whispers. Katsuki rolls his eyes, not falling for it.
“It’s because you can’t even stand up straight, you brainless nerd.” The rest of the class still hovers like they really are afraid to let Izuku out of their sight – but the attention is obviously making him uncomfortable, so Katsuki shoos them off with a bark and a half-hearted wave. “Fuck off, the rest of you. Don’t track mud in the elevator or else.”
Izuku steps forward to prove his independence, but his leg goes numb. Katsuki throws out an arm to catch him, supporting his weight on one side.
“Darn,” Izuku whispers.
“Do you need assistance?” Iida asks.
“I’ve got him,” grumbles Katsuki. “Someone take his backpack.”
Tsuyu and Uraraka step up to peel it from his shoulder. They don’t peek inside, but they also don’t look excited about the blood splatters on the straps.
“We’ll get this cleaned for you,” Uraraka says.
“No,” Izuku argues, trying to fight, but too tired to do much damage. Poor bastard’s been running on pure adrenaline for the last week, and Katsuki can’t believe he’s still alive, let alone capable of outrunning the entire class in this state. “No – it’s – just throw it in my room. Don’t touch it, please.”
A little confused, but eager to help, they agree.
Izuku’s boots scrape against the floor as he drags his feet. Katsuki slams the hall door behind them as an emphasis for the class to scram.
Izuku was right. They don’t trust him. Well –of course they do – but Izuku’s proven to be a slippery little bastard, and there’s no telling if, or when, he’ll try to escape UA again.
Izuku gets heavier as they limp to the showers. Katsuki stops to adjust his weight three times before his patience scrapes the bottom of the barrel.
“Fuck, just let me throw you on my damn shoulder. I already carried you to the dorms.”
“No,” Izuku struggles. “I’m fine.”
Ugh, that hero shit again. Katsuki grumbles, but doesn’t push it in case Izuku decides to forgo the shower altogether. God knows he needs one.
Katsuki gets Izuku into the dorm showers, and lets him balance against one of the walls while he drags one of the stools by an ankle, kicking it to Izuku’s feet.
“Sit.”
Izuku does. He starts unbuckling the broken pieces of his reinforced boots, and some of it just starts to uh…fall off. As it crumbles in his hands, he sits and stares at the pieces, and Katsuki sighs internally.
He kneels at Izuku’s feet, and begins to tug off the other boot.
“I’ve got it,” Izuku argues.
“Shut the fuck up,” Katuski grunts. “I swear to god, shut up.”
The metal is all bent and twisted. To be honest, it’s dangerously close to molding into his skin. It’s gotta’ hurt like hell, so Katsuki does his best to bend the supports back by hand so he can slip the braces off.
Izuku is quiet. He lets Katsuki unlace his shoes and chuck them towards the sink.
The silence is too loud. Izuku keeps opening his mouth like he wants to say something, and then biting his lip again, blinking like it’s a struggle to stay awake.
Neither of them talk about what happened on the street.
Izuku is wearing stirrup straps under his shoes. His feet are so blistered, Katsuki winces just looking at them. It’s not really the time to get squeamish, so he holds out a palm impatiently.
“Gloves.”
Izuku hesitates. The gloves have eroded into shreds; ragged, clawlike and stained black. He pulls them off one at a time and places them in Katsuki’s palm. He looks at them skeptically, then chucks them too. Izuku frowns at him.
“Hey.”
“We can’t save this costume,” Katsuki argues. “Look at your raggedy ass. You’re a breeze away from falling apart.”
He meant the clothes – the clothes – but Izuku winces like he was talking about him personally. He grips Gran Torino’s yellow cape (not so yellow anymore and – well, you get the point).
“Not this,” Izuku croaks. “Kacchan please, not this.”
It’s the first he’s heard the nickname out of Izuku’s mouth in lord knows how long, and he gets embarrassed, ‘cause he actually gets a frog in his throat. Katsuki bites down on it and rolls his eyes instead.
“We’ll get someone to clean it. Take it off.”
The scarf is stuck to him; snagged on buckles, and caught in his hood. Katsuki helps tug it over his head before making a dramatic show of folding the cape carefully, and setting it aside. Izuku doesn’t look impressed, but maybe he just doesn’t have the energy to pretend.
It takes both of them to peel Izuku out of his uniform. Some parts are stuck to his skin with blood, and Katsuki has to rip it off like a bandaid. The more he peels off him, the more he feels like going out there and giving those villains a piece of his goddamn mind.
Anger is an old friend, but this rage is overwhelming. Izuku’s always busting his ass up, always getting into trouble, always breaking himself to bits – but these wounds are healed over time and time again. Burns and rashes, scars old and new. He’s fucked himself up so badly, and he’s barely seventeen.
He’s trying so effing hard to control his temper – for Izuku’s sake, not his – but Izuku knows him better than anyone. Better than himself, sometimes.
“I’m okay, Kacchan.” He peels off the top of his jumpsuit, wincing as he rolls it down his hips. “It’s not that bad.”
No, no. It is definitely that bad. Katsuki chews on his tongue before helping to roll the uniform off his lower half. He assumes Izuku is capable of taking off his own boxers, so he stands up to get the shower running.
“We’re not talking about this right now.”
Izuku turns his head.
“Talking about what?”
“Anything,” Katsuki grumbles. He sticks his hand under the spray and waits for it to run warm. His bandages are already wet from the rain, so he’s deemed it a future problem. “You’re too braindead to process anything I wanna’ say to you anyways.”
“Don’t,” Izuku argues. He swallows, and kicks off his boxers. “Please don’t undermine me.”
“Fuck, I ain’t. I’m just sayin’ you’re not yourself.” Katsuki arches an eyebrow, and looks him over. All the scars, and that muscle he worked so hard to earn. They’ve seen each other naked a hundred times, but things are different right now. He keeps his eyes above the waist on purpose. “Do you disagree?”
Izuku doesn’t know what to say. His eyes shine over, and he blinks.
“I…”
The last thing he needs is for Izuku to start crying, so he gestures irritably.
“Stand, I’ll move your stool.”
“I can bathe myself.”
“Then do it.”
Izuku doesn’t move. Katsuki wins this round, so he helps Izuku to slide under the shower spray. Katsuki shoves a bar of soap in his hand, and Izuku gets to work on scrubbing down his arms.
“Fuck, where does sparky keep that goddamn…” Katsuki rifles through the communal shelves. There’s always some shit left over in here, and – it looks like Pantene will have to do. “Get your hair wet.”
Izuku has given up on arguing. When he sits back up again, Katsuki stands behind him and works to lather the dirt out of his hair.
“You don’t have to do this,” says Izuku. Okay, maybe he hasn’t given up yet – but isn’t that just it? Neither of them knows how to quit. Katsuki clicks his tongue, and works at his hair with his fingertips.
“Yeah? And who will?”
Silence.
Okay, maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say. Katsuki pulls a little too hard on his hair, and sighs forcibly.
“You’d do it for me.”
Izuku stiffens, then relaxes slightly. He rubbed off most of the dirt on his lower half, but Katsuki can’t get his hair all the way clean. He taps the back of his head for him to rinse, and grime washes down the drain.
Katsuki lathers the conditioner and tries again. And again. And he quickly becomes irritated by the third rinse.
“You’ve got a hell of a knot back here,” Katsuki huffs. “Three of ‘em, where your hood was.”
“You can just shave it off,” Izuku drones, and he sounds so utterly defeated that Katsuki actually feels his stomach drop.
“Well fuck, let’s hold off on that…” he mutters. At the very least, his hair is washed clean, so the knots will have to be tackled another day. He’s losing Izuku by the minute; drooping forwards and nodding off under Katsuki’s hands – and it’s scary, it’s horrifying, because this desire to nurture and, and protect – it’s new. Katsuki doesn’t know how to comprehend it. And he hates that.
But he doesn’t hate Deku. Fuck. Izuku. He doesn’t hate him, and he’s known that for a long time.
He rubs his thumb into Izuku’s neck. There’s a knot of muscle here, on the swell of his shoulder, and Izuku’s head lulls as he digs into it. He has so many scars and skin grafts, but the skin here is still untouched. It swoops into the muscles in his back, and curves to his neck. Out of his fucking mind, Katsuki follows the line with his thumb, and has a near death experience when Izuku whines.
His brains scrambles for damage control.
“Sore?”
Izuku hangs his head. Freckles line up and over his shoulders, then litter down his spine.
“Yeah.”
A knocking raps on the bathroom door, effectively shattering the mood. Katsuki lived with these assholes long enough to know that it’s Ojirou.
“Hey! Uh – Bakugou! We grabbed some of Midoriya’s clothes from his room. We’re setting them here in the hall.”
“Kay,” Katsuki grunts.
Another voice; softer, and worried. It’s Yaoyorozu.
“We’re making Udon if you’re interested!”
Oh, god.
“You better not fuck up my kitchen!” He snaps.
Izuku blinks to consciousness, turning to raise his voice.
“I’m okay, thanks.”
Katsuki scowls further.
“You haven’t eaten in days.”
Izuku rubs his eyes, and it makes him look too young. Much too sweet, for the monster he’s become.
“I’m just tired, I guess.”
Katsuki exhales, begging a higher power for patience. Alright, okay, one problem at a time.
***
It’s an Olympic sport to get Izuku into fresh clothes, up the elevator and into his room. He doesn’t bother sticking him in the common area, because the class is already snooping around like a bunch of nosy old bats that can’t keep off their own lawn.
The teachers arrive with the nurse in tow. Katsuki is sprawled on the couch with his feet on the table, balancing a bowl of noodles in one hand, and his phone in the other.
“Where’s Midoriya?” Mic asks shortly.
Katsuki nonverbally points upstairs, and watches like a hawk as they move towards his room.
Shouto comes to sit next to him on the couch. Katsuki makes a big show of groaning loudly, hoping he’ll get the hint, but he never does (or he doesn’t give a fuck).
“How’s he doing?” Shouto asks.
Katsuki shrugs.
“I dunno.”
Shouto stares right through him. Fuckin’ half n’ half bastard and his all-seeing, judgy-as-shit eyes.
“Yes you do.”
Katsuki scowls, sliding lower on the couch. He’s sore from the fight, but he’d never admit it in a court of law.
“At this point you know ‘em as well as I do. You got eyes.”
“Not like you,” Shouto says. He presses his lips together, then adds, “Obviously.”
Katsuki’s eye twitches. He knew this was coming, but he hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. He huffs, pushing his cup of noodles to the table and crossing his arms.
“You knew we had a screwed-up history, don’t act stupid.”
“Yeah, but I never thought I’d see you apologize for it,” Shouto mulls. He pets across his chin, humming, “And by the look on Midoriya’s face…I don’t think he saw it coming either.”
Katsuki barks at him defensively, “It ain’t none of your fucking business, so shut up.”
Shouto isn’t bothered by him anymore, and it bothers Katsuki immensely. He has the gall to call them friends; while personally, Katsuki would argue that they are a very loose definition of the word, which is – barely.
He’s got Shouto’s back though. Won’t deny that.
Shouto presses his fingers together in thought, then says,
“The weight on his shoulders is too much. I wish he would let us bear it.”
Yeah, sure. Izuku’s all about the power of friendship n’ shit, but that’s not the point. That’s not the point of any of it.
Izuku stood his own out there, and he would’ve kept going. Into the ground, maybe, but he could do it. Katsuki doesn’t doubt it anymore. Friends or not, Izuku’s gonna’ end this mess.
But he doesn’t wanna’ see him die on that hill. Not anymore.
“Give him time,” Katsuki settles on. He swings his feet off the table and grunts to stand. “You’re his friend. He’ll warm back up to you.”
Katsuki freezes when a hand darts for his wrist. Shouto tugs for his attention, and Katsuki chooses to spare his life, turning to glare.
“It’s not us that brought him in,” Shouto corrects. He squeezes his wrist even tighter, forcing Katsuki to stay. “It wasn’t All Might, and it wasn’t the class. It’s always going to be you – you know that, right?”
Katsuki doesn’t know how to describe the fluttering in his chest. It makes his throat tight, and his insides all sick and twisted. Ugh, indigestion.
He yanks out of his grip and swipes the empty bowl off the table with too much exaggeration.
“We don’t even know if he’s gonna’ fuckin’ stay, so be useful or kiss my ass.”
Shouto hums, lounging back into the cushions.
“I think Kaminari, Sero and Kirishima are on first watch.”
“Oh, great. You might as well stick a broom under the handle. It might even be more effective.”
Shouto snorts, rolling his eyes.
“If you’re worried, go check on him.”
“I’m not worried.”
The teachers return down the stairs, and Katsuki nearly fumbles the bowl. When it becomes obvious that he’s not going to ask, Shouto asks for him.
“Is he okay?”
“Midoriya is sleeping now,” Aizawa states. He’s still adjusting to the prosthetic leg, because his gait has a slight limp. “His wounds are…treatable.”
That’s not what they’re worried about. Katsuki is satisfied with knowing he’s at least in bed.
“We’ll keep an eye on him,” Shouto assures.
Recovery Girl smiles perceptively.
“Yes, I know. We already saw the brigade on our way out the door.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes, huffing. Sensei gives him a look, and he refuses to meet it.
“Let’s get him back on his feet again, and worry about the rest later. I don’t want anyone in this building to step outside until we decide our next move.” Aizawa points at Katsuki. “That means you too.”
Katsuki goes tch under his breath. When they leave, Shouto gives him the most shit-eating grin without smiling at all, and Katsuki flips him off on his way back to the kitchen.
***
He lies awake at night. It’s not the first, and won’t be the last, so he’s given up on fightin’ it.
The war still feels fresh in his mind. No amount of meditating, reading, or banging his head against a wall will make him forget. When he closes his eyes, he can see Shigaraki’s tendrils reaching for Izuku in slow motion. For the first time in his life, his body just…knew what to do. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind, and that’s not the worst part.
The look on Izuku’s face was…
Fuck that.
He turns over in his twin bed, now facing the wall. Not right now. Not yet.
***
What is it about people stepping foot in the kitchen while you're cooking that makes you want to literally crack open their skull with a baseball bat?
Katsuki pinches his fingers together and hisses, closing his eyes.
“Get the fuck out of this kitchen, or there will be blood.”
“We just wanted to help,” Mina pouts. “You don’t have to be such a hardass.”
“I was born one, sweetheart,” Katsuki deadpans. He shoos her out with his spatula, going, “Out, out. Over the line – the line. Carpet, racoon eyes. Stand on it.”
Mina makes a dramatic show of standing on the edge of the tile and crossing her arms. Katsuki debates how much trouble he’d get in for flipping her over his shoulder and body slamming her into the couch – but he can smell his eggs burning, so she lives to see another day…this time.
“Midoriya is going to wake up soon, so we were hoping that he’d eat,” Uraraka says sweetly. Her innocent, good-girl act did not, does not, and shall not ever work on him. She can sucker punch like a sonofabitch, and it’ll wind you like hitting pavement. “Are you cooking for him?”
Katsuki swats her off the tile with one hand, and flips eggs with the other.
“You got eyes, what’s it fuckin’ look like?”
“It smells good in here,” Tokoyami says. Katsuki points wordlessly to the plate covered with another slightly larger plate, and Tokoyami nods his thanks before taking some. It’s hard to pretend that the outside world isn’t falling apart at the seams, but at least there’s breakfast. His one and only contribution to team morale; take it or leave it.
“Are you going to wake him up?” Mina asks, sitting at the barstool.
“Hell no,” Katsuki grunts. “If he sleeps ‘till tonight, then fine.”
“He should still eat…” Uraraka trails. “Kirishima will tell us if Deku wakes up, right?”
“He will?”
They all turn in surprised unison. Tokoyami fumbles his chopsticks, and Dark Shadow catches them.
“Midoriya!”
Katsuki briefly closes his eyes in frustration.
“Great job, dream team. Night watch my ass.”
Izuku blinks drowsily.
“Is that why Sero and Kaminari were sleeping on my floor?”
Izuku looks…uh. Well, physically better, but his eyes are still so hollow. He’s not smiling, and his skin is pale, but some of the wounds have been dressed and wrapped by recovery girl. At least he’s in normal clothes again (and he smells better).
“We just wanted to make sure you were okay…” Uraraka trails. Izuku gives a downturned expression. Betrayal.
“So you don’t trust me.”
Mina bounces to his side, gripping his shoulder in a friendly way. Izuku doesn’t even flinch.
“We were just looking out for you, man!” Pause. Aaaand, the crickets. Uraraka coughs, so Mina continues, “And uh…we’re not supposed to leave the dorms right now. Butthatsokay! Because it gives you time to rest!”
Izuku looks like he has a million things to say, but settles on,
“Okay.”
Izuku is the rambler to end all ramblers. The motormouth, the nerd. It’s wrong to see him just shrink back into himself like a turtle. Maybe he’s too fucked in the head to think right. Maybe he’s thinking too much, and he can’t spare the words. Maybe this really was the straw that broke Izuku’s back. It’s too uncertain for Katsuki’s tastes.
“Food,” Katsuki points. “Eat it, or die.”
Izuku agrees, sitting at the table silently as Tokoyami mumbles well, technically he’s not wrong…
The girls are hovering too much. Katsuki wants to snap, wants to swat off their hands with the spatula and say he’s tired, not broken – but he’s not sure how true that would be.
Izuku is more than capable. He holds the power to end All for One. Of course he can pull out his own goddamn chair. Still, they fuss.
“Oh, Midoriya,” Mina gasps. “Your hair…”
Izuku’s hand goes back to feel for the knots. He frowns, and looks away, embarrassed.
“I know. I’ll cut them off today.”
“Hey, now don’t you go nowhere,” Mina points. She gets louder as she jogs towards her room. “I’ll get you sorted right out! Stay there! Don’t move!”
Izuku goes uh, okay, and takes his first bite of food. Again, a win and a loss. Katsuki wipes his hands on his apron, and huffs.
Just a little more time.
***
Katsuki comes down from the showers with a towel around his neck, having partaken in his least favorite part of the day, which is re-wrapping his bandages. It sucks ass. The shower leaves your skin all hot and sticky, and if you wrap it too loose it slips right off and – well, take his word for it.
He walks into some kind of commotion in the common area. The big TV is running a movie – and it’s the first in weeks that they’ve put on something other than the news. Denki tries to open his fat mouth about it, and Kirishima clocks him so hard in the stomach, that he has to leave the room and gag.
“Okay, okay, I’ve almost got it…” Mina picks out a matted clump of Izuku’s hair with as much care as she can possibly muster – which is to say, not very much. It looks like it should hurt, but Izuku is taking it like a champ. He’s barely bothered, watching only the television with a zoned-out expression. Katsuki’s foot hits the bottom step, and Mina whips her head around like it’s on a swivel. “Bakugou!!! Just the guy I’m looking for. Do you own an electric razor?”
Katsuki looks between Mina, the back of Izuku’s head, and the two idiots on the other couch.
“…Yes?”
“Great,” Mina grins. She’s working something oily into Izuku’s hair, separating his curls into clumps, instead of knots. “These idiots didn’t have one.”
“Only disposable,” shrugs Kirishima.
“I have a razor,” Denki argues, “Just not for my –”
“Shut up,” Katsuki grunts. “What’s it for?”
Mina beckons him over. Izuku is still unmoving in the abducted kitchen chair, like he’s impartial to anything happening around him. His eyes are glazed over, and Katsuki wants so desperately to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. To beg him to wake the hell up already!!!
But he’s trying this new patience thing. Experimental.
“I was able to get the knots out up to here, but we’ll have to shave these off, at his neck.” Mina uses her first two fingers to measure. “Riiight here. I think an undercut would be better than chopping him completely, don’t you think?”
Katsuki tries to picture a buzzcut Izuku in his mind, but can’t. He sighs through his nose and turns on his heel.
“I’ll get the razor.”
Denki raises his eyebrows,
“Wait, you really have one? There’s no way you can grow a beard.” Katsuki blinks very slowly, and then looks to Kirishima, who is laughing hysterically. Denki grows desperate. “No, really!? Am I the only one? C’mon man!”
This entire situation is beneath him, but the sight of Izuku with knots in his hair, matted from so many days of fighting criminals on his own – it sinks his stomach. Makes him…soft.
He returns with the razor and a towel, hello, and lets Mina do the rest. She gets him trimmed up pretty well for a chick without any professional haircutting experience. At the end of it, she pulls out a pink mirror and hands it to Izuku, proud of her work.
“So!!! What do you think?!”
His hair is shorter now. Katsuki’s never seen it this short, but it strangely suits him. The curls are more defined; less frizzy and split. He’s…he’s grown up a lot. Especially in the recent months – almost too damn fast.
“Wow, that looks good!” Kirishima thumbs up.
Izuku blinks like he doesn’t recognize himself. He opens his mouth, closes it, and then gives a forced half smile.
“Much better, thank you.”
Even Mina can see that the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. They all know he’s trying.
“Go rest,” Mina grins. “We’ll save you a spot for dinner.”
Izuku nods, then waddles off quietly; and when he’s out of earshot, Mina’s throat bobs.
“It’s okay,” Kirishima tries. “He’s just going through a lot right now. I’m sure he appreciates it.”
“It’s not that,” Mina rubs her eyes. Not crying, but fighting it off. “It’s just…I didn’t think I’d miss him so much.”
Katsuki goes quiet at that. The truth of it hits hard, like a battering ram. For years he used to pray Deku would shut the fuck up. Now he just wishes he’d say anything.
A commotion is building outside again. He can hear Mic shouting at people to return to their shelters. Nitroglycerin pops into his palms as an outlet to his anger.
Kirishima, ever the one to read him like a book, slaps his knees and stands up dramatically.
“Hey Bakugou, the track is still open to the students. You wanna’ go for a walk?”
It’s not fresh air, but it’s something.
“Whatever,” he huffs. Mina starts to work at cleaning up the mess, so he snaps at Denki on his way out the door. “Get off your ass and help her.”
Mina cracks a smile, biting across her pink lips.
“Yeah sparky, come help me.”
Denki scoffs.
“Who died and made you president?”
“Yo! Four eyes!”
“Woah! I’m helping, I’m helping!”
***
The other classes are using the indoor track as a source of exercise, but it’s not so packed that he feels claustrophobic from it. Kirishima walks with his hands in his pockets, and is clever enough to wait two laps before speaking up.
“You know how I was on Midoriya-watch the other night?”
Katsuki’s eye twitches.
“Like how you slept on the job?”
“It’s harder than it looks,” Kirishima argues. “But not the point. He kept waking up a lot. He’d say your name, and then jerk like someone tased him.”
Katsuki’s stomach curls. He grinds down on his incisors so hard, his jaw clicks.
“Okay, and?”
“I think maybe…he’d sleep better with you,” Kirishima shrugs. “He trusts you. I think he’s afraid that he’ll wake up, and the villains will be kicking down our door.”
It’s a sensible fear.
“Or maybe it’s the motley crue of assholes snoring on his bedroom floor. Who was it this time?”
“Shoji and Sato.”
Well, at least one of ‘ems quiet.
“If he wanted to leave, he would’ve already,” Katsuki lies. “Sit outside his door and see how he does.”
When he receives silence as a response, he turns his head to eye Kirishima. He’s looking at him like he knows something. Or like he’s thinking too hard.
“Stop that,” Katsuki snaps. “You’ll break something up there.”
Kirishima laughs. It’s been a while since he’s laughed for real. Ugh, all he needs is to be worrying over shitty hair, too.
“It’s nothing. I’m glad the class is back together again.”
He agrees, but doesn’t say it. Kirishima probably already knows. Damn bastard.
***
No school, no classes, no studying. Only the walls, and each other, like a damn insane asylum. All the available gym space is being used for housing (for now), so the class tries to keep each other entertained. It’s hard to focus when the protesters are being so fucking loud –
“That’s it,” Katsuki snaps, throwing down his hand of cards. “Imma’ kill ‘em.”
“Time bomb! Time bomb!”
“Stop,” Iida says, placating him with a stiff hand. “I’ll contact Sensei and see if they can silence the civilians.”
“I’ll silence ‘em,” Katsuki snarls. “With my foot up their ass.”
Sero teases, “That doesn’t sound very effective.”
“I mean, technically…” Jirou starts to mime something with her hand, in which Tokoyami goes I know, right – and the class prez pinches the bridges of his glasses with a sigh.
“Sit down, I’ll take care of it.”
Arguably, this guy’s been holding down the team fort for a while. And that’s what it is, really – a team now. This ain’t textbooks and stinky gym shoes no more. This is the real deal, the shit they’ve been training for.
“Kick him out! Kick him out!”
Katsuki explodes, and the cards get blown everywhere as the group tries to hold him back. Everything stops when Shouto comes down the stairs. He’s staring at the uproar with an impassive expression, but he is notably alone.
“Oh, Todoroki.” Jirou pauses, an arm locked around Katsuki’s foot. “What did he say? Will he play with us?”
Shouto presses his lips together in a line and looks at the Uno cards stuck to every surface of the room. He then shakes his head.
“He said no thanks. We hung out for a while, but he said he’s tired.”
Katsuki deflates. Izuku can probably hear the protesters from his room.
“Get off me,” Katsuki hisses. He rips out of Sero’s grip and kicks Jirou with his foot. “Fuck this shit, I’m going to bed.” He points at Iida. “Figure it out.”
Iida nods, and steps out of the room with his phone in hand. Katsuki blows past Shouto on the stairs.
“He’d probably like to see you,” Shouto adds. Katsuki ignores him. He’s not sure if Izuku likes anything, right now.
***
The protesters quiet down by nighttime. Pretty sure Aizawa had something to do with that.
Sleep ain’t happening. It’s hard not to be out there, helping the pros when they need them most. And he isn’t even the one they’re after.
He might be the only one in this hellhole that knows what Izuku’s really goin’ through. Kamino was…life changing. To have all that attention on you – to be the reason that people are suffering –
You didn’t do anything wrong.
Somehow, in some way, Katsuki just knows that Izuku is awake. They’re two floors away, but there’s something churning in his stomach, like tv static and a whole damn hornet’s nest. He presses his palms into his eye sockets, and groans through his nose.
His phone is charging on the nightstand. He hovers a hand over it, then hesitates.
A long silence.
Katsuki swings his legs off the bed, yanks his sweatpants back over the line of his boxers, and hunts around for his indoor slides. One foot, then the other – he opens the door and slips down the hall.
When he gets to Izuku’s floor, Mineta and Aoyama are on watch. Drooling, and dead asleep in the hall. Nice job, A-holes.
Katsuki sighs. The combined effort of the class to keep Izuku protected is endearing, in an annoying way. A little misguided, but well intentioned.
Unfortunately, Izuku doesn’t have many options. It’s this, or sleeping in the teacher’s hall under stricter supervision. He’s pretty sure Izuku knows this, or he’d be making complaints.
Katsuki steps over Aoyama to get to Izuku’s door. He debates knocking, but decides to test the knob first. When he meets no resistance, he pushes on it slightly to find Izuku sat upright in his bed, chin on his knees and his eyes tiredly staring at one of the All Might posters on his wall.
All Might called Izuku today. He’s not sure what they talked about, and while it’s not his place to ask, he probably will anyways.
Katsuki still gets mad thinking about it. Those two and their self-destructive do-gooder attitudes. They’re like two enablers that have no concept of their own wellbeing. All Might was Katsuki’s hero too. But he’s older now. And if there’s a lesson to be learned, it’s that there’s no such thing as a perfect hero.
Izuku’s eyes snap to him. He looks surprised.
“Kacchan?”
He presses a finger to his mouth in response. At Izuku’s continued staring, he jerks his chin over his shoulder. Izuku gets the memo. He steps out of bed – dark gym shorts and an old tee that says POLO on the front – and it looks like he’s wearing the old Deku’s clothes. Like he’s someone else playing pretend in this body.
Izuku follows him over the brigade and up the stairs. When they’re far enough away, Izuku asks,
“Where are we going?”
“My room,” Katsuki huffs. He scratches under one of the bandages on his shoulder, and like a yawn, it makes Izuku do the same. “You can’t sleep, right?”
Izuku chews on his lip. He follows Katsuki into his room, and speaks once the door is closed.
“They mean well…”
“I know,” Katsuki cuts off. He starts hunting around for an extra blanket, and pauses when he sees Izuku still standing awkwardly in the doorway. “Well?”
Izuku stares at his dark bedspread. His eyes are more aware, but still so sad.
“Where are you going to sleep?”
“The floor,” Katsuki states obviously. He turns to scowl when Izuku still doesn’t move. “Izuku. Sit your ass down.”
He does. But only on the corner of the bed.
“I can’t sleep, Kacchan. You might as well get in.” He looks around Katsuki’s bedroom. Up at the band posters, and the case of vinyl on his shelf. “Huh. I don’t think I’ve ever been in here…”
Katsuki sighs. He waves his hand in a scoot motion, and Izuku slides to the wall. Katsuki yanks the blanket with too much force, and Izuku pulls it back down under his chin.
The bed is too small. There’s no way to lie down without touching. Izuku is stiff as iron, and it’s pissing him off. Katsuki decides to curb-stomp caution to the wind, and throws an arm over his side just to get comfortable. Izuku lets out a breath, but that’s it.
It’s quiet and dark. Katsuki can see the tips of his ears, and the crown of his head. He can’t physically feel Izuku through the bandages, but he can still feel the body heat radiating off his side. He’s firm with muscle, but squishy too. It’s a sign of real strength; not that GMO, over-processed gym rat nonsense.
“Why can’t you sleep?” Katsuki asks, finally.
Izuku fidgets. He’s quiet for a while, and Katsuki doesn’t push it. They haven’t been this close in forever. It reminds him of sleepovers they had when they were young – but that was another lifetime ago.
“I don’t want those people to die because of me,” Izuku whispers. “I don’t want to close my eyes and lose it all.”
Katsuki bites back his initial reaction. He keeps his arm loose over his side, and eventually, Izuku gets comfortable enough to pull his arm out from the crammed position they’re in, and press his knuckles against Katsuki’s stomach. They must look pretty damn gay.
“Yeah,” Katsuki agrees. “Those walls won’t stop shit if AFO really wanted in. Talk about pullin’ wool over your eyes – might as well hide under a rock and pray.” Izuku deflates before Katsuki can continue. “But they ain’t getting past us. All of us. So when shit hits the fan, I’ll wake you up first, got it?”
Izuku tips his chin up to look at him. They’re so close – he can smell his shampoo, and the detergent off his clothes.
“Thank you, Kacchan,” Izuku says, like that’s what he needed to hear. “I can always count on you not to bullshit me.”
“Hey,” Katsuki snaps. “Watch your fucking mouth.”
Izuku exhales. It’s not a laugh, but it’s close enough. He squeezes his fingers into Katsuki’s shirt, and when he finally drifts asleep, his grip slackens into a gentle grasp.
His heart is beating too fast. Katsuki closes his eyes and wills his body to behave.
Izuku trusts him enough to let down his walls, so Katsuki won’t let it be in vain.
***
Katsuki wakes up to a headache.
His first deep inhale is met with resistance, and – what the fuck, what the fuck – oh. Izuku.
They shifted during the night. Katsuki is now on his back with Izuku sprawled across his chest, breathing heavily into the crook of his neck. He groans internally from the rush of heat, and clenches his jaw shut to rein himself in.
Izuku feels relaxed. His body is heavy and…soft.
In a horrible lapse of impulse control, Katsuki brings his hand to the newly shaved section of Izuku’s skull. It’s soft here, too.
His ears pick up hushed whispering at the door, and Katsuki rips his hand away quickly, as if burned.
“Just knock!”
“No way! He’s gonna’ freak out!”
“Then I’ll do it!”
“Shhhh!!”
Ugh. Christ.
“Just move over, I’ll open it – ”
He regrets not locking the door. The handle turns, and Katsuki prays for patience as it squeaks open, and Shouto peeks through.
His eyes go wide. Their classmates try to look in, and to Shouto’s credit, he keeps them at bay with an icy hand.
“Sorry,” Shouto whispers. “We were looking for…”
If Katsuki yells, he’ll wake Izuku. He’s snoring lightly, and it’s a fucking Christmas miracle. Katsuki squints furiously as an answer, and Shouto gives the ok sign with his fingers. The door clicks shut.
“What did he say?!”
“Midoriya is in there.”
“Wait, what…?”
“Oh thank god…”
“Yeah. Don’t wake him up or you’ll have to answer to you-know-who.”
The whispering gets too quiet to hear. Katsuki closes his eyes and counts to ten. He realizes that the snoring has stopped.
“Sorry,” Izuku whispers.
“Shut up,” Katsuki snaps. Izuku starts to untangle himself, and it becomes too cold. “You slept, right?”
Izuku rubs the imprint on his cheek, and nods.
“Yeah.”
“Then don’t apologize.” Katsuki throws in a nerd for good measure, and Izuku hums sleepily, rubbing his eyes with the back of a bandaged hand.
He wants to say more. He wants to explain away the awkwardness. But it’s not the right time.
Izuku looks at him, still rustled and drowsy with bedhead, and it feels so domestic. Like life could (should) be this way.
“Thank you,” Izuku says. “For this.” He looks up, and his eyes are a greyish color. Not quite that green, but present. Katsuki would prefer this over that fucky, zoned-out look he’s been wearing. “You’re very warm, Kacchan.”
Katsuki has no clue what to say to that.
“I’ll go,” Izuku blurts, like he doesn’t want to. Katsuki opens his mouth to tell him otherwise, but someone sets off the smoke alarm in the kitchen. Jesus Christ, seriously?
Katsuki tosses a shirt over his bandages, flying out of bed with a slew of curses.
“Idiots! How many times do I gotta’ tell ‘em to turn off the damn stove!”
“It was probably Ashido,” Izuku says knowingly, as someone downstairs shouts: Mina RUN!!
“Stay,” Katsuki points. He pauses. “Or don’t, I don’t give a shit – oh my god popcorn?! At six in the morning?!”
“I was huuungry!”
***
Katsuki was stupid enough to think today would be better. Izuku looked rested when he woke this morning (something Katsuki’s trying not to think too much about), and he ate a full breakfast, once the kitchen was aired out.
Well, that was a fun fuckin’ pipe dream, ‘cause after the teachers pull him out for a private meeting, Izuku comes back looking the same as yesterday.
“Midoriya, would you like to – oh.” Uraraka stops as Izuku walks right past her, like he’s stuck in his own head. His eyes are unseeing, and that dark aura follows him like a storm cloud. Uraraka pulls her hand back to her chest, and sighs.
Katsuki has to bite his tongue so it hurts. He glares seething daggers into the side of Thirteen’s helmet, and she turns with a tip of her head.
“What did you tell him?”
“We need to stay on lockdown for a few more days,” Thirteen says. “The liberation army has attacked the northwest shelter, so the pros are moving more people out of the city. Give it time.”
Fucking christ, why would you tell him that?!
Time’s not something they can fuck around with. The faculty might as well have spun Izuku by the back and wound up his clock by hand. Katsuki’s got nothin’ nice to say, so he says nothing at all.
***
Okay, fine. He can’t stop thinking about him. Not like he’s ever been able to stop thinkin’ about him (dammit) but this morning was – a lot. It was…
Nice.
He liked how Izuku smelled. He liked the weight to him. The rough edges, and the places their bandages scraped together. His fuzzy legs, and his snoring. A dude, at the end of it. A very traumatized, stubborn, and pretty dude.
Katsuki has known. But they’ve never been this close. Have never been able to get past all the crap piled up between them. Izuku has forgiven him for something that shouldn’t be so easily excused, and he’s not sure if he’s happy, or pissed about it.
***
It was bound to break. The cabin fever, the protesting, the sleepless nights and the well-intentioned fussing.
Katsuki startles to an uproar.
“Stop it! Let me go!”
Feet flying off the table, palms popping, he jerks to his feet as Hagakure comes skidding around the staircase.
“Bakugou! It’s Midoriya, he’s – he’s – ”
“What?! What did he do?”
“He hadn’t come out of his room all day, and – and we just wanted to check on him and –”
This is taking too long. He vaults over the staircase and lands hard on the bottom step. When he gets to the end of the hall, he sees a small group trying to placate Deku by the window.
“Midoriya! Please don’t go!”
“Oh my god, I’m telling you! I’m not leaving!” Izuku looks like a wild animal. Like that creature that was shredded to bits, crawling with tendrils and dead in the eyes. “I just – I can’t stay here anymore.”
“Get away from him,” Katsuki snaps. Kirishima takes a step back, but Shoji stands his ground.
“We caught him crawling out the window.”
“Kacchan I – it’s too much,” Izuku blabbers. His breathing is quick and short. “I can’t – it’s like the walls are caving in. I know you guys are trying to help, I know you’re trying to make it better but it’s like I can’t breathe!”
Yaoyorozu tries to be kind.
“Please calm down, it's very late, and if those civilians see you…”
“I’ll take him,” Katsuki says. The arguing pauses. Yaoyorozu bristles tightly.
“And where are you going?”
“The roof,” Katsuki calls back, snatching Izuku’s wrist in one hand and tugging. Izuku could break his hand if he wanted to, but instead he stumbles along. “It’s not like anyone will see.” At their judgmental stares, he shoves Izuku towards the stairs and barks over his shoulder. “What? We ain’t going nowhere. You take a guy that’s been running the streets for three weeks and you lock ‘em up in a box, this is what you get.”
Yaoyorozu looks doubtful, but good guy Kirishima stops her.
“We’re here if you need us.”
Izuku looks on the edge of hyperventilating. His eyes won’t focus, and he’s bitten his nails down to the tips. He’s on the edge of breaking all over again, and it hurts to watch.
Gifts and good meals, a room full of friends and a good night’s rest. It’s not what he needs right now. Katsuki gets it.
They climb the stairs up to the top of the building. The roof door is usually locked, but Katsuki breaks it with a kick. When the door flies open, Izuku hauls in a deep breath, like he’s been drowning.
“Kacchan,” Izuku tries.
“Shut up,” Katsuki huffs. Don’t talk.
They walk to the edge of the roof, where the railing is lower. You can see over the UA walls from here. You can also see the fires in the city, where Endeavor fights with the pros.
Izuku slumps to the edge. He slides his legs over the side – and it’s a comfort to know he could jump and barely feel a thing, but there’s still a sting of adrenaline that comes with seeing him so close to the edge.
Katsuki sits next to him and says nothing.
The air is fresh and humid from the recent rain. Temporary housing units are built all along UA’s fields, lit with lanterns and backup generators. Somewhere, people are cooking over a bonfire. You can smell the barbecue, and the burning paper.
Izuku draws his legs up and presses his forehead to his knees. Katsuki leans his forearms on the bars, and watches the city burn.
“I hate being babysat,” Izuku mutters. Katsuki glances at him without moving.
“I know.”
“I’m not crazy,” Izuku assures. He pauses, and then tries, “Am I?”
Katsuki licks across the sharp points on his teeth. He used to not give a shit about saying the wrong thing. A filter isn’t something he needed. He cared about being strong, not hurting feelings.
It’s different with Deku.
“I don’t think anyone can do what you do without being a little crazy,” Katsuki mutters. He tips his head. “Do they talk to you?”
“Yes,” Izuku whispers. “It wasn’t always this way, but I can hear the other users. When they decide to speak.”
That would explain the hazy, zoned out pauses in his speech. Katsuki can’t imagine sharing his brain with anyone other than himself.
“Can you tell them to shut up?”
Izuku breathes from his nose and smiles.
“They’re gone right now. Because I – I yelled at them to.” Izuku’s voice starts to crack, and Katsuki’s stomach sinks. “So many people are looking up to me. And even more are hurting because of me. I know the pros are working on a plan, but I feel useless sitting here.”
He’s waited days for Izuku to finally talk. Katsuki’s still working on that filter thing.
“Are you dumb?”
Izuku looks over.
“Huh?”
“I told you,” Katsuki stresses, “— that your choices weren’t misguided. You’re walking the path you were supposed to walk. Let us fuckin’ walk it with you, bastard.”
Izuku swallows. He blinks quickly, like he’s holding back tears.
“I said terrible things.”
“Eh. I’ve said worse.”
Izuku laughs. Then, he starts to cry. It rivets down to his chin – first one tear, then many. All the emotion breaks free.
“Everyone’s kindness…I don’t deserve it. I still can’t fight with a smile.”
Ugh. You know what.
“I’ve had enough of this,” Katsuki huffs. “Fuckin’ stupid, self-sacrificing assholes…”
Katsuki chucks off his shirt. Then he begins the painful process of peeling off the bandages around his torso. Izuku hiccups, wiping his eyes with his arm.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“Showing you something,” Kastuki grits. He peels away the wrapping up to his ribs, and points to the gnarly wounds plugged around his stomach. They’re still raw and heeling, and the scars will be the size of golf balls. “Izuku. I want you to look at this, and see the shit I’m willing to do for you.”
Izuku goes stiff. He forgets to cry, but tears still spill out of his eyes like a tap that wasn’t shut off all the way.
“Kacchan…”
“You scared the fuck out of me,” Katsuki rasps, raw. “Back in the war… I still can’t – fuck. Fuck. I can’t unsee it. You’re not supposed to make faces like that. I’m supposed to get angry, not you, you’re better than that. I told you – you’ve always been above me. But I’m catching up. So get your head on straight, and be a hero, goddammit.”
Izuku inhales wetly. Kastuki sloppily rewraps his torso. When he gets to the end, he’s rapidly squeezed with a heavy dead weight. He grunts, flinging his arms out to catch Izuku by the waist. He tenses, ready for a fight – but –
Ah.
He’s hugging him.
Izuku sobs. It’s infuriating and disheartening all at once – but if Katsuki knows Izuku, then he knows he needs this. He needs to let this go.
Silent, Katsuki shifts into a more comfortable position, and holds him. Izuku cries into his shoulder, and with that, the stress built so tight in his skin is dismantled brick by boring brick.
“Crybaby,” sighs Katsuki. He hesitates before petting once down his back. “Do you feel better now?”
Izuku pulls away. His eyes are red and his cheeks are puffy, but Katsuki can see the green again. The life. A little sad, a little hurt, but alive.
“You can still call me Deku,” Izuku blurts. Katsuki stares right back at him, and says outright,
“No. I can’t.”
Izuku chews on his lip. He’s staring at Katsuki’s chest like he can see through the bandages.
“I’d already forgiven you,” Izuku whispers. Katsuki wants to grab his shoulders and shake him until his brain rattles around his skull like a ping pong ball in a solo cup.
“Fucking idiot. You shouldn’t have.”
“Kacchan I –” Izuku stops. He feels across Katsuki’s side with his knuckles, like he’s unaware of his own actions. “I tried to tell you a long time ago. When um. When we fought in that street. I told you that All Might was my hero, but you…” His voice shakes. “You were always amazing, Kacchan. I only ever saw you.”
Katsuki’s brain flies off the rails. He can’t possibly know what he’s talking about.
“That’s no reason to forgive me. That shits earned, not given.”
“I thought about jumping off the roof that day,” Izuku admits. Katsuki feels his entire soul fly out of his body. Feels his heart squish into a tiny ball and roll off the edge. “But I – even after everything, I still loved you. If that makes me a bad person, I don’t care anymore. I don’t have the room in my heart to care.”
Time stands still. Izuku starts to shrink back into himself, and at the continued silence, he leans up against the railing and stares at the tents down below. The tears on his cheeks are shiny and damp. He’s still sniffling. Still chewing on the corner of his mouth.
Katsuki grabs him roughly by the chin and kisses him. Izuku gasps into his mouth, yanking back in surprise, but Katsuki won’t let him run. He won’t. He’s tired of it. Tired of all this stupid bullshit. Running and chasing and drowning yourself in the shower so you can just forget! Everything!
Izuku is stiff until his brain turns back on. Then a lightswitch; like sleeping beauty coming back to life, he melts into Katsuki like putty. The arm around his shoulders is so fucked with scars, so thick with muscle, broken and healed a hundred times over, it makes it real. Katsuki slides his hand across Izuku’s jaw, wiping his tears and coming around to cup the back of his head. Izuku whines, and it hurts, and it’s everything.
It was just supposed to be one kiss. But when he pulls away, Izuku looks at him with such a lovestruck expression, that Katsuki has to dive right back in. Izuku kisses back firmer this time. It’s a little messy, a little disjointed, but like anything else – they figure it out pretty fast.
Katsuki doesn’t kiss people because he doesn’t give a fuck about anything other than becoming the greatest hero there is. But now there’s something he cares about slightly more than that; and the two overlap like one big venn diagram.
Izuku’s lips are wet and cracked from chewing on them so much. He tastes human, like spit and heat, and he smells like whatever generic axe deodorant he put on this morning. And it’s fucking amazing. He drives Katsuki batshit insane, absolutely out of his mind. His heart lurches and hammers and takes off running, and he thumbs over the line of Izuku’s undercut until the texture is seared into his brain.
“Oh my god,” Izuku gasps; a sound so sweet and innocent, it could rot your teeth clean out. But also yeah, same.
Soon they’re kissing like they’ve always done it. An even back and forth that reminds him of what it’s like to fight side by side. Ground beta comes to his mind. With Izuku under him, panting and sizzling with OFA’s power. Katsuki had just poured out his heart in the most embarrassing way, but of all people, Deku was the one who understood him the most.
It was also the first time he’d ever wanted to kiss him, and that’s probably the part that scared him the most.
Izuku’s hands shake at his shoulders, and he braces a hand to Katsuki’s thigh like it’s a lifeline.
“You shouldn’t,” Izuku rasps. “Y-you shouldn’t do this with me. I don’t…I don’t know what will happen with Shigaraki. I don’t know if…if one of us can exist without the other.”
Katsuki sears his mouth into the side of Izuku’s cheek because he just can’t fucking take it. He tastes his tears, kisses the peak of his freckles, and breathes in like he’s remembering how.
“You’re fuckin’ high if you think I’ll let that happen.”
“Kacchan. We have to – we have to be realistic.” His voice pitches when Katsuki kisses under his ear. “But – oh, I – it doesn’t feel like reality at all.”
Katsuki doesn’t know how to put into words how much he cares about him. They’re not meant to exist alone. He’s grown up enough to see that, now.
“I won’t let you break,” Katsuki grunts. “So lean on me.”
Izuku proves time and time again that he knows him better than anyone. He laughs wetly, curling his crooked, clumsy fingers into Katsuki’s spikes.
“I was so happy that you let me in your bed last night, I could barely think straight. I used to pray that one day you’d like me.”
“I always did,” Katsuki blurts, and then pauses in horrified silence. Izuku squeezes him by the cheeks and kisses him shyly. His eyelashes are long and wet. Even short, stocky, and carved with scars, he’s still so insanely pretty.
“I’m sorry for running away.”
“Yeah, well. I’m sorry for a lotta’ shit too.”
Izuku’s gaze falters. Katsuki thumbs along the tendon in his neck to keep him in the present, and Izuku leans into it. Incredible.
“Kacchan…what does this mean? For –”
“— don’t say for us,” Katsuki cringes. “This isn’t the hallmark channel.”
Izuku pouts at him.
“What, then?”
For once, he doesn’t know.
“We can’t afford distractions,” Katsuki says, and Izuku sulks slightly. Katsuki can’t seem to stop touching him, because he comes around to cup his cheek again. “But… I dunno’. When this is over…we’ll talk about it.”
Izuku seems happy with that answer. Izuku turns his head to nose into his palm, and Katsuki wants to tell him off for being a nerd, but it really is cute.
“Focus up and rest. We’ll get called back to the field soon.” Katsuki jerks his thumb to the civilians sitting around bonfires on the UA turf. “And don’t let them get to you either. A real hero stands up to fight whether they hate you or not.”
Save to win, win to save.
Izuku smiles.
“I know. You taught me that one.”
“Hey, fuck you. I’m likeable.”
Izuku just looks at him with all the stars in his eyes, like he’s trying to decide if this is real or not. His voice is breathy, like an afterthought.
“Yeah.”
Katsuki raises an eyebrow, and watches Izuku turn several shades. His eyes flicker back and forth, like he’s seeing something else now. Katsuki’s starting to catch on, so he slides his hand down Izuku’s waist (selfishly, just for a second), and watches Izuku’s attention snap back.
“What are they saying?”
Izuku looks up, then down. He looks flustered, but doesn’t bother to pull away from their entanglement.
“They’re teasing me.”
“Then tell ‘em to look away, fuckin’ pervs.” Katsuki wants to kiss him again, but doesn’t want to be embarrassing. Instead he stands, and extends a hand to him. “C’mon. The class is gonna’ be up my ass in the group chat.”
Izuku takes his hand, and Katsuki grunts as he pulls him to his feet.
“En says you need better manners.”
“Well En is dead, so kiss my ass.” As Izuku tries to pull away, Katsuki clutches his hand tight, and spins him back around. Izuku looks up at him, flustered, and Katsuki squints. “Are you good?”
Izuku swallows. He looks at their hands, then back at his eyes.
“Yeah. Thank you.”
“Whatever.”
He holds open the roof door, and as Izuku steps past him, Katsuki takes one last look at the burning horizon. It’s hell on the edge – another shitstorm heading their way – but one step at a time, he supposes.
He presses a hand over his chest. Fuck. His heart is still racing, like he’s center stage in some bullshit romance novel.
“Kacchan?” Izuku prods.
“Go on,” Katsuki huffs. Izuku nods and bounces down the stairs, and when he reaches the common area, Katsuki can hear voices floating down the hall.
“Hey, Izuku! Look! We met up with the students from Shiketsu, and they still had cake mix! We uh, had to trade some of our rice, but I think it was worth it.”
“Oh, wow. You guys made this?”
“Sure did!”
Katsuki stops at the bottom step and rubs across his forehead. Izuku is sitting with his friends, nodding along and smiling, and by that alone, the weight of the room is pounds lighter.
“Huh,” Shouto observes. Katsuki looks at him skeptically, and scowls when he comes closer, popping a hip and crossing his arms. Damn half-n-half. “So, how’d you do it?”
Katsuki goes tch.
“I ain’t tellin’.”
Denki swipes a finger through the frosting and runs like hell, only to get caught by the shirt by the class prez. Izuku actually laughs.
They’ll return to war by Monday. But for now, they can have this.
“Do you still think he’ll run?” Shouto asks.
Katsuki takes the coke bottle offered by Ojirou in passing. When he’s out of earshot, he cracks it with his teeth, and flicks the top off with this thumb.
Ping!
“Nah. He’s not going anywhere.”